#while waiting the requisite amount of time before it would let us watch the rest of it lol

[coquelicoq]

i JUST realized that literally every time i have started making out with someone for the first time it's been while lying down. every single time. what is this? am i incapable of initiating kiss contact with a new person while standing or sitting? is this my move? do i have a move??

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding IX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV  - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII

Content Warning: This chapter contains potentially triggering material, particularly aftermath of attempted suicide as well as discussions of bodily injury.

Cody woke up the morning after the...drunken keldabe still feeling uneasy. He spent half an hour attempting to read over reports in preparation for the Umbaran campaign before giving it up as a lost cause. He distracted himself for a little while by pouring over last night’s cantina surveillance, before giving up on that as well and sending a message to General Skywalker.

‘Any updates on General Kenobi’s status?’

He watched the comms as communications from everyone besides the General trickled in. He answered a few requests for requisitions, forwarded some medical reports, and ignored an irritating handful of overly-personal questions. 

Agonizing over it the whole time, he opened a comm-text link to Obi-Wan. It took nearly an hour, but he managed to send two sentences. ‘Hope you’re recovering well. Look forward to upcoming mission discussion.’

He immediately wanted to retroactively delete the message, mortified by every word and deeply concerned at every second that passed without a reply.

He spent the next 30 minutes hunched over, quickly closing every incoming CT and CC communication, justifying the time to himself as ‘technically on leave.’

He lurched forward when he finally received a General’s comm code, but slumped in disappointment when it was Skywalker, not Kenobi.

‘Not as drunk but still seems a little high. He says he wasn’t drugged. He’s taking the rest of the day off. I’m monitoring.’

Taking the rest of the day off. Did that mean he wasn’t carrying around his comm? Kriff. Should he more or less concerned that the general was actually taking a day off?

He decided to be more concerned.

‘Thank you for the update. Respectfully request information on any changes.’

Hopefully that would encourage Skywalker to keep him informed even if he stopped freaking out over his vod’s behavior.

Stowing the remote comm, he stood up and exited the temporary planet-side office, throwing himself into cleaning up the mess that was nearly 20,000 clone troopers simultaneously attempting to get the most out of a very brief R&R. 

Shortly before mid-day, he received another update from Skywalker.

‘Just managed to get him to medical. Healer cleared him of drug interactions but Obi-Wan’s still acting strange (not crying, but a lot of hugging).’

Cody stared at that for a long while.

‘Any other verbal indications of upcoming danger?’ he finally asked. Skywalker didn’t reply. 

Shortly after nightfall, his incident reports were interrupted by a call from an unknown temple number. He quickly opened it, and a holo of an unfamiliar Mon Calamari female healer appeared in miniature on the desk.

“Commander Cody. Thank you for answering so quickly. Are you somewhere private?” she asked, voice deliberately neutral.

The Commander tensed up. “Yes, sir. I’m in CC office space, alone. The room and the channel are both secure. Is this regarding General Kenobi?”

“Yes.” She replied. “My name is Master Bant Eerin; I’m a temple healer as well as a personal friend of Obi-Wan’s. He’s...he’s in the healing halls right now. We’re still trying to understand exactly what happened- I’ll tell you what I can but first we need to rule out any possible drugs he may have contact with. I need you to describe in detail anything he may have been exposed to that could have possibly had mind-altering effects.”

The Commander was a professional. He swallowed back his fear, his questions, and his demands to know what was going on.

“Of course. Everything on the Negotiator was GAR Standard, and I was with him when we left the ship. We went directly to the lower levels. The first time he was exposed to anyone outside the 212th was when we left our transport on level 3915. I...actually have footage of him the whole time night after that point. I’m sending it over right now, sir.”

“That would be extremely helpful, thank you.” He watched as she pulled it up on a second comm, sound barely audible. 

He continued with his report: “One of the boys took it without permission. He didn’t mean anything by it, he’s just an idiot; I’ve already issued a severe reprimand. In any case, he brought it to me after I issued surveillance on the cantina, it tracks everything the General did- as far as I can tell, he had a glass of house grub wine, two shots of rancor blood, and an unnamed mixed cocktail ‘on the house.’ You can see everything the bartender added- as far as I can tell nothing was slipped in. He just... blacked out suddenly after the fourth drink, and quickly startled awake, confused by his surroundings.”

“I see.” Her tone was still carefully neutral and Cody didn’t know how to read her expression. He waited, wishing he was wearing his bucket so he didn’t have to keep schooling his face into professional patience.

“You brought him back to the temple...correct?” 

“Yes, sir.”

She let out a deep breath, gills fluttering slightly. “We’ll probably have more questions later, but please understand our inquires are entirely based around determining how we can best help Obi-Wan. This call and any future ones are not intended, and should absolutely not be interpreted, as indications of blame. He’s actually spoken to me about you before, I know he has the deepest respect for you, personally and professionally. Someone will likely be assigned to talk to everyone whose spent time with him recently, including myself.”

The sick feeling in his gut from last night returned full force. “I...believe I understand sir. His condition is serious, then?”

Her gills fluttered again.

“Even now, I think we can safely anticipate a full physical recovery. He...there’s no easy way to say this...it appears he attempted to end his own life. Knight Skywalker got to him just in time, and he received bacta within minutes of the initial burn. I...like I said...we’ll began work to figure out why-”

Her voice broke and she stared up, large tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She hastily wiped them away.

“Rest assured commander, he’s getting the best treatment possible. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you might have right now. This is my personal comm link- please feel free to reach out to me at any point for updates.”

“I-” Cody cleared his throat. “Can I come to the temple? To...” he trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“Not tonight, I’m sorry. The healers need to focus; he’s not allowed any visitors until he’s out of Bacta, I’m afraid.”

“Skywalker must be throwing a fit at that” Cody remarked numbly.

The healer winced. “Knight Skywalker is currently sedated. He was...injured in the struggle to keep Obi-Wan from further harm. Master Windu witnessed part of it, but we’ll have to wait until its safe to wake him to get the full story. I’ll be notifying Captain Rex of the situation after we finish speaking.”

“I’ll do it.” Cody offered immediately. “Tell me what happened.”

Eerin hesitated. 

“Please, Sir. It will be better coming from me and...if he’s the only other trooper who’s being informed at the moment...”

“Of course,” she said quietly. “We don’t know the full circumstances, but at some point in performing emergency care for Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker was stabbed in the lower abdomen with a vibroblade. It pierced his large intestine. The blade was pulled out shortly before healers arrived, causing some further damage and blood loss. He’s already finished surgery, and should only need a few hours of Bacta at most. Considering his extraordinary past recovery rates, he’ll likely be out of bed tomorrow and fully healed by the end of the week.”

“General Kenobi wouldn’t...” Cody trailed off again. He was having a hard time putting coherent sentences together.

Bant looked at the ceiling for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts.

“Psychosis can have many manifestations. Even with- with conventional injuries, people can mistake help for harm. There’s just too much we don’t understand, and only so much we can learn before they wake up. Are you certain you wish to be the one to inform Captain Rex?”

“Yes.” That was about the only thing the Commander was certain of right now. “Is there anyone else in the GAR I should inform of...anything?”

“The military aspect of this isn’t my area of expertise. If there’s someone you trust who can be a support for you, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to tell them in confidence. Some form of what happened is going to get out eventually.” she replied. “Please use your discretion, I suppose. It’s...not really my speciality but I imagine you’ll receive further orders on how much to release to the GAR once Obi-Wan’s stable.”

Right. Discretion. Because Obi-Wan wasn’t just Obi-Wan- he was a high general in charge of nearly 1/3 of the republic’s forces. If word of this got out to the wrong ears it would cause mass panic, maybe even an emboldened separatist advance. It was an insane amount of responsibility for one person, no wonder - he deliberately didn’t finish the thought.

“I’ll comm the Captain immediately. Thank you for the information, General.” he said out loud.

“Feel free to contact me for further updates, and tell Captain Rex he’s welcome to do the same. I’ll message you when its clear to visit the halls.”

“Yes, Sir.” Cody responded, saluting automatically. 

“Take care of yourself, Commander Cody”

The hologram blinked out. Cody sat motionless for several long moment before sweeping his desk off, sending the assorted flimsies and redundant comm-units of various designations to the ground.

He stared at the empty desk, then tapped a button on his wrist comm, opening a private audio channel. “CT-7567, please come in” he said calmly.

“Cody?” came the alarmed reply. “I’m here, what’s going on?” Why did he sound so panicked? He had deliberately used his calmest voice. Oh well.

“Please report immediately to CC Office 12 in Guard Headquarters”

“I’ll be there in 10″

Cody hung up. He stared at the blank wall. He knew something was wrong with how the General said goodbye.

He opened the single desk drawer and dumped the odd wires and coins inside to the floor. Eerin had said burn. That could mean a lot of things, but lightsaber was the most likely. 

Cody puked profusely into the empty drawer. He stared at the vomit for a moment before carefully closing the drawer. He still felt a little sick. He hadn’t even said anything back to the General, he just stood there, frozen. 

He stared vaguely at the wall across, wondering if he was going to puke again.

Rex burst into the room. “Cody! What’s going on?! You- kark, what is that smell?”

“I puked in the desk drawer” Cody explained.

Rex shut the door behind him and slowly walked over. He knelt down next to the desk, gently taking Cody’s hands in this own. “Cody. Vod. Talk to to me.” 

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

Rex’s hands tightened over Cody’s compulsively and Cody squeezed back harder. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Rex’s expression.

“Some of ghost company went out for drinks last night. Obi-Wan started acted oddly. We flew towards the temple. He started crying. We got to the temple. He Keldabe kissed me. He told me goodbye. I didn’t say anything back.”

“Oh, vod” Rex whispered. He gently pulled the slack Cody off the chair and onto his lap on the floor. Cody continued mechanically. “I did reports today. Skywalker said he was with him. I left Obi-Wan a message. I don’t think he saw it. He tried to kill himself. Skywalker must have left him alone. He saved him. Obi-Wan stabbed Skywalker.”

Rex froze, still holding on to Cody. 

“The healer called. Asked about drugs. They don’t think its drugs but they had to ask. She said they’re both going to heal completely fine. I have a link if you want to call the healer directly. That’s...it. I have reports to do now.”

Rex held Cody tighter. “Not right now”

“It’s war. People get hurt. People die. I have work to do”

“Not right now,” Rex repeated. “You have the right to be upset. You have the right to grieve. You’re a person, of course you have feelings.”

“Obi-Wan said that.” Cody whispered. Then he started crying. He continued to quietly sob for some time, hurt and bewildered and scared. They sat on the floor together; Rex barely moved, simply held on to his older brother as he fell apart.

Inevitably, Cody’s tears dried up and he pulled away. 

“I don’t know how to clean this,” he said gesturing at that closed drawer. 

“I’ll take care of it. Let’s just get you to bed. There’s CC bunks here, right? 

“Yes but...”

Cody didn’t really like sleeping so isolated, but he also couldn’t imagine facing the 212th right now. 

“I’ll stay here with you. We’ll go to the temple together in the morning.”

Rex shepherded Cody to the fresher. He stared at the mirror with a vague sense of recognition before automatically moving through a standard sanitation routine. By the time he finished, Rex had joined him in his room.

“What did you do with the vomit?” Cody asked, suddenly exhausted. They slipped into bed together.

“Swapped the whole desk with Pond’s. That bastard knows what he did.”

Cody let out a snort. Then, much to his surprise, he sank heavily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Part X

[chalkrevelations]

OK, Word of Honor, Episode 9, and I know last time I got deep in the weeds about symbolism, but this week, I’m getting back to basics and rambling on (and on) about what this show is really about: Zhou Zishou and Wen Kexing and their relationship.

First, though, the usual warning: SPOILERS. Not just for this episode, but potentially for the entire show, so drive past and circle back around later if you want to watch all 36.5 eps unspoiled.

Bear with me on this one, because this ep spends a LOT of time on ZZS and WKX, and I think a lot of that time is ZZS making some Monumental Life Decisions, including how he’s going to proceed in this relationship and how he’s going to approach his life moving forward. But I’m finding myself needing to work through it chronologically, and it’s. A Lot. Also, let’s face it, ZZS has been my ride-or-die at least since he dropped to his knees and started disrobing in the middle of the throne room in Ep 1, so a chance to wallow in his emotional journey is a chance I’m gonna take.

So, we do have a brief opener when we find out Dead Guy who the Yueyang disciple was shrieking about at the end of the last ep is Fang Buzhi, AKA the Nine Clawed Fox, the guy who lifted WKX’s (Danyang) Glazed Armor (along with some replicas). He got got by mysterious somebodies in the previous episode, and we find out now that he has three tiny needles in his neck, which ZZS recognizes as a Tian Chuang technique. This leads ZZS to 1) assume it must have been Han Ying who did it, so the (Danyang) Glazed Armor is now in the hands of Tian Chuang, and 2) realize that maybe this is not the best place for the former leader of Tian Chuang to be hanging out right now, so he makes their excuses, because he knows that Gao Chong must be VERY BUSY now that he’s got this corpse on his hands, so they’ll just BE GOING, thanks so much. Gao Chong hopes to see them at the Hero’s Conference, and WKX responds in a Significant Tone that of course he’ll be at the Hero’s Conference, and now ZZS has his Thinky Face on again, because WKX is not nearly as subtle as he seems to think he is when he’s making Pronouncements.

The ZZS/WKX Show really starts kicking into gear that night, at the Getting Lucky Good Luck Inn, where we open on ZZS wandering contemplatively around his room, looking beautiful in the soft light of evening (your FACE, Zhang Zhehan) and ruminating on Prince Jin’s motives for wanting the Glazed Armor, like he’s never met this power-hungry asshole before. Also, he thinks to himself, wtf was that, with Gao Chong keeping anybody from seeing Chengling in the last ep? There’s a knock on the door, which momentarily confuses him - understandably, because as we’ll see, WKX doesn’t generally get the concept of announcing yourself and waiting to be invited in by knocking first, preferring to dramatically bust open doors (at least to ZZS’s bedroom) and grace you with his presence, whatever your thoughts on the matter are. He’s accompanied by waiters and dinner, and ZZS realizes his senses are going, presumably because he can’t smell this spread that WKX has procured in an attempt to prove what a good provider he is (what did I say about food and bonding? ZZS fed him in the market, and now it’s his turn to feed ZZS). WKX tells us that life is just three hots and a cot - which gives away more about your life than you would likely be comfortable with us knowing, Lao Wen, given how close to the vest you’re holding your cards – and that everything else can wait if you can have a meal with someone you like. :coff: (Also, remember this, it will come around again.)

Cut to dinner by flickering candlelight, the better for soft lighting to caress ZZH’s exquisite face, but ZZS isn’t into it at all, staring into space instead of eating WKX’s proffered Courtship Delicacies. This earns what’s possibly WKX’s most hypocritical and amusing comment yet, which is to ask ZZS, “What is it that you can’t tell me?” ZZS - apparently - is still feeling soft about WKX’s help against Tian Chuang’s Chengling-kidnapping attempt - or maybe he’s thinking that a little bit of opening up on his part will soften up WKX - because he hardly has to have a spoon dug into his ribs at all to admit that he’s wondering if it was a mistake to bring Chengling to Five Lakes Alliance. My dude, just steal him back, then. WKX laughs at him and tells him he’s got such a handsome face (true) along with a kind and innocent heart (false, he’s a former government spook and assassin, a part-time ill-tempered gremlin, and a whole-ass troll), and therefore girls will clearly go crazy for him (true, just ask me). ANYWAY, A-Xu, (WKX continues) now that the requisite random no-homo boilerplate is out of the way, are you really thinking of taking on Chengling as a disciple, because now is apparently not too soon to have the adoption conversation about Our Son. I almost expect him to pull out the adoption papers then and there. Instead, he pulls out a story - which is awkwardly placed and kind of clunky, actually, despite being thematically important - of a dog he had once, given to him by Someone Very Important, although of course he’s not going to say who that was (:facepalm:), and his mother warning him that he’d have to take care of it for life, and then he betrayed it.

So, there’s a lot going on here. We’ll eventually find out that ZZS gave Zhen Yan a puppy, so will this story of a gift dog jog ZZS’s memory into realizing that WKX is Zhen Yan without WKX actually telling him, so that WKX can tell his Bundle of Neuroses that it’s not reeeaaallly WKX’s fault ZZS figured it out? Also, WKX sees ZZS being like this about Chengling, and in the Chengling = Zhen Yan equation we’ve already established, is it possible this will prime ZZS to remember another disciple/young boy he took responsibility for, at one point? Of course, on ZZS’s side of things, it’s possible that hearing about this dog that WKX failed is likely to remind him of the way he failed his own responsibility to all the other disciples of Siji Manor, so, excellent way to take a stab at his heart, WKX! However, ZZS breaks the miserable tone we’ve become mired in by smacking WKX, chiding him for comparing their son to a dog, and getting them drinking. See, here, Chengling is the dog. Earlier, the two sisters A-Xiang rescued were the dog. Later, A-Xiang will be the dog. Unfortunately, WKX is going to have a blind spot and never quite realize that, in the Ghost Valley schema he’s set up, the Department of the Unfaithful is also the dog, but we’ll get to that in later eps. For now, cut to later that night: After dinner and a washup, ZZS sits on his bed, and we get some special effects to indicate that his hearing is also giving him problems, so he deploys his special Nightly Nails Torment meditation pose, and then we get the second instance of WKX playing the xiao to help him meditate and rest. (Junjun, your hands on that xiao …) ANYWAY, we get a gorgeous little bit of physical acting from ZZH here that could easily have been overplayed but is nicely restrained and subtle, with just the slightest smile when ZZS realizes WKX is playing, and then his whole body visibly relaxing as he allows himself to sink into WKX’s now-familiar musical embrace the meditation. It is :chef’s kiss:

Cut to next AM, when ZZS is now a very cranky boy, and I get this, because I also am exceedingly irritated when people bust into the room where I’m sleeping with an abundance of cheerfulness and try to get me to interact and do things without at least half an hour to creep my way out of bed, two cups of coffee, and an hour of silence before any attempts to converse like a reasonable human being (I’m looking at YOU, mom), and I don’t even have the excuse of seven Nails pinning me. Also, when WKX whips off the blankets, we learn that ZZH dresses to the right. :hands: I’m just making an observation. So, WKX wants to go to Yuefan Tower like some kind of wide-eyed tourist, and despite some smacking and scowling and death threats, we then smash-cut to the Tower, where ZZS has apparently come to the conclusion that the only way to deal with the ADHD gremlin crawling into his bed is to humor him about this daytrip. I think you could have come up with some more creative ideas that didn’t involve leaving bed, but I guess you’re not the fast one in this relationship, Zhou-ge. Srsly, though, I’m sure WKX would have been happy to do all the work, my dude. (I don’t always have strong top-bottom preferences, but you probably aren’t going to have much luck convincing me that ZZS is not a pillow princess who wants to just lay back and be spoiled. “Aren’t you a very capable man?” indeed. WKX has to do ALL THE WORK, god. I don’t know if I’m swimming against the current here – god knows I was in Inception fandom, where I felt the same way about Eames - but here we are.) Also, I can’t believe WKX didn’t just sit in the bedroom and creep on A-Xu’s beautiful sleeping profile for at least the amount of time it would have taken to drink a pot of tea, another viable option if it was me in this scenario. Tch. What kind of stalker are you, Lao Wen?

ANYWAY, at Yuefang Tower, ZZS tells us about the Four Sages of Anji, a senior-citizen polycule of soulmates who are, conveniently, at this very moment, on a boat in the lake beside the tower, playing music and sword-dancing. This is the first time they’ve been seen in 10+ years, after they put down their various swords and ran off together to live like hippies off-the-grid in the woods, probably skipping around naked, drinking “tea,” and having lots of sex. ZZS sighs wistfully while recounting this tale and calls them “a breath of fresh air.” There’s some discussion and poetry quoting and literary references to soulmates, and somewhere in here we get a shot of ZZS and WKX from behind which makes it super-obvious how hard they’re working the costumes to make Gong Jun look as broad as possible. He’s got the power shoulders on this set of robes, compared to Laopo ZZS’s soft, unstructured, flowing robes, and with those shoulders tapering down to the belted waist, they’ve got Junjun seriously working the Chris Evans Dorito silhouette. Meanwhile, focus back on their conversation: ZZS thinks that “the world is not important, finding a soulmate is,” giving some MAJOR FORESHADOWING for the end of the show (which we are accepting as “Ep” 37 because WE ARE), when we get that icy separation from the rest of the world but they have each other. WKX gives him a yearning look. ZZS looks back … there’s really no other way to put this … coyly, not meeting WKX’s gaze directly. This offers WKX and us a chance to admire his profile once again, thank you, Laopo. ZZS waits until WKX looks back out at the lake before looking at him directly, and his face journey, y’all. He’s thinking that it might not be bad to spend his remaining time with this soulmate, I think he’s starting to re-think the slow suicide, and he’s also thisclose to just letting WKX have him. Y’all, he seriously wants WKX so bad, here. It may be the first time we’ve seen this level of interest from him - it may be the first time, in all that we’ve seen of him, that he allows himself to even have that kind of interest. I think this is the next big step from Ep 6, when he allowed himself to enjoy being desired - now he’s allowing himself to desire, to want something again, other than a chance to drink himself to death in the gutter. This, right here, is a crucial point when he makes the decision to spend whatever time he’s got left living rather than just dying, and I’m flailing on the couch. This is the face of a man who’s ready to Make Some Declarations while getting railed within an inch of his life. SOMEONE IS GETTING SOME TONIGHT. Or he would if he wasn’t going to turn out to be such a fuckup. FFS, WKX.

But first, we cut to a scene of them back at the marketplace, wandering through as WKX mocks various sects in town for the conference – including the Mount Hua boys, who apparently look like virgins make their first trip to a brothel – and ZZS supplies background info on them. WKX asks if ZZS can tell what sect WKX is from, and ZZS calls him a messy bitch before asking if WKX can please stop making him play guessing games about everything and just tell him what WKX so clearly wants ZZS to know. (I know, right? But no, because then WKX might get what he wants, and he’s way too terrified for that, so you have to guess. That way, it’s not his fault when you figure out who he is and reject him, as anyone clearly will do because he’s unlovable and unforgiveable and not even really human, A-Xu.) WKX immediately changes the subject to ramble about the Hero’s Conference and how laughable all the sects are for wanting to be seen as heroes, blah blah blah, rinse and repeat. ZZS comments that only inexperienced people want to be heroes, that experienced people know “every character of the word hero is written in blood,” and yes, the character they’re using for hero, “ying,” is still the same character used in Han Ying’s name (which is not, by the way, the “ying” used in Wei Ying’s name, to cross streams for a moment). ZZS says he’s too old to be a hero (I and my knees feel you, my dude), now he’s just a wanderer, and he asks if WKX wants to be a hero or a wanderer, and WKX says that as a wanderer, all he needs is ZZS, and I’m telling you, someone absolutely would be getting some tonight if only he wasn’t such a fuckup, Lao Wen.

I’m’a try to wrap this up soon, because it’s gotten v. long, but we then cut to that night at the Getting Lucky Inn, ZZS drinking in his room, WKX busting in with his usual dramatic flair, with wine, inviting ZZS up to the roof to drink and look at the moon. He clearly has ulterior motives, but unfortunately for everyone, we’re going to discover they’re not the ulterior motives ZZS is expecting. As they lean back on the roof together, hands almost-but-not-quite touching, a romantic tune playing, WKX tells ZZS that he’s like, really happy! Just super happy! So happy! Ask me why I’m so happy, A-Xu! Spoiler alert: It is, unfortunately, not because he’s getting ready to get some from his laopo. This is particularly unfortunate, because ZZS chooses this moment to take another big step in this relationship, telling WKX that he’s not going to ask about things WKX doesn’t want to tell him, that he’ll wait for whatever WKX wants to tell him. On the surface, this comes off a little bit like, I’m done with asking when you’re not going to answer anyway, but in context – particularly on the back of the earlier scene when ZZS watched WKX turn on a dime and immediately change the subject to avoid exposing anything when ZZS asked WKX to stop making him guess everything – this is as good as a declaration of going all-in. ZZS is committing to this relationship on faith, without having all – or even most – of the answers about WKX, and his approach is going to be to wait until WKX is ready to reveal whatever information he feels safe and comfortable revealing. In practice, he’s going to end up being better or worse at this, depending on the day, but what it reminds me of, already, is that moment in the 20s (Ep 21? 22?) when A-Xiang and Cao Weining are arguing about her killing the beggar guy, he approaches her, she yells at him and points to the ground to indicate exactly how close he’s allowed to get to her, and his respect of that boundary she lays down is instantaneous and absolute. That’s what ZZS is saying he’s going to at least try to do, here. It also reminds me of the way he’s going to respect WKX’s decision on whether or not WKX is going to claim his place as a disciple of Siji Manor, without it affecting their relationship, so we really are starting as ZZS means to go on, here.

Unfortunately, we then find out that what WKX is actually so happy about is that his plan to burn down the jianghu is starting its next big step, and their romantic evening is interrupted by a bunch of dudes fighting and killing each other over a bunch of fake Glazed Armor. WKX mentions that he’s so happy the show’s started; he’s alternately amused, satisfied, and smug as they watch various fights; he seems to be expecting ZZS to also be amused; and I feel like the implication is that this was his real motive for inviting ZZS out onto the roof, to be able to watch this show with him. ZZS – who’s spent enough time standing ankle-deep in blood for six lifetimes and was working hard just a few weeks ago at drinking himself to death to try to forget what that feels like - is displeased and horrified, rather than very proud of what WKX has accomplished; he pushes WKX away from him when WKX approaches him to ask if he doesn’t think it’s all so very amusing; and he calls WKX crazy, then turns his back on him and walks away. To make things worse, the next morning, after WKX brings breakfast to ZZS’s room and actually knocks, only to find that ZZS has left in the middle of the night, WKX will witness an angry mob gathered outside the house in the woods where the Four Sages of Anji are staying for the Hero’s Conference, demanding a piece of the Glazed Armor the Sages are supposedly holding for Gao Chong, and eventually leading to the deaths of all four of these peaceful aging hippies whose commune in the woods was ZZS’s ultimate dream, leaving WKX horrified by the fact that his actions have consequences, including some that are going to make his boyfriend even more pissed off at him.

SO. All that happened. There were some other people in the episode, too:

We see A-Xiang and Cao Weining having lunch. She asks him why he’s not eating, calls him fat and cute, then proceeds to tell him about Ghoul, who likes to eat the faces of pretty boys. Her conversation skills could still use some work. Cao Weining vows to kill the ghosts of Ghost Valley who would do such awful things. A-Xiang actually ignores this slander about the evil of the residents of the Ghost Valley in a way that she doesn’t usually – usually she looks kind of unhappy when the Evilness of the Evil Inhabitants of the Evil Ghost Valley comes up, going all the way back to ZZS’s comments in Ep 2. Right now, she’s too busy pumping Pooh Bear for information, asking about why the Ghost Valley would have left a pile of heads on Yueyang’s doorstep if the Five Lakes Alliance is so great, so what is Five Lakes going to maybe, perhaps, do about this? Cao-dage is suspicious … that A-Xiang might be scared, but don’t worry, he’ll protect her. Oh, sweetheart. I could eat you up with a spoon, right along with Ghoul. Also, it finally registers that A-Xiang called him cute, but she has to step away for a quick confab with a henchwoman.

We also have to watch Chengling get bullied some more by a Yueyang shixiong who I think is Gao Shan, who we’ll later see bullying some prisoners in the Yueyang dungeon as he admits that he’s doing it to relieve his own frustrations and make himself feel better -  fantastic disciples you’ve got there, Gao Chong, I’m super-impressed by the morality and ethics you’re instilling as a sect. Once again, I have to consider WKX’s position on the jianghu as a hive of scum and villainy. Anyway, once Bullying Hour is over, Chengling runs into A-Xiang, and he can’t manage to prevent the waterworks as he confesses that he thought he’d never see any of them again and that ZZS didn’t want him. UGH. Zhou Zishu, come and get your child back. He’s at least somewhat mollified by Xiang-jie telling him she’s been sent to take care of him, and god knows she’s managed to keep WKX fed and clothed this long, so she has some experience as a minder, as counterintuitive as that seems.

We get a quick shot of Han Ying (My Beloved) with two identical pieces of Glazed Armor, apparently realizing that there are fakes out there.

Deng Kuan shows up, beaten and stumbling, and nearly gets turned away at the front gates of his own sect as a beggar – have I mentioned how unimpressed I am by the Yueyang disciples? Deng Kuan appears to be the only one of them worth anything – before they realize who he is. He is put to bed and tenderly nursed by Gao Xiaolian, who cries over him as he won’t wake up.

Finally, Gao Chong, Shen Shen and Zhao Jing (uh-huh) are horrified to discover that there’s fake Glazed Armor fk’n everywhere in town, making Five Lakes Alliance look ridiculous, which is just fabulous as the Hero’s Conference is coming up, guys. Shen Shen, because everything is a nail, vows to kill anyone who makes problems. Later, Hei Zi, who plays Gao Chong, has an utterly fantastic moment after the deaths of the Four Sages (wow, I did not remember that we wrapped up their entire storyline within a single ep), when he’s haranguing Beggar Gang Chief and is literally all, “You want the Glazed Armor? :pulls a piece out of his robe: HERE. You want some more? :pulls another piece out of his robe: TAKE IT.” It’s a great acting moment, his delivery is perfection.

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer Fill - “Caress"

My third fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer! I wanted a happy ending for these lovebirds, so pardon my AU. I slammed down the rough draft while vibing hard to Hozier and Ed Sheeran.

PROMPT WORD: CARESS | WORDS: 2246 Rated: "S" for "Soft & Spicy" AO3 Link: "Safe, Warm, and Whole" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Setting: Recently Post-War, Thane Survives AU Summary: "I can't sleep," she mumbled. "If you aren't too tired..." Her voice trailed off, her statement finishing with telling hand trailing across his hip, straying close to the sensitive scales below his abdomen.

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The soft chill of night air filtered through the open window in their shared flat as Shepard stepped out of the bathroom on sore, aching feet. Fresh from a cold shower, shoulders dropped with fatigue, she managed a smile at him across the room. Thane looked up from his reading. "Siha, how are you feeling?" "Exhausted." She looked it, too. Ever since the war had ended, combat seemed to always take a heavier toll on her body. Her armor powered her through the field, but in their private quarters, she carried herself on tired legs, fresh bruises peeking out from beneath her shirtsleeves. He would kiss them away if he could. Thane stood and guided her into his arms. "Come to bed with me. I think you've earned a good rest." Their flat - if it could even be called a flat - was barebones, no better than any military dormitory she's ever stayed in. White walls, cold floor tiles, and almost no décor to speak of. It was clean, at least. Six months since the war had ended, humanity had made little to no progress reclaiming the comforts they'd enjoyed before the reapers. Still, some inspired soldier had managed to requisition an old bed that was bigger than the standard issue Alliance bunk size - a gift for the legend herself, and her partner. He eased her down onto the sheets with steady arms. "It's too quiet in here," Shepard groaned as she laid down. "I'm sure the Alliance would be willing to relocate us to one of the orbital stations," he said, undressing before joining her in bed. She made an annoyed sound. "They need me here." It was mostly true. The alliance was still uncovering disorganized pockets of reaper forces, most of them in the underground byways of urban centers. It's what she spent her days doing. Strapping on the same old armor and delving into close quarters to fight cannibals, brutes, and whatever other monsters lurked in the dark. He wanted so badly for her to rest, but she wouldn't have it. The three months she spent held up in the field hospital were agony for her, and not simply because she was in pain. That restless mind, her patchwork cybernetic body giving her inhuman reserves of energy that her organic parts simply couldn't keep pace with. Even the Alliance had tried to offer her diplomatic work - something she had laughed off. "Come back when you're ready to let me do my job." Still, Shepard found planetside silence deafening. Sleep was harder to claim without the white noise of a cruiser. She talked often of the thrumming of engines on ships she'd lived on for most of her life. Thane himself rather enjoyed the quiet sounds of Earth, but it didn't much matter to him where they were. As long as she came home to him at night. "What will you do once the ground work is complete?" he said, settling in beside her. "I can't fucking wait," came her muffled response, face stuffed into a pillow. "Maybe then we can get back into space. Help with the Citadel reclamation." She turned to look at him then, squinting against the light on his nightstand. "If that's okay with you." "My love," he said, switching off the light and kissing her forehead, "I would follow you to the edge of the world if you'll have me." She swatted at him weakly. "You're sickeningly sweet." Thane's face contorted in an exaggerated frown, but his voice betrayed his mirth. "I make you sick?" She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." "I love you too, Siha," he chuckled, and gathered her into his arms. Indeed it had taken him a little while to get used to living with humans and their ample use of sarcasm, but he did understand her. By now he had long since stopped using his translator. Earth was becoming more familiar to him by the day, and he was surprised to find so many humans eager for his help. That he wasn't Alliance didn't seem important when so much needed doing. When he refused to leave her hospital bedside, they busied him with menial tasks around the infirmary and he was surprised to find he enjoyed the small role he had in healing the injured. Most of all, he thanked Arashu each and every day for her unbelievable

blessing, to have Shepard here, curling into his chest, safe, warm, and whole. She wriggled against him, humming quietly as she found a more favorable position with her knee over his and her face in the warm velvety frill of his neck. Soft breaths rolled over him and he trilled in response, the sound vibrating in his chest. They fit together so seamlessly that he could never be sure if she teased him like this deliberately or simply out of comfort, but warmth of her breath over his throat made his body stir in irresponsible ways, considering her state of fatigue. With some amount of guilt, he shifted away from her. She reacted, her arm tightened about his waist to press him close and this time she did it on purpose, gentle lips kissing his throat once, then twice with an open mouth, with a small hum of satisfaction. Her intentions were loud and clear. "I thought you were exhausted," he mused into her hair. Ambient light from outside spilled through their open window and illuminated her in the dreamy shades of nighttime. Her eyes were closed, body tucked tight against him. Like holding the entire world in his arms, he swelled with adoration. "I can't sleep," she mumbled. "If you aren't too tired..." Her voice trailed off, her statement finishing with telling hand trailing across his hip, straying close to the sensitive scales below his abdomen. "Mm," he pretended to consider, knowing exactly what she wanted. "I may be able to help. What do you require?" It would be a cold day in hell when he was too tired for her. She kissed his neck again, her palm flattening against the small of his back and dragging it slowly over his backside. "Touch me," she whispered. Warmth bloomed in his chest, the heat of desire washing over him. "It would be my pleasure," he rumbled. Slowly, he pushed her shorts off her hips and eased her on to her back. Eyes closed, licking her lips in contented anticipation, he watched her chest rise and fall with each contented breath. Hands slid across her belly, easing her t-shirt up over her head and she accommodated him, rising just enough to pull it off and flicking it lazily on to the other side of the bed. Relaxed as he'd ever seen, her undressed body laid before him, dotted with scars and stories he knew so well. He pulled himself over her, meeting her lips in an unhurried kiss. She stretched against him, warming beneath his body, hands wandering across the defined lines of his shoulders and spine as though she knew his stripes by memory alone. He gathered her breasts together from where they rolled to her sides and gazed up at her face as he kissed the deliciously soft valley between them. Thumbs running over each hardening peak, he watched her expression as he teased her if only just to see the gleaming edges of her teeth drawing her lower lip into her mouth. Her eyelashes fluttered as he squeezed her flesh gently, closing his lips over first one nipple, then the other. She arched up to meet his eager tongue, heavy breaths rushing from her lungs as though the pressure of his hands drove the air from her body. Beneath him, he could feel her core flex with each flick of his tongue and twist of his fingers "Fuck," she moaned. He couldn't help but watch her, eyes closed, lips parted, chest heaving against his hands as he stoked her lust from a smolder to an irresistible flame. His gentle mouth began to work its way down across the hard plane of her abdomen. Beneath the scent of standard issue soap, he could smell the salt of her skin, pausing to place an appreciative kiss atop her mound before his hands curled around the juncture of her hips. Her breathing was ragged as his thumbs parted her eager, heated flesh for his appreciation. The first time they'd done this he'd had to talk her down from her insecurities. The memory made him feel possessive, nearly angered by the notion that some other man had turned down privilege of knowing her this way. Thane let his breath ghost over her glistening center, thumbs dragging firmly up and down her folds just to hear her moan for him. The urge

to tease her was irresistible. It was with a knowing smirk that he finally bent his mouth to her, tasting her earthy, salty flesh - her hitched gasps like music to his ears. She told him once that he put human lovers to shame, and he was proud - perhaps the only man in existence who pried the secrets of her pleasure straight from her lips. He knew exactly how to touch her simply because he'd asked. The sounds she made when he laved his tongue over her clit were low and resounding reminders of how painfully hard he was in his shorts. Her fingertips trailed along his sensitive jaw, feeling him work as he ate her greedily. "Don't stop," she whispered. He grinned against her sex, teasing her entrance with two fused fingers, pushing slowly inside her heat only to brush against her center and slip out, again and again. Patiently, he devoured her, walking her closer to the edge one searing second at a time until her head was thrown back, her spine arched off the bed, fingers trembling against his scalp. He loved this. Every time he went down on her his mind trailed over every single time previous - recalling the exact intonation of her voice, the press of her hands, the way she tensed her thighs as she neared the peak of her pleasure. By now, he could tell precisely when to set her off. He edged her for a few seconds longer. She was close, so close. She came with a shout, her clutching fingers carefully telegraphing how long he could continue to draw out her climax before she trembled and sagged, clenching her oversensitive flesh away from his hungry mouth. "Holy shit, Thane," she gasped, heaving for breath and sprawling against the mattress. He climbed atop her and she kissed him without hesitation and he growled - he couldn't deny he found it irrefutably erotic how she cleaned the taste of herself off his lips. Clumsy hands fumbled at his shorts, stroking his burning length, urging him to bring it to her lips. Maybe another night - he thought. Right now he burned to bury himself inside her. He felt her tense in anticipation, her eyes cracked open and gleaming in the moonlight, slowly blinking up at him with a look so unguarded he could have wept. She guided him to her slick entrance and he slowly pushed inside, groaning as her hungry, supple flesh tempted him into her scorching depths and at last, he hilted inside her. He set a languid pace, cradling her hips in his hands, searching for the perfect angle to make her see the stars she missed so dearly behind her closed eyes. With her core hypersensitive in the glow of her climax, she clutched at him desperately, nails digging into the scales of his back with such force he thought for sure they would be discolored before long. He didn't care. Becoming one with her, seeing her completely blissed out by each roll of his hips and knowing he could make her feel this way made him shake with wanting. He covered her with his body, ravishing her lips against pleasured cries that came so resoundingly he was sure to hear "who was getting lucky last night?" in the morning. He belonged to her - this night and as many nights as she wanted him. She made him delirious in her pleasure. Her body demanded his release. Held within her wanting arms, he finally succumbed with a hoarse, drawn out cry. For seconds he was infinite, a whirlwind of white hot ecstasy fraying him apart until he found his sweetest end in her embrace. And then there was nothing but her and the caress of crisp, evening air wafting over him. A gift from the earth to bless their joining. He shivered with the aftershocks. Soft hands trailed down his back. He didn't know how long they remained before separating. In the afterglow, memories overtook him easily. Vivid remembrances of Irikah and Shepard tumbled together and he slipped in and out of them like the rolling of coastal waters. It was difficult to rationalize how he could deserve either of them, what he could have done to earn the love of the fierce and cosmic women who touched his heart. But as Shepard's breathing slowed from heavy to peaceful beside him,

his doubts were pushed aside. Arashu herself had sent him a divine protector, and he would not refuse her gifts. "You're the best," she murmured against him, and he could hear the daze of sleep trailing her gentle voice. Just a sigh of breath as she tucked her head against his chest and whispered:

"I love you." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Thanks for reading!

If you like creating shrios content, you're welcome to hop on board the challenge! My previous fills [AO3]:

Secrets in the Steam [Prompt: Wet]

Your Gods are My Gods [Prompt: Pray]

[love-and-monsters]

Arunio the Merman

Happy Mermay everybody! In honor of this wonderful month, here’s a story about a lovely merman. I had a good time writing this (it’s a bit longer than usual) so I hope you all enjoy.

Male merman X gender neutral reader, 6,447 words

Living near the sea was supposed to be peaceful.

It wasn’t during the day, that was for sure. Living on the boardwalk meant hearing the constant chatter of tourists and visitors outside from dawn until dusk. But the rent hadn’t been bad, considering it was beachfront property, and working in the shop downstairs meant that your travel expenses were nearly nonexistent. It had been a great stroke of luck that you’d been able to get a job and a home in one fell swoop- apparently the owner of the shop wanted someone to watch over everything at night and open early in the morning and had been willing to drop rent significantly in return.

You had been expecting there to be crowds and noise during the day. But the night, at least when there weren’t events, was supposed to be quiet. The beach was closed, and even the people who snuck on were at least somewhat quiet, lest the police show up.

Despite this, you had been woken every night, just after midnight, by someone singing.

At least, it was probably singing. That was the only way you could describe the unearthly wailing that came from the water’s edge. The tone ululated, notes wavering in a way that seemed both sad and hopeful.

The sound seemed unusually loud, given that you were fairly certain it was coming from the beach and your house wasn’t that close. And no amount of closing windows or pulling pillows over your head would make the sound go away. If anything, it became more insistent, needling against your brain until you gave up and lay awake for the requisite hour.

It was always an hour, or thereabouts. The song would remain constant until at least one, then it would fade away and you would have to try and fall back asleep again. That would have been easier if the song wasn’t so haunting. You would drift off, almost to sleep, and then you would remember a particularly moving swell or feel the tremor of hopeful notes in your chest and you would be awake again, eyes brimming with tears.

After a week, you felt like you were going mad. The lack of sleep had fogged your brain and the notes seemed to haunt you during the day. It was when you realized that you were humming it under your breath at work that you decided something needed to be done.

Your plan was simple. Sneak onto the beach after closing, find whoever was singing, and tell them, quite politely, to shut it. You weren’t sure how the mysterious singer would take that, but you were hoping you could look at least intimidating enough to get them to move somewhere else.

The beach was quiet after dark, the only noise being the rushing of the waves as they hit the shore. It was a soothing sound, one that lulled you into a doze despite the coarse sand.

A long, low note brought you out of your sleep. You jerked awake, song ringing in your ears. The beach was dark, only a thin sliver of moonlight illuminating the water. And in the little line of light, there was the singer.

For a moment, you thought he was lying very awkwardly on the beach, arms supporting his torso while his legs splayed behind him. And then, as your eyes adjusted to the scant lighting, you saw the fins at his waist and on his sides and the enormous tail that made up his lower half. Multilayered, frilly fins billowed in the constant motions of the waves.

A merman. A fucking merman. You’d never seen one. You didn’t know anyone who’d seen one. Mermaids were rare, but you’d seen a few older ones acting as ambassadors to humans. Mermen were almost never seen- apparently their society was matriarchal and they remained sequestered beneath the waves, with little opportunities to interact with the above-water world.

 He was a striking specimen. Dark stripes lined his tail and torso, and thin spines lifted along his back. His hair fell to his shoulders, fluffed into a lion-like mane. As you watched him, he tilted his head back and opened his mouth.

The song poured forth. It felt like a physical force now that you were close. The notes suffused your skin. It felt like the song was something you could touch, feel with every cell in your body.

It was a dizzying sensation and it took you a moment to gather yourself. “Hey!”

The song stopped. His head whipped toward you, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. For a long moment, there was no sound except the crashing of the waves on the beach.

The merman sagged, lowering himself closer to the beach. “You heard me singing?”

His mouth didn’t move. You heard the words, but it took you a moment to realize you’d heard them in your head. Well, that explained why putting pillows over your head hadn’t helped. “I came here because I heard you singing,” you told him. “You’re loud.”

His head tilted slowly to one side. There were stripes along his cheekbones. “You heard me,” he repeated. This time, his tone was less surprised and more contemplative. He peered up at you, head tilting back and forth.

“Yes,” you repeated tersely. You were wondering if he was a little slow. “It’s loud. I heard you all the way from my house.”

The merman’s eyes widened and he smiled. His teeth were long and pointed. “And it drew you here?”

“Yes,” you said, starting to lose your patience. “Because it was keeping me awake. I know singing is important for merfolk, but if you could do it at another time, that would be very helpful, because I really need to get some sleep.”

The merman jerked forward, taking hold of your hand. Before you could even react, he pressed the back of your head to his forehead and he sang.

This time, the notes didn’t seem to move into you from the outside so much as they started inside you. They vibrated under your skin, swelled in the hollow of your chest. You could feel every rise and fall of the notes in the swoop of your stomach.

When he released your hand, you stumbled. It felt like you had been floating out of your body for a moment and when he let go of you, you had been slammed back into your heavy physical form.

“What,” you said, between heavy breaths, “was that?”

“Our song,” the merman said, sounding exceedingly pleased.

“Our song,” you repeated.

The merman’s tail swished back and forth in the surf. “Mermen sing to find their mates,” he said. “We separate from our pods and sing until our mate finds us.” He ducked his head a little. “I have been traveling for several lunes. But no one has been drawn to my song. Until now.”

You opened your mouth slowly. He looked so hopeful that it was hard to get the words out. “I didn’t come because I was drawn to your song. You woke me up. I was just trying to see what was making the noise.”

The merman tilted his head to one side. The fins on either side of his head, where his ears should have been, flexed slowly. “You heard me,” he repeated. It was the sort of tone you would use with a particularly dumb child.

“Yes,” you said. “But I didn’t come because I thought it was a good song. It kept waking me up.”

The merman was silent for a moment, just looking at you steadily. You wondered if he was getting a crick in his neck from having to look up for so long. “I think you are misunderstanding,” he said after a moment. “The song should be beautiful, but mates are not chosen by whose song they enjoy the most. They are chosen by who hears it.”

You sat slowly on the beach. The surf washed over your feet. “Explain.”

“Our songs are personal. They come from our hearts. Only those who are connected to us can hear our songs.” He frowned. “This is difficult to explain. I know the human tongue, but it lacks the words. Our mate songs are produced on the deepest level of our selves. Only those who are on the same level can hear us. Only our mates.”

“It’s like frequencies,” you said. “You produce your songs on a certain frequency, and only someone who is on the same frequency can hear you.”

“You have heard the song. Which means that you are connected to me.” He rested a hand over his chest. “My mate.”

“I’m… human, though,” you said. “How is that possible?”

“The song has touched humans before. I have heard legends of humans who left the land to become notes in the great song. And merfolk who deafened themselves to the chorus to sing only with their partner. Humans may be mute, but rarely are they deaf to the song in its entirety.”

The waves were rising, pulling further up onto shore. You ignored it. “Humans who left the land?”

“They became part of the song,” he said, as if that explained anything at all. “They allowed themselves to become part of it, became singers. Their voices are always weaker, but the song allows all participants.”

“I don’t understand.”

He patted your hand. “You do not need to. Not now.” He glanced at the rising water. “I must return to the sea. But I will see you again. Listen for me. My song will guide you.”

He lifted your hand and pressed his lips to it. A measure of music flowed through you, rapid and trilling, and then he broke contact. With a fluid, twisting motion, he plunged into the rising surf. A few strokes of his powerful tail, and he had drifted back out to the ocean.

You sat on the beach for a few moments. Once or twice, you thought you saw his tail fin break the surface of the waves, but it was distant enough that it could have just been an oddly shaped wave.

Finally, when you were certain he was gone and he wasn’t coming back, you turned and marched up the beach, back to your house.

You did manage to fall asleep when you got into bed. Catching up on a week’s worth of missed sleep wasn’t going to wait for a time when your mind was less full. But your dreams were odd and full of mournful, melodic song.

When you woke up, you weren’t feeling significantly rested, so you did something you hadn’t since you’d gotten your job: you called out sick. You needed some time to think.

After eating breakfast, you grabbed your laptop and began to do some research.

Merfolk weren’t well-understood by humans. There were only a few consistent pieces of information that popped up: they were largely nomadic, they had some sort of telepathic ability that they referred to as ‘singing’, and they were largely matriarchal, with men expected to leave their pods once they came of age and seek out a mate. Everything else was largely steeped in hearsay and folklore.

Attempting to look specifically toward merfolk and humans being mated was even more of a mire of misinformation. Most of what you found seemed to be erotic fiction, and most of that was very poorly written. Even the stuff that could have been true was inconsistent, or didn’t match with what your merman had told you.

You rubbed your hands over your face. There were stories about merfolk and humans hooking up, but that was all they seemed to be. Just stories. But your merman had seemed certain it was real.

Then again, merfolk didn’t delineate fact from fiction the same way humans did. They told stories and sang songs, and whatever made for a better story or song was what got passed on. The listener got to decide what they believed was true.

“Fuck.” You leaned back in your bed and rubbed at your temples. So, what he mentioned about humans and mefolk being together could have been true. Or it could have been legends and tall tales. There was no way to tell. He probably didn’t even know.

You tried to dig deeper, find out more, but they were stubbornly mysterious. Half the things people said about them were contradictory, and if any merfolk had come to land to find their mates, they had kept their mouths shut. If you wanted to know anything about merfolk, there was only one source you could go to.

Which meant that, when midnight approached, you were down on the beach, waiting for him to return.

His song preceded him. Your heart pounded in almost perfect time with the rhythm and his long, gentle notes rang in your head. Then you saw his tail break the surface of the water close to the shore and he swam up onto the beach.

When the water grew too shallow for him to swim further, he hauled himself out with his arms. His tail worked against the sand, pushing himself fully out of the water.

“I’m glad you came,” he said as you approached him. “I was not sure that you would.”

You sat down in front of him as he fully pulled himself out of the water. “I was trying to learn more about merfolk,” you said. “You said that merfolk have taken humans as mates before, but I haven’t seen anything about that.”

“Merfolk songs travel further than human ones. And we notice new singers more readily than humans.”

“New singers?”

“New merfolk, to add their voices to the eversong,” he said. “If you come to the sea with me, you will join your voice with the eversong. Or, if you are unwilling to become a singer, I can deafen myself to the song and come to be with you.”

“You would be willing to do that?” you asked.

He closed his eyes. “Sometimes, a singer must leave the song for it to resolve properly. And the mate song is absolute. I may return to the sea, but I will never find another one who will hear my song. I would like to be heard.”

You looked out over the waves as the flowed up onto the beach. “Do I have to decide now?”

He rested his hand over yours. “When it begins to grow cold, I will not be able to stay here. I will either need to return to the deeper sea or leave it altogether.”

“So, I have the summer,” you said. He nodded. His hand shifted, squeezing your fingers. “Okay.”

“Listen for the eversong,” he suggested. “Humans make poor listeners, but some have claimed to hear it before.” A few notes chimed in your head, though you were fairly certain they were his. “I should return to the sea now. But I will see you again.”

His hand reached up for your face and cupped your chin. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, then he turned and plunged back into the waves.

Going to the beach at night became a new part of your routine. He was nearly always waiting for you or just a few minutes from showing up. And it rapidly became the best part of your day.

Most of the time, you would talk. He was interested in learning about life on land and you got to learn a lot about his culture.

“My name?” he asked when you requested it. “It is-” He stopped and sang out a series of tremulous notes.

 You tried to hum them back to him. Hitting the notes wasn’t hard, but there was a deeper, ringing tone to his voice that you couldn’t replicate. Your voice sounded oddly flat in comparison.It

He laughed, dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Your pronunciation needs work,” he said. “For a name easier on your tongue, try Arunio.”

“Ah-roo-nee-oh,” you repeated. There was a musical cadence to the way he spoke that you tried to replicate. He nodded.

“Would you like me to give you a merfolk name?” he asked. “I have one in mind.”

“Go for it,” you said.

He placed his hand over yours and sang. It was a high, ringing noise, almost like a peal of laughter and it made warmth radiate through your chest.

“That’s my name?” you asked. He grinned, tail swishing through the water.

“You like it? It means…” He paused, tapping a long nail against his lower lip. “There is no human word that is exactly equivalent. It is the way sunlight looks when it cuts through clear water and you can feel its warmth on your back when you swim.”

A lump wedged itself into your throat. You had to swallow a few times before you could speak. “That’s beautiful,” you said. “What does your name mean?”

He laughed. “It means ‘one who wanders into fortune’. It is supposed to have been part of an old blessing given to mermen when they leave their pods.” He rested his chin on your knee. “Supposedly, it brings luck.”

You reached your fingers out and tentatively stroked them over his hair. It wasn’t particularly soft or silky- you weren’t even sure it was technically hair- but he made a pleasant humming noise in his chest whenever you touched him there, so you kept it up. “Do you think it worked?”

A gentle laugh vibrated through his chest. “Yes. I think it worked quite well.”

The night always finished with him singing quietly to you. Even on nights where you couldn’t make it to the beach, you could hear him calling to you. It kept you awake just as much as it had before, but you didn’t mind it. The song followed you into your dreams, filling them with oceans and swimming.

As the summer went on, your visits became slightly more infrequent. The shop only got busier as the peak of the season approached, and you could no longer afford missing the extra hours of sleep. He still sang to you, but, as per your request, the songs came earlier in the night. You drifted off to the sound of his singing sinking into your skin.

Just after the midpoint of summer, the shop was the busiest it had been all season. The only contact you’d had with Arunio all week had been his singing at night. Not only was manning the shop more difficult than usual, but you were expected to assist with making some of the candy that went out, which meant earlier mornings and later nights. The combination of exhaustion and missing Arunio meant that you weren’t entirely surprised when you thought, for half a second, that he had just walked into your shop.

The resemblance was striking. The hair was the same shade of deep red and it tumbled to his shoulders in a tousled mane. His features were similar too, with the same sharp nose and clever-looking eyes. But his skin was freckled, and there was, of course, he fact that he was walking. He was even wearing clothes. Touristy clothes. Both his shirt and pants were plastered with the beach’s logo, a bold fashion choice considering its gaudiness. But it wasn’t exactly out-of-place, so you went back to slicing off chunks of fudge for your current customer without another thought.

That was, until he spoke.

“I’ve missed you!”

You had been crouched down to rearrange part of the display case and you stood up so fast that you nearly slammed your head on the glass. There was no mistaking that voice. It wasn’t exactly the same. For one thing, you were hearing it outside of your head, instead of inside it, and, because of that, it lacked a certain richness. But other than that, it was exactly the same.

Arunio was leaning over the counter, a wide grin on his face. Now that you were getting a better look at his face, you felt stupid for not knowing it had been him at first. The freckles- looking at them properly, you could see that they weren’t in the standard scattered form of freckles. They outlined the shape of his stripes.

“You’re human!” you said, barely remembering to keep your voice down. “How- how did you-?”

“I told you about merfolk leaving the sea behind before,” he said. “I sang and the song moved, and it changed me.” He twisted a lock of hair around his fingers. “I thought it would be much quieter on land, without the song. But humans are quite loud themselves.”

“You- you changed?” you asked. “How do you turn back? Can you turn back?”

“I asked the song to change me back when I return to the sea,” he said. “The changing is difficult, though. I cannot attempt it again soon.”

“But you can go back and forth?” you said. “Can I change back and forth?”

“Yes. But it is not an easy process. It stresses the body. Doing it multiple times in a short period would be strenuous. The person doing it would grow ill if they attempted it often,” he explained. “But I wished to see you again. Even if I cannot sing for you in this form.”

Luckily you hadn’t gone on your lunch break yet, so you hurriedly clocked out and joined Arunio on the boardwalk. Now that you were getting a better look at him, you could see that his walk was unusual. He wobbled a little and would occasionally forget to move his legs so he tripped and stumbled. None of this seemed to dampen his spirits, though, and it gave him the rather endearing quality of an overexcited puppy.

“It’s very loud!” he said, speaking over the constant noise of the boardwalk. “And it’s very bright.” He squinted directly up at the sun.

“Don’t do that,” you said. “You’ll go blind.”

He looked back down at you. “And there are so many smells!” He sniffed at the air, head turning back and forth.

“Yeah, it’s a boardwalk. It’s got a lot of food,” you said. “Speaking of which, I should probably get some lunch. Do you want anything?”

His eyes widened when you led him up to one of the food stands and he saw the selection. “I’ve never had human food before,” he said into your ear. “What should I get?”

“Anything look good to you?” you asked. Arunio sniffed again, turning toward the fried food in the stand.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a tangle of fried dough.

“A funnel cake. You want it?” He nodded. “Okay.” You ordered a slice of pizza and the funnel cake. He took it tentatively, eyes wide. The flimsy paper plate bent under the weight of fried dough and sugar.

You guided him over to a table and bit into your pizza. He peered tentatively at the funnel cake, apparently uncertain how to eat it. “Just grab a chunk, pull it off, and eat,” you said, demonstrating. He watched you pop it in your mouth, then mimicked you.

“Oh! It’s hot!” he said, clapping a hand to his mouth. You laughed at his startled expression.

“Yeah, it’s fresh. Just came out of the fryer.” He chewed, swallowed, and licked the powdered sugar off his fingers, before tugging off another bite. His eyes closed and he made a contented noise in the back of his throat. “You like it?”

“It’s good!” he said. “I’ve never had anything like this stuff.” He poked the powdered sugar with a finger and licked it off.

“It’s sugar. I guess they wouldn’t have sugar under the ocean,” you said. “It’s not good for you to have too much of it, but it does taste good, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, snagging another bite. You finished off your pizza, offering him the last few bites.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” you said. “I’ll see if I can get off early, though. Maybe we can do something before everything closes. Can you come back around five?” He gave you a blank look. “Oh, shit, right. You wouldn’t know time. Look, why don’t you hang around the shop? I’ll let you know when I get off.”

He nodded agreeably and you left him just outside the shop. Every now and then, you saw him through the enormous glass windows of the shop. He stared out over the beach, watching the waves hit the shore.

It took some pleading and promises to come in earlier, but you managed to get off for the rest of the evening. Arunio pulled you into a crushing hug when you approached him. “You got off! Are you done for the rest of the evening?”

“Yeah. Figured that if you were going to be on land, we might as well take some time to see the sights.” You wriggled away from him and held out a box. “I got some candies for you.”

He poked through the box, peering at the assorted chocolates there. “These are food?” he said, peering at the shiny wrapping.

“You have to take the paper off first,” you said, unwrapping one and holding it out to him. “Here.”

He took it delicately from your fingers with his teeth. “These are sweet too,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s chocolate. They’ve got sugar in them,” you said. “They’re good, aren’t they?” He nodded, unwrapping another.

You walked along the boardwalk together. Sometimes you stopped to play one of the carnival games or looked through one of the touristy shops. Arunio was pretty poor at all the games, but he seemed to genuinely thrilled by them that you let him go over and over again, ignoring how much of a hole he was burning in your wallet.

Eventually, as the sun started to set, you walked out to an empty pier. “The land isn’t what I thought it would be like,” Arunio said. “But I did enjoy it.” He sat down, letting his legs dangle into the water.

“I’m glad,” you said. “I had a good time today too.” You peered down at the dark water. “But you have to return to the sea now, huh?”

“I should,” he said. “And I won’t be able to be on land again for a while.” He looked at you. “Are you going to be able to visit me again soon?”

“I’ll try,” you said. “The peak of the season will be over soon, so I’ll be able to get out sooner.”

He signed, shifting on the pier. “Okay. Don’t stay away too long, all right?” He looked at you through his lashes. “I miss you.”

He moved to jump off the pier, but you put a hand on his chest. “Hold on.” He paused and you reached out, resting your fingers under his chin. You saw his eyes widen a second before you leaned in and kissed him.

He tasted both sweet, like chocolate, and salty, like the sea. His lips moved under yours, tongue tentatively prodding against your mouth. It was a slow, tentative kiss, one that made happiness swell slowly in your chest.

When you broke away, there was a wide-eyed expression on Arunio’s face. “Thank you,” he said faintly. You snorted, surprised, and a faint blush crept up his cheeks. “I enjoyed that.”

“I did too,” you said. “Um. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Right,” Arunio agreed. He ducked in and pressed another, brief kiss to your lips before slipping under the waves.

Gradually, the season slowed and you had more time to spend with Arunio. Your conversations often turned toward the land, and he would ask about things he’d seen. Eventually, you started just taking your phone out and showing him some of your photos. He was fascinated by it, though you were cautious about letting him hold it. You trusted him, but his scaled palms were a little slick and you didn’t want to risk losing your phone in the waves.

Later on one night, you finally got up your courage to ask him. “You said it was possible for me to join you in the water,” you said. He tilted his head a little, fins twitching.

“You want to go swimming?” he asked.

“Sort of,” you said. “I was wondering if it was possible… For me to do the thing you did to come up on land?”

His eyes widened and he clasped your hands in his. “You want to become a merfolk?”

“Not permanently. Like what you did to become a human. Try it out,” you said. He nodded agreeably, grinning.

“Yes! Okay. Take off your clothes.”

You blanched. He waited. “I have to get naked?”

He tilted his head. “Yes? You could keep the shirt, I suppose, but it will be uncomfortable. And the pants will get in the way of the tail.” He shrugged. “I’m not wearing anything.”

Well, that was true. Embarrassed, you shucked your clothes, folded them up in a secluded spot where hopefully no one would notice them, and slipped into the water.

It was cold, even though the night air was still pleasantly warm. Arunio carefully swam out to sea beside you, until the water was up to your chest and it was getting hard to keep your feet on the sand.

“It will be easier under the water,” Arunio said. He tugged at your elbow. “Come under.”

You took in a deep breath and went down. Stinging salt squeezed past your closed eyelids and the waves tugged at you. Arunio’s hands rested on your arms, steadying you. Then they moved, coming to rest on either side of her face.

He sang. The music was loud and repetitive, like a rhythmic chant. It plunged into your skin, reaching every last portion of your body. The noise resonated through you. Every one of your cells seemed to be vibrating at that exact frequency. There was no sensation, just the music inside you, ringing through you, filling you completely.

The music stopped. You sagged, currents buffeting you. Your body felt distant, as if you were floating above it, connected with a thin tether.

Arunio took hold of your arm, pulling your through the water with him. “Can you move?” he asked you. There was a resonant quality to his voice, something musical that hadn’t been there before. “Swish your tail. Move your arms.”

Your tail. Slowly, you could feel your senses returning and everything from your waist down felt different. Your legs felt heavy and long. No, not your legs. Your tail. You had a tail.

You opened your eyes and looked.

Where your legs had once been, there was now a pale orange tail, with a large, white fin. A look at your arms showed that scales had sprouted and fins had formed at your forearms. You could feel the fins on the side of your head twitching in the currents.

And then your sense of hearing kicked in and you didn’t really care about the tail anymore.

The ocean, you had always thought, was eerily silent. You had been wrong. You just hadn’t been able to hear.

The ocean was full of song.

Music rippled with the currents, overlapping in a constant chorus. An endless resonant hum of beautiful, ringing sound. It was almost dizzying.

“You hear it?” Arunio asked. One of his hands rested on your shoulder, his tail brushing against yours. “The eversong?”

You nodded slowly. “It’s beautiful.”

The words came out in the same burst of musical telepathy Arunio used. The action had been instinctive, just like using the gills on your neck.

“It is,” Arunio agreed. He took your hand and began to swim.

Your tails brushed with every stroke. Arunio would occasionally dart down to the bottom of the ocean and scoop up a shell or piece of glass and offer it to you. He was an elegant swimmer, able to perform twists and twirls. You couldn’t manage much more than just moving in a straight line.

“You’ll get better,” Arunio promised. “You just need practice”

The two of you swam for a long time. When you came up tot eh surface to get your bearings, the shore was just a thin line on the horizon. The moon had reached its zenith above you and the waves shone silver with its light.

“You need to head back soon, don’t you?” Arunio asked.

“I should,” you said. Arunio took hold of your hand and pulled you back down under the water.

“Before you go,” he said. “I wanted to sing for you. While you can really hear it.”

One of his hands rested on your shoulder and he closed his eyes. The song you’d heard many nights before began again.

This time, it made your heart leap and your chest tremble. It struck something deep inside you. Something at the junction of your throat shivered and you sang back.

The notes were weak and wavering, but the instant they came out, Arunio stopped singing. In the silence, you faltered and stopped.

Arunio made a noise of delight. “You have a beautiful voice. It’s a little weak, but you just need practice.” He moved in close, one of his hands cupping your face. “I’ll teach you.”

He kissed you and sang at the same moment and the combination of sensations was overwhelming. You felt your own voice respond, almost involuntarily. The song still felt weak, but it was earnest and Arunio responded eagerly, pressing his mouth harder against yours.

It was difficult to breathe while kissing him, you discovered, which meant that you needed to separate eventually. Arunio smiled. “We’ll need to do this again,” he said. “But now you need to go home.”

He pulled you into the shallows and placed his hands on your face again. The song vibrated through you again. When it went silent, your legs were back.

Arunio helped you out of the water, squirming up onto the beach as far as he could. You fetched your clothes and dressed quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, crouching next to him. “Thank you for that.”

He reached up for you at the same moment you reached down for him and your lips met in the middle. Arunio gave a contented sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

You watched him as he swam away until he vanished completely under the waves. Reluctantly, you returned home.

The summer continued on, and the decision grew harder and harder to make. The ocean was alluring, mysterious, and Arunio was there. But everything else you knew was on land. You didn’t really want to leave everything behind.

As it turned out, the decision was partially made for you.

You went out to meet Arunio at the shore’s edge, as you always did. He greeted you with an eager kiss, then settled down in the surf. “How was your day?”

You sighed. “Not great.” Arunio tilted his head, brows furrowing in concern. “My job is the only reason I have somewhere to live right now. But apparently, once the summer is over, the store doesn’t need as much help. So, I’m probably going to lose my job.”

“I’m sorry,” Arunio said. You weren’t sure how much he understood of the concept of a job or a house, but he at least understood that it was something to be upset about.

“I can get it back next summer. But I don’t know what to do in the meantime,” you said.

A pained smile crossed Arunio’s face. “I suppose this means you’re not going to be coming with me?” he asked. “I’ll need to head back out to deeper water soon.”

You rested your head on your knees. “I don’t know. I want to be with you. Really, I do. But everything I know is here. It would be hard to leave it all behind.”

Arunio still smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I know it must be difficult. I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you said, running your fingers through his hair. “I want to be with you. But I can’t stay in the sea forever. This place is my home too…” You trailed off.

“It’s okay,” Arunio sid, though there was a small tremble in his voice. “I’ll be back. We’ll see each other again.”

“Uh huh,” you said. “Hold on. How often can a person change back and forth between merfolk and human?”

Aruino tilted his head. “There’s no set time limit. But I would suggest not doing it more than once every couple of lunes.”

“Okay,” you said. “That works.”

He looked blank. “What works?”

“I have an idea,” you said. “I don’t know if it’ll work for you, but I think it’s something we can try.” Arunio waited. “I can have the job and the house during the summer, and that’s also the time you can spend here. And when it’s not the summer, I can go with you. Out into the ocean. That way, I won’t have to leave the land behind, or you either.”

“I can stay on the shore with you in summer,” Arunio said. “We can live together. It’s a fair trade.”

“So, you’re okay with this idea?” you asked. “It works for you?”

Arunio stretched a hand up, cupped your face in his palm. “It means I can spend more time with you. Of course I’m okay with it.”

It took a few weeks to get everything set up for your journey. Personal effects needed to be stored and the few items that couldn’t be stored needed to be given to people who wouldn’t ask a lot of questions about where you were. You spun a complicated story about traveling and work and hoped people wouldn’t ask too may questions.

On the last day, you stood on the beach. It was sunset, but Arunio had found a secluded shoal where you could change in privacy.

“Are you ready?” he asked as you undressed and stepped into the waves.

“I’m ready.” He took your hand and drew you out in the water. Again, you sank beneath the waves and his hands rested on either side of your face.

The song rang through the water and your ears opened to the music of the ocean again. Arunio beamed as you flicked your tail, swimming clumsily around him.

“I’ll guide you,” he said. “It’ll take a while to get back to the pod. But it means plenty of time to practice swimming.” He hummed out a few notes that trilled with happiness. “And time to practice singing.”

You drifted closer and took his hand. “I’m looking forward to it.”

[spc4eva]

Mandokar: Chapter Four

I’m weak willed y’all. Enjoy the years flying by. *cries in hopeless romantic* I couldn’t stop myself - HERE HAVE IT.

Summary: The years make the heart grow fonder. But the Empire looms on the horizon and they’ll not leave any planet untouched. 

Word Count: 17,673

Rating: M (+18) latter part of the chapter contains full on smut - praise kink, the helmets stay on, dirty talking, unprotected, vaginal, and fingering

Warning: mentions of questionable consent for touching and coercion past comfort

Cross Posted on AO3

Masterlist

Din was the first to return. He'd not really been expecting it to go any other way, but he had sort of hoped that Sena might be waiting, gracing him with a middle finger and arrogant helmet tilt. Instead, he knelt before the Elders in the Foundry as he handed over the supplies purchased with the credits from his hunt. Shustii, the only other mando who did not wear a helmet amongst the council, creased a smile amongst her wrinkles. 

"You have impressed the Tribe, Djarin," her trembling elderly voice announced, speaking for the group. His own eyes went to Rhenx, whom he had always admired, but it was always Shustii who gave him attention. "You are the first to return from your Trial and with a bountiful harvest. For your success, you shall move forward in your training."

Din bowed his head respectfully, pausing in the position, before coming back up mechanically. Waiting for his dismissal, it was given when Shustii nodded, allowing for him to get back to his feet. The Armorer stepped forward and acquired his offering before he turned around, departing from the Foundry. While he was proud to be the first one back, he also didn't think the job had been that difficult. His bounty had all but sobbed at his feet, begging not to be taken in. Up to his eyeballs in debt, the man knew he was going to be killed or forced into servitude. None of that was Din's problem. It was a job and the man had done this to himself. 

He wondered what the rest of his vod were up to, trying to silently place his bets on the order in which they'd return. He banked on Sena being a close contender, followed by Kedth and Xivi (who had decided to wait until she was 17 to go on her hunt). He was absolutely astonished to see Aya return next, but quickly realized that it wasn't because she had been successful. Over the years, since her loss to Sena, she'd cut herself off more from the rest of the group. He didn't pity her, as he took his own solace on not always being a part of the main crowd, but they were opposites. He took his part in the Tribe very seriously and Aya did not try. Most of her peers disliked her, Din included, because of what she'd done after the end of her duel. The mando had never apologized for it and Sena was quite popular within their class and outside of it with hunters around her brother's age. If she had just apologized, her luck might've been much better. 

From the sag of her shoulders and the uneasy amount of time she was locked in the Foundry, Din knew she had failed. Noticing her departure at dusk, he could hear her cries coming out from her vocoder as she dejectedly wandered off. People who failed were allowed to try again when they were older and would eventually be assigned duties around the covert. Since they were not talented enough to manage easy bounties, they would be put to better use in doing things like cooking, raising the Foundlings, and supply requisitions. These were not bad jobs, as they were necessary for the Tribe to function, but it had to be a hard pill to swallow - watching your peers move on and being barred behind because of incompetence. 

Kedth arrived the following day, brimming with pride, and leaving the Foundry after a short hour of talking with the Elders. 

"Who else has come back?" Kedth asked, finding him in the Den.

"Aya failed, but she is the only other one," he answered, feet kicked up on the edge of the hearth table where flames sputtered up from the center.

"Dank farrik, I beat the Vizslas?" Kedth let out a little hoot of victory. "Knew I wasn't gonna beat you, but I expected Sena to be neck and neck with you."

"Depends on where her bounty was," Din shrugged. By this point he assumed it was a lengthy distance, because she wouldn't have taken their bet if she knew she was going to lose. He thumbed something in his pocket, contemplating whether or not after the First Trial was the best time to give it. He'd already noticed Hyvhast eying Sena and after they left normal classes, any of the female mandos would become fair game. It hadn't been his intention to eye up his rival, but he also didn't like the idea of anyone other than himself hunting her.

"Did you hear me Djarin?" Kedth intoned. 

"What?" he tilted his visor back, dropping his hand from his pocket. 

"I asked who you think is gonna get here next."

He shrugged, unable to levy bets when they had no idea where their vod were in the Outer Rim. They didn't have to wait around too long. Oyiin followed, which began making him anxious. Xivi was next, followed by Vowr, and finally Sena. Everyone had passed and he knew that Vizsla had too by the hefty supplies she dragged with her to the Foundry. Din waited for her to be released, darkness falling over the village before she stepped out of the Foundry, the moonlight catching the golden paint on her armor, lighting it up like a beacon against her dark armor. 

"Looks like you lost," he announced smugly.

Sena's helmet turned up toward him, a strange, uncharacteristic line in her shoulders as she just stared. "Whatever," she grumbled and walked away. 

He assumed she was just bitter, trotting after her. "Where did your bounty take you?" he inquired casually.

She did not answer, quickening her pace as she carved the path back to the Vizsla house. 

This disquieted him. Sena was a blabber mouth, more than eager to talk about her success and paint vivid stories with her words. " Vod ?"

"I don't want to talk about it," her crisp voice was cold and distant.

"Did you fail?" That was the wrong question. Of course she hadn't failed. Din had watched her carrying in her supplies, but he couldn't logically find another reason why she wouldn't just say what happened.

"No."

"Then what-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" she snarled. The Vizsla temper was infamous around the Tribe, but it wasn't often that it was bared. Most knew to be wary of it as Hux had once displayed how terrible their family's temper could be. There were a few times where Paz had threatened to teeter over that delicate edge, but his antagonizers quickly backed off as Big Blue had become the largest person in the Tribe. 

He didn't find out why she was so upset until he was sparring with Paz later in the week. Sena had been incredibly quiet compared to usual. While she was amongst her friends, she didn't contribute to the conversation or answer questions as frequently as typical. He parried a thrust, bones ringing beneath his vambrace at the strength in Paz's well placed strike. If he had to guess, this Vizsla also seemed rather irritated. 

"Hey," Din muttered once they'd come to a close, his heart pounding his chest, Paz shoving the straw of his water bottle underneath his helmet before greedily drinking. "Are you two alright? Since coming back from the First Trial-" he trailed off, Paz glaring at him and straightening at the suggestion. 

"What's it matter to you?" the blue mando asked sharply. 

"We're  vod ," Din offered poorly. 

For a fleeting second, Din thought that Paz was going to pummel him into the ground. Instead, a breath hissed through his vocoder, crackling slightly at the end. "Mission was tough on us," was all he was willing to admit. 

The answer was cryptic and Din still didn't comprehend. "Tough quarry?"

"I wish," Paz grumbled. "Just don't bother her about it. She just needs some time to cool down. Ready for another round?"

8BBY

Cooling down took much longer than Din had expected. His thoughts wandered about what had happened that was enough to shake Sena and Paz. Whatever it was, he couldn't even begin to fathom it, but it must've been bad. Training continued as usual and he clung to the small gift he had intended on giving her way longer, until it became just a familiar weight in his pocket, and he shrank back as older hunters began talking to her. Paz was almost always nearby, hovering like a menacing shadow, refusing to allow anyone who wasn't a classmate of hers linger for more than a couple of minutes.

As annoying as that might've been for Sena, Din was thankful for it. Or, he had been until Hyvhast finally broke through her denials and disinterest, officially staking his claim on Sena after their Second Trial. To say that Din was bitter was an absolute understatement, sparing his friend long stares as he noticed keldabe kisses being exchanged between her and Hyvhast. Beyond that, he didn't know what else was going on relationship-wise and felt too peeved (and awkward) to even think about asking her how things were going. 

It wasn't permanent was it? Maybe eventually Sena would see that Din was a better hunter and leave behind Hyvhast. He snorted at his dumb thoughts, aware that Hyvhast's unrelenting persistence was the only reason Sena had agreed to court with him. Din Djarin had done nothing to express his feelings toward her. In fact, he'd held onto the gift he'd intended on giving her for two years. Not once had he felt it was the right time to give it to her and come the end of the Second Trial, she was suddenly taken. 

He'd grown closer to Paz, not because it suited him, but because he liked the Vizsla. Always willing to help when he had time, Paz made for a great companion and an even better teacher. Din would have been an idiot not to take advantage of the other male's knowledge. They'd gone a few hunts together and out of most people, he found he preferred working with Paz to those he grew up with. 

"Where's the Guild that we're headed to?" Paz yawned, cleaning his heavy blaster before the mission, setting the pieces spread on the table in the Vizsla  karyai . 

"Felucia," Din answered shortly. Wasn't the best planet, in fact it was incredibly humid and sticky, swampy to the point where just walking around town felt as if it soaked you straight through, but the Guild outpost there was remote and nondescript. "Where do you usually go?"

"Dadrus," Paz was cleaning the bolt still with a rag, wiping away the residue before picking up  his ale and drinking it through a straw. "Not too bad out there. The Guild Master is fond of Sena, so he tends to give us good pucks."

"Where is she? I haven't seen her around recently," Din commented, trying to sound disinterested and nonchalant. 

"She went out tonight," Paz grumbled, his mood shifting immediately. 

Oh. Din turned his helmet back down to his ambien rifle and tried to pretend as if that didn't bother him. For a split second, he thought the conversation had been dropped like a hot potato, but Paz picked back up with a sharp intake of breath like he was a bull nerf about to charge.

"Don't understand what she sees in Hyvhast," Paz vented, shoulders pinned tensely as he hunched closer to his weapons. "He's a good hunter, but he's  ori'buyce, kih'kovid ."

Din snorted, aware of what he was referencing. Hyvhast had no modesty. Well, that wasn't quite a trait taught amongst Mandalorians, you still acknowledged your Elders and those that were better than you. He didn't spend enough time around Hyvhast to know him too well, but he'd heard the other hunter boasting in the Den before, loudly enough that the rest of the patrons could hear him. He wasn't being brash accidentally, he wanted everyone to hear. 

"Never understood why you never made a play at her," Paz remarked between his snippets of insulting Hyvhast. 

Din froze, almost dropping the priming pin in his hands at the Vizsla's proclamation. Swallowing hard, he looked over to see the visor fixated on him, undoubtedly Paz locking eyes. Was he saying that he would've allowed it? That he wouldn't be complaining about Din half as much as he did about Hyvhast? Somehow he doubted that. Whoever dated Sena was going to have to deal with the over protective big brother. 

The door opened, saving his  shebs from having to offer a rebuttal to Paz. Snapping his visor away, finally releasing Din from the power of holding his gaze, he sat up and dropped his charging handle on the table and stood up abruptly. Cocking his head, he turned around to see what was going on, noticing that Sena had returned home for the evening. His heart ached at the sight of her, not noticing the tremble in her shoulders or the quick way she ran to her bedroom. 

Paz was at the door just as it closed in his face, causing Din to glance back in confusion. "Sen'ika? Sen'ika open the door or I'm coming in-" his voice dropped, tender and unlike the man that Din knew. Something was wrong and Din hadn't even noticed, but the moment that Paz had laid eyes on his sister it'd taken all but two seconds for him to know. That made his stomach shift uncomfortably, wondering how many times he'd never noticed that she was upset. Maybe he really didn't deserve to court her.

Paz punched the code into the door, an item falling out of his bandolier and catching the door before it closed completely. It jarred it, leaving it open just a breadth, Din staring at it as he heard the conversation he wasn't intended to. 

"Sen'ika?" 

There was quiet sniffling, followed by the bed squeaking, bucking beneath Paz's weight as he sat on it. "Am I ugly?" she asked her brother quietly, voice unmodulated; her helmet was off. She always had a different accent from everyone else, so articulate and prim (aside from when she cursed) and it made his knees weak even now.

The silence threatened to strangle Din where he sat, wondering if anyone outside her  aliit had seen her face. Finally, Paz spoke, "Why would you think that?"

She broke out into more tears. Such an awful noise, each little whimper sending unpleasant stabs down Din's back, his throat parched, and his fingers tightening around the arms of the chair he lounged in.

"Did Hyvhast do something? Did he see-"

"N-no, not beneath my helmet," she hiccuped.

"Then why would you think that? Why would you think you're ugly, princess?" he soothed, his own voice suddenly warmer and unmodulated.

"W-we were fooling around and... you know how I feel about that after what happened on Tatooine-" she choked out, hoarse and tinny. "-but I thought he was nice, s-so I let him. He's been wanting to for weeks now, b-but I wasn't ready. Wh-when he saw beneath my-" she wailed again, Din flinching.

"He saw what?" the edge of fury hissed in Paz's voice, the low growl that would build up into more. 

"H-he said I looked like a b-boy. Th-that I have no chest. And then m-my marks-"

"Shh, Sen'ika. He's  di’kutla  . He'll never know the  mesh'la dala  beneath the helmet," Paz soothed. "He was never worthy."

"I told you that Anaxians age slower," she whined. "I-I'm still growing. I just thought maybe he would wait a couple more years but-"

"That was never his interest. I warned you about what happens when hunting begins," Paz muttered darkly. "It's not always with the intention of entering  riduurok ."

She broke back down into a fit of crying, Din glued to his chair and unable to move for fear of alerting the both of them that he was eavesdropping. From what he garnered, Hyvhast had pressured her into doing things before she was ready and that vexed him. What had happened on Tatooine? What the kriff was an Anaxian? He thought she was Sephi. His memories flipped back to their first time by the moon pool as children, the way she'd climbed the tree and howled at the stars. There had always been something strange about her that he could never quite place his finger on. Part of that mysteriousness had drawn him in. 

Now there were other reasons. His fingers thumbed the item in his pocket, clenching tightly around it that the beskar pressed through his gloves and into his skin. She was a loyal member of the Tribe, shouldered her duty, made an amazing hunter, and pulled her weight amongst the Tribe without ever offering a complaint. Aside from her abilities as a Mandalorian, Din thought she was one of the most amusing people he knew. With a mouth like a sailor and goofy to a fault, when she wasn't being serious about her work, she was fun to be around... easy to be around. And tolerable. More than tolerable by this point. Din liked spending time with her, even if that just meant practicing in the yard. They'd done that a lot less recently.

Then there was the fact that the both of them had come from similar backgrounds, ripped away from their homes amongst war and battle. Neither had spoken much about it, other than acknowledging that there would always be those memories before they were Mandalorian. 

Hearing his friend cry broke something in him, each little sniffle like the a  kal in his chest, prodding him again at her despair. Wasn't often you heard Mandalorians cry, let alone someone as chipper as Sena. She was so kriffing stubborn and prideful that she'd suffered being bullied as a kid because she was unwilling to balk or bend. The only person who seemed to see the emotional side of her was her brother. And in a way, Din was betraying her trust by continuing to listen. 

Eventually, Paz got up and headed for the door. He paused, freezing when he saw what had caught in the door, picking it up before heading out and shutting the bedroom with a hydraulic hiss. Din jolted, visor locking with the blue Mandalorian's, wondering what was about to happen.

"Did you-" Paz started.

Din nodded.

" Hukaat'kama ," he ordered, striding out of the house.

Reassembling his rifle, he slung it over his back and sauntered after Paz. There was no question as to where he was going. Night basked them as they stalked their way past the Foundry and toward the Den. Paz's shoulders were set back, chest puffed out, and he moved as if they were on a bounty hunting mission. Halting outside the entrance, Paz rounded so quickly that Din threw his hands up defensively, uncertain if he was about to become the man's fixation while he saw red.

"Go in first. Ping me once you set eyes on him. If I go in, there will be no doubt why I'm there," Paz handed over a small comlink. He didn't need to say the name of the person he was referring to. Din was blatantly aware that they were there for Hyvhast. 

Taking the comlink, Din nodded and stepped by him, entering the Den. Set down a few steps in another dome shaped building, the lighting was dim and most was procured by the hearth tables. Small, simulated flames leapt up in the center, horseshoe shaped benches surrounding tables where various mandos put their black ale. A rambunctious group was collected to the far right, his eyes immediately finding the earthen brown armor of Hyvhast which was accentuated with moss green stripes. He was tall and lean, about Din's height, though not as broad. Caught in an animated conversation, Din slid over into a table just flanking to see what it was they were saying.

"So you're not with her anymore?" Mirrair asked, a mando in dusty orange beskar'gam. 

"Kriff no! Look, she's a great hunter and has  mandokarla , but she's got the body of a 12 year old boy. Hard to tell beneath the armor. Was a huge turn off," Hyvhast announced, immediately met with an awkward silence from his companions. "What? You guys think I'm wrong?"

"Well, she's Sephi, isn't she? Don't they, um, age differently?" Loah was a female mando in tan armor, a few black swirls decorating her helmet. 

"If she's got  mandokarla , what does it matter if she's flat-chested? You think you're going to find a female mando with a rack here? We're all athletic," Jiabe spoke up, just as affronted as Loah, crossing her arms over her cuirass defensively.

"There's not only that," Hyvhast backpedaled quickly. "She had there weird gold marks all over her skin - almost like tattoos, but they glowed-" Din pressed the comlink, not willing to listen to the bastard detail any more of his friend's body. Especially when his audience was also just as uncomfortable with the subject. 

"She's not human," Jiabe stood up, her voice rising. "Where is she? What did you say to her?"

Hyvhast jetted to his feet to meet her challenge. "She went running home. Couldn't take a little honesty."

Jiabe barked a harsh laugh. "Oh you're absolutely  shab  . Did you really think that Paz wouldn't find out about this?" She jammed her finger in between where the sides of Hyvhast's armor met, hitting flesh. "Who do you think you are? Hunting a  vod  and then laughing at her, talking to the rest of us about what is beneath her armor? I could give a womp rat's ass how much you supply for the Tribe. Not only have you insulted Clan Vizsla, but you've insulted ever  dala in the Tribe."

"Jiabe you're overreacting-" Hyvhast tried to placate her as if calling her hysterical was the right move.

It was not.

Jiabe's fist flew out, catching the man underneath his helmet and directly into his jaw. A sickening crack indicated that something had broken as he flew back, colliding with the back of the couch he had been standing in front of. " Ni cetar'narir kay'shebs ," she threatened, stretching her fingers just as Paz busted into the Den, causing everyone's helmet except for Jiabe's to turn. 

"Hyvhast!" Paz howled, shaking the room with the boom of his voice. 

The mando only groaned on the couch, still dazed from Jiabe's hook. She had his collar now, dragging his sorry  shebs  out of the booth and into the aisle where she dumped him to meet the Vizsla. "Think you're looking for this  jayc'kovid . Might've stolen the first punch from you," she informed him, glaring down at Hyvhast as he started coming to. "Think I broke his jaw."

Paz was livid, but he did glance over at her slightly in confusion. "Wha-"

"He was talking  osik  about your  vod  . No one has the right to express what they see beneath the  beskar'gam,  even if they do not like it. He affronted all dala in the Tribe by doing so and ridiculing her. But... he insulted Clan Vizsla first. If you wish to repay me for what I have stolen, I shall take it," Jiabe offered honorably, squaring up to him without fear.

" Nayc  ," Paz disagreed immediately. "  Vor entye . Help me take him out back and we'll call it even."

Honor was pinnacle in the Tribe and as Jiabe had said, Hyvhast had been impudent to assume that betraying the nature of what was beneath the  beskar'gam  - something so sacred to all of them - with the addition of his audacity to remark about a lack of a chest, was highly insulting to other women who might be self conscious about their features. Din had never really considered it, seeing that everyone except for the Foundlings were in armor, but supposed that Jiabe was right. All the women, except for the retired and elderly, would be physically fit and might not have much of a chest. He'd never particularly found himself staring at Sena's iron heart. That wasn't what was attractive about her. 

Paz and Jiabe dragged Hyvhast out as if he were a bag of garbage, undoubtedly for another beat down before they'd dump his  shebs at the Med-Deck. His mind went back to the conversation and the fact that Sena had said Anaxian and not Sephi. 

"Want anything?" Voormi was behind the bar this evening, gesturing to the only thing they had on tap - black ale. 

"I've got a question," he proposed, receiving a nod from her. "Do you know what Anaxians are?"

"Anaxians?" she rocked back on her heels, tilting her lime green helmet as she hummed quietly to herself. "Race, I think. Anaxes used to be a planet before it got turned to rubble in an accident. Don't think it was much of an accident though. Empire was invading the planet."

I snuck up on a stormtrooper and slit his throat... 

Those words echoed in his head, thinking back to their blade lessons years ago. Had Naboo been invaded by the Empire? He didn't really know much about what had happened all those years ago, being secluded on Vorp'ya without listening to the adults talking about the news. 

"What were they like?"

"Anaxians? Dunno. There were a few native races to that planet. One was reptilian and the other... I think they were sub-human. Can't say. They never traveled off planet, so it's likely they were wiped out entirely when the planet exploded," Voomri shrugged, polishing the counter mindlessly. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'm fine," Din pushed himself to his feet, thinking about the new knowledge. Was it possible that Sena belonged to one of these races? He didn't think she was Reptilian and if he thought really hard, she might've mumbled something once or twice about being a Sephi offshoot and not actually Sephi. Anaxian? Golden markings on her skin? She had markings on her helmet, he wondered if those were supposed to be in relation to what was on her skin. He felt his breath quicken in his chest, imagining beneath the flight suit for a brief moment, the glow of golden teardrops...

Chewing his lip he started for the edge of the village, trekking across the moonlit grass, over the hills and toward the pond shaded by the ancient tree. Cresting the last rise, he froze when she saw a small figure sitting by the edge, legs drawn up to her chest, chin of her helmet on top of her knees as her visor gazed out toward the water which rippled peacefully from a wind that swept down from the moors. The leaves of the tree rustled like breathy chimes, the breeze picking at the edge of her braid and sighing deeply. 

Sliding down the hill, he approached her carefully, as not to disturb her, but she sat up and glanced back. He could be stealthy when he wanted, but she'd always been the best out of their entire class. She could move soundlessly, despite how much equipment she was wearing. 

"Hey," she offered simply, turning back to the water to continue staring at it, diving back into her thoughts. 

Din padded up and sat down beside her, his own visor listing in the direction that she was looking. He wanted to tell her that Hyvhast was blind and an idiot. That he'd never deserved anyone as amazing as her. That he was getting his  shebs  kicked by Jiabe and Paz. But he didn't. Instead, he just watched the way the moonlight refracted on the mirror surface and wondered what she might look like without any  beskar'gam  on, wading into the water, the ethereal light playing tricks against her skin. Her hand was tan, he remembered that from when she'd challenged Aya; a deep, coppery tan. Paz knew what she looked like and had called her  mesh'la . Those hadn't just been words of comfort, Din actually believed them.

"You alright?" he asked finally after a few minutes of blissful quiet.

Sena rolled her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "I'll get over it," she grumbled, the normal inflection of her voice returning. Din liked her voice, he always had found the articulate accent alluring. As she'd gotten older, it had gotten deeper and less whiny, replaced with a smooth alto, pleasantly curling in his ears with each word. He wished the one time he had heard it without the modulator, she hadn't been crying. 

He didn't bring up the subject, didn't pressure her to talk, he only sat there with her, lending her a sense of companionship that went deeper than conversing. After all, she had already told Paz and it wasn't his place to try and force the story out of her. Time dragged on, a soft sigh parting from her lips finally as she contemplated what had happened. Din's hand was in his pocket, thumbing the charm, before he pulled it out. The moonlight hit the beskar  Jai'galaar  eyes strung on a leather strap. So many years in his pocket, polished constantly from the soothing manner in which he'd palmed it when he thought about his friend. 

"Sena-" he cleared his throat, freezing when she sat up to glance over at him. 

"Hm?"

"Paz wanted me to give this to you," he said stupidly, lifting up the necklace. "He said it might make you feel better." Maker almighty, why did he say that? Why couldn't he just tell her that he had gotten it for her? She was still recovering from what had happened with Hyvhast and while this felt like the right moment to give it to her, it also felt like the wrong moment to be honest as to why. 

She reached up, her gloves brushing lightly against his, causing his skin to tingle underneath as little electric pinpricks lanced up to his elbow. " Jai'galaar  eyes?" she muttered, finally taking it. "How befitting-" he could hear the wry smile in her voice as she rolled her shoulders back and cracked them, stringing the necklace around her throat, which was obscured by the collar of her armorweave.

His heart was thumping wildly, as if he were being chased by a mythosaur, while he watched it plunk softly against her durasteel heartplate. The length of the strap dropped it low enough to reach her iron heart. Turning it over in her glove again she shook her head wistfully. 

" Kaysh mirsh solus ," she commented. "Not surprised. We Vizslas all have lonely brain cells. He could've just given this to me later."

Din chuckled quietly at her joke. The Tribe did joke lovingly about their nerf-headedness, but Clan Vizsla was well loved despite the teasing. They were a clan of admirable warriors, all of which pulled more than their fair share for the Tribe. "Seems it did do the job."

"Of what?" she tilted her visor back up, her voice reading as confused through his visor.

"Cheering you up," Din pointed out, smiling now.

" Lek  well-" she unfurled her legs and stretched her arms straight out above her head. Like a loth-cat in the sun, she shook out the tenseness in her muscles before keeping her legs kicked out, putting palms back on her knees. "Nothing for me to dwell on. Paz was right. Again." Hopping to her feet as if it were the easiest thing to do, she offered him a hand up. "Race you back?" The proposition was an old one, like they were little kids again coming to practice beneath the moonlight. There had been many times where Din had attempted to climb the tree with as much dexterity as her and had jammed his finger.

Gripping her forearm, he was wrenched to his feet, glancing up the steep hill. " Elek -" they both bolted off, Din getting to higher ground before Sena. She wasn't far behind, closing the distance with her dark pine green cloak snapping after her like an angry bird's wing. They were beskar and durasteel javelins against the grass. Just as she had done when they were younger, she let out the strange sort of baying yip, which caused Din to trip over his own feet and go down hard in the grass. Rounding and absolutely howling with laughter, she clutched her stomach as he tried to untangle himself from his cloak. Before he could even say anything, she turned back around and continued - with her lead - back to the village.

Din thrashed before managing to spring back to his feet, but it was too late. He'd given her too much time and she had vanished into the night. Grousing to himself, he wasn't entirely upset that he had lost, pleased that she had recovered in light of the awful evening she'd had until that point. He wondered if the animal cry she kept making was from Anaxes.

2BBY

"And then a giant bird swooped down from the sky and gnashed its beak.  OMNOMNOM! " Sena roared, snapping her fingers to mimic a bird's impressive beak and digging it playfully toward the tummies of the Foundlings that surrounded her in a horseshoe formation. Her duties in watching the children had long since passed now that she was a fully fledged hunter and provider for the Tribe. However, she did like to stop by after missions and greet them with candy and treats she had picked up from whatever planet she visited. Usually the flavors and types changed, which always thrilled the little womp rats.

Giggling and squealing ensued as she tickled them, before they realized they could overwhelm her in one fell move. Tackling her to the ground, piling in a heap, she was pinned to the ground. Even if she'd finally stopped growing after all these years, she still was barely 45 kilos soaking wet. A dozen children were more than enough to take her out of commission. 

" Ori'vod ! Where's our candy?" a gap tooth child demanded, as if she'd forget.

"Oh, I totally forgot," Sena betrayed whimsically, the children shrieking like jai'galaar at her confession. 

"You didn't forget. It's right here," Zim held up the bag, now 15, and donning a helmet of his own. His lekku poked out from the modified bucket and he had painted it the same colors that Sena originally had hers - plum and dull yellow. "Back you beasts! I'll give it to you if you release our  Ori'vod !"

The little zombies abandoned her, trailing after Zim who was on Foundling duty. Sena sat up, chuckling as he began tossing the candy, letting it rain down above them, distracting the little brats. 

"You spoil them too much," Din commented, having just entered the Nursery to see the war raging. Sena tilted her head back from where she was laying on the floor. 

"Oh  lek  ? What have you got in that bag behind your back?" she challenged, snickering as he tucked it behind his cloak as if he were ashamed that she'd caught him bringing treats for the kids. "Nice to see you,  vod . How was your hunt?"

 Din trotted down to help her to her feet. She dusted her armor off, frowning at all the scratches and dents on it. Since it wasn't pure beskar, came with the territory. Needed a good repainting. Beskar was harder to come by now with the Empire still being a load of  osik . "Not too bad. Nearly threw my shoulder out since the bounty was trandoshan-" he let out a soft noise, which she knew was a laugh, his modulator never really picked it up right. "And you? Seems the candy is a hit this time."

This time. The last planet she'd gone to she hadn't bothered to taste the candy first. If she had, she would have realized it was flavored like krill and squid. Yeah, she'd felt quite bad as the kids began spitting out the gummies and gave her the most reproachful looks. Since then, she always made certain to try the sweets before committing to buying a bag full. "Easy enough... Well, actually-" she drew in a long winded breath. "-Jace gave me a bit more trouble than usual. Was trying to keep me on Dadrus longer than usual. He's always flirted with me, but it was really strange-"

"Need me to give your Guild Master a stern talking to?" Din gestured to his blaster.

Sena gave a good natured laugh. Din had nearly become part of Clan Vizsla by this point. He was close to her brother and went on quite a few hunts with him. She preferred to work alone, since Paz was way too kriffing loud. Their rivalry, while still there, had turned into a deep friendship that she wouldn't trade for anything in the galaxy. It was different than Xivi and her other friends. Din just... understood. They didn't even have to talk about, there was comfort in the silent nights by the moon pool just contemplating their lives. "Oh, no. He's a good person. Just a chatterbox."

"You say that as if you're not," Din pointed out.

"I'm not when I'm out in the field," she grumbled with a petulant frown. Sena liked to believe she was imposing, mysterious, and intimidating when she went out - armed to the teeth and speaking in short sentences. Maybe not. She did talk to Jace quite a bit since she'd known him for years now and still thought he was cute. The man had tried a few times to convince her to sleep with him, but Sena wasn't about to mix work with pleasure. Bad for business. Not to mention she'd sort of taken a step away from that life for now, focusing on doing her job, and not repeating what had happened with Hyvhast. Even if she'd grown into her skin now, she still felt highly insecure about her Goddess Markings as Hyvhast had poked at them and asked her what the kriff they were. 

"What have you got for us,  Ori'vod ?" a child had taken notice of Din now, standing in the play area. 

Din pulled the bag out and opened it, crouching down to reveal little toys in the shape of little fish. Each was about the size of a child's palm and brilliantly painted. "They're-"

BOOM!

The Nursery shook, children screaming around them as they huddled close to the nearest armored warrior. Sena had several clutching her legs, trembling as their helmets snapped toward the door. Instincts kicking in, Sena whipped her head to Zim who dropped the bag of remaining candy. "Get the children to the back door, wait until our command to beeline for the extraction point," she barked, thrusting a comlink into Zim's hands before she slipped out of the grasp of the kids. Din was beside her, sprinting for the door as they drew their weapons.

The covert was consumed in absolute chaos. Imperial ships were descending from the grey sky, a convoy of troopers having already landed and prowling through the streets. They had been taken by surprise, Mandalorians quickly making their stands and barking orders in Mando'a as they tried to grab onto a semblance of cohesion and shake away the confusion. This only took a few minutes, as they were all trained in military tactics and how to react in situations like this. There was a strict set of instructions ingrained in everyone's mind from Foundling to Elder.

Trainees or  Vod'ika  would rally up the Elders and Foundlings. The youngest hunters, beneath the age of 21 would act as escorts and leaders, taking leash on their biggest ship the Cabur. Once the young and old were on the ship, they would get into hyperspace while the remainder of the Tribe protected them. Both Din and Sena were older than 21 and thus would act as soldiers on the field to protect the future of the Tribe. 

Her blood rushed, the sight of the stormtroopers bringing back the memories of Anaxes, her heart pounding steadily like a war drum. She'd murder them all. Kill them, revive them, then kill them again for what they'd done to not only Genmaris, but now the Tribe. The shootout began, they needed to get around the back of the Nursery and clear the path for Zim to escape with the children. Raising her pistol, she shot the nearest snow white soldier in the face, aiming purposely for his eyes. She could wield a rifle or shotgun now if she pleased, but she'd always liked the pistol better. The years of practicing only with the sidearm had made her a spectacular shot. In a close combat arena like this, Sena was in her element. 

" Hukaat'kama! " she called to Din, drawing Cu'Sith and Pog-Sticker. 

" Oya !" he shouted back between the ringing of blaster fire and explosions. 

She had never forgotten the way they had spilled blood on the elas stone. The blood of a peaceful people who lived in the forest. Or the way she'd walked through it barefoot. Moving like a dervish, she dashed forward with primal rage, the curve of her swords - now beskar - reaving through the plastoid armor as if it were made of butter. They were slow, sloppy, and weaker than the soldiers from a decade ago. These were not clone troopers. Nor did they speak Mando'a. Grinning at the realization, she ducked gracefully, cutting the soleus on the back of the trooper's exposed calf. She heard a cry, watched him stumble forward, and then beheaded him. 

Her vindication was not uncommon amongst the Tribe, just one of the most brutal and bloody. She spotted her brother letting off his heavy blaster, mowing down troopers. Despite how well they seemed to be doing, it all came down to supplies. How long would it be until they ran out of energy and ammo? Before a tidal wave of white snow weathered them down in a blizzard that they couldn't dig themselves out of? They had to flee, because there were several more dropships coming. But most importantly, the children needed to escape.

She sliced down a few more troopers before racing back around the Nursery, Din covering her as they began clearing the path for the children. The ships were stowed beneath ground, in a hangar that would part the grass and open. They had been on Vorp'ya for many years now and continued to upgrade their home to make it more difficult to be discovered. Didn't seem to matter now. Pulling her comlink, she spoke briskly in Mando'a, " Bring them out. We're clear for now ."

" Roger ," Zim answered, the door opening. Lined up and hands linked, the children had also been trained on what to do. They were to stay together in a chain, holding onto the leader, which was Zim.

Other trainees had begun posting, fleeing the main fight to help keep the path to the ships open. There was no time to feel the pride of their unflinching resolve, but the kids were doing what they were trained to do. Despite how loud, how terrifying it all was, the young Mandalorians spoke in hand signals, bringing up the rear before entering the bunker entrance that led down below to the ships. Zim disappeared and Sena rounded as the last of the Elders were escorted below. Her eyes trailed back up to see how many ships there were, horrified as she and Din took up defensive positions around the hangar doors. This would be their last stand area. She wished she had the time to retrieve her traps from her home, but this was a surprise attack. 

Eventually, the rest of the Tribe began to fall back to the hangars, the first ship, the  Cabur  departing with the children and elderly. Sucking her teeth, she hoped there would still be enough time and coverage for more of them to escape off planet. But as she watched, she grit her teeth, wanting nothing more than to kill than hide. That's what would happen after this, they would hide away again. The number falling back was pitiful and Sena's heart plummeted in horror. Paz was dragging their  buir beside him, some - but not all - of the injured fleeing into the tunnels. They weren't going to be able to escape, not with this many drop ships coming in. 

"Look!" Kedth pointed toward the sky, ships zooming down to meet the Imperial ships. Who they were, she had no idea, not until they started to jet out of the droppers with jetpacks. Sena had never been so happy to see foreign Mandalorians as she was now, choking out a thankful sob. Continuing to fight through the avalanche of stormtroopers, the ceaseless flow of them started to weather down, the verdant grass spattered with red, downtrodden beyond the point of recognition. 

The other mandos were beginning to approach them, thanking the Maker that someone knew about them and had come to their support. A tug on the back of her cloak made her turn, the weary smile disappearing immediately when she saw the terse line of her brother's shoulders. Panic set in, replacing the original thrill of battle, remembering that her buir had been injured when he arrived. Stomach churning, she sprinted after him, down the stars and to where the injured were being tended. Her eyes stretched wide, watching the blood pool beneath her adopted father from a gash in his side where the heartplate did not meet. 

Collapsing in a heap beside him, she pressed her gloves to his wound in a futile attempt to staunch the flow. He had lost too much and the majority of the bacta had been taken with the Foundlings and Elders. "No! You can't! Not you too!" her voice betrayed her, cracking as she saw the visage of her papa turning around, the golden lightsaber illuminating his hands as he marched to his death. Hux had become her father, the man that had finished raising her and in every way, her papa now. Everything that she had become was thanks to Hux, his steady hand, his temper, and his love. 

"Stay strong,  cyar'ika ," he muttered, voice distant and fading, cracked and weak. "I'm so proud. So proud of the warriors that I raised."

Paz was beside her now, fallen to his knees as they had their final moments with their  buir . 

"You know... the place, Paz. Sova's  beskar'gam  ... my  beskar'gam ... inheritance," he was struggling to talk now, his chest rising and falling shallowly, a soft groan parting his lips beneath his helmet. Paz leaned forward, removing it so that they could look upon their father, see the light in his icy eyes. Pale blonde hair was striked with grey now, the faint line of a golden beard against his jaw. His lashes were heavy, fluttering open just enough gaze at them, a faint smile gracing his features. "Love you. I love the both of you."

A primal, animalistic cry escaped her as Hux closed his eyes for the final time. Paz leaned against her, pressing her face into his pauldron as she sobbed as hard as she had when she was a princess fleeing Anaxes. Maybe even harder. She couldn't hear anything but her own misery. How many people would die around her that she loved? All because of the Empire. This was the Empire's fault! Her hatred redoubled, unaware that she could hate something even more and with every fiber of her being. They sat there on the cold floor, grieving for their fallen  buir and for the others that had lost their lives in the assault. Hux was not the only one.

Amongst the fallen was Aya, Vowr, Xaevo, Vhic, Bhone, Crehl, Khaan, Durr, the Smith, and Drold. Their bodies were lined up in the hangar, resting in their eternal vigil, going up to Manda. Despite the honor it was to fall in battle, Sena couldn’t help but feel as if it had all been a waste. So much training, so much love in the Tribe and the Empire tried to smote them from the galaxy. They hadn’t done anything. They had kept their noses out of anything Imperial. Not anymore. Sena wasn’t going to let them walk away from this.

“Sen’ika,” Paz was just as hoarse as she was, but they were standing in the  Kote.  “What  buir  was referring to was his  riduur  ’s armor. My mother-” he opened a panel to reveal the full suit of plum  beskar’gam . “He always intended for you to inherit it one day. Just as you inherited her helmet.”

Sena gazed at it, all beskar, and in need of a good repaint. Her fingers slid against it, the feminine curve of the heart plate, the ensemble of pauldrons, cuisse, and greaves. The vambraces were missing and when she glanced at her own arms, she comprehended why. She hadn’t realized that Hux had given her Sova’s vambraces after her Second Trial. She had just assumed that there was beskar to spare for the newest hunters to forge their vambraces since they were so important. Licking her lips, she tilted her visor up toward her brother. “The other mandos here-”

“They came from Mandalore. They are looking for help. The Empire is attempting to take the smaller planets in the system first before attacking  Manda’yaim .”

“I’m going,” Sena decided without hesitation. “I’m going to fight.”

Paz’s shoulders slumped slightly, the defeat of losing their father and now the idea of losing his sister too heavy for even his broad, masculine figure. But he did not try to convince her otherwise. “Too many died today. They will need guidance-”

“ Ori’vod  you don’t need to explain to me why the Tribe needs you. I know they need you. I do not think any less than you, but… you understand why I must go,” Sena was picking up the armor now, beginning to replace her durasteel with Sova’s - no… it was hers not by right. “Twice now.  Twice.  Only this time I can fight. I can help. I will not turn my back on another battle with them. Not now. Not ever again.”

“You will bring much honor to the Tribe,” he announced, but he was choked up, grabbing her and thrusting his helmet against hers. There was an unspoken acknowledgement, the fact that they both knew that Sena probably wasn’t coming back. 

“I will keep in contact with you if I can. I’ll send transmissions to the  Kote  ,” she promised, the words hollow on the back of her throat as she said them. “  Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ori’vod .”

“ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he returned. “You better come back. I need nieces and nephews running underfoot one day. With those stupid pointed ears just like yours.”

Sena barked a laugh that was halfway in between a sob. After shedding her durasteel armor, mismatched, she embraced her brother once more before heading down the dock. The hangar was a makeshift base of operation as the injured were tended and the other Mandalorians commented about how the planet was going to be overwhelmed soon. They needed to pick up and leave immediately. The Tribe was unwilling to help, picking up the fractured pieces of their people, weeping for those who were now marching. Legs churned mechanically, she glanced over at Din as he bowed before his  buir  who was just as still as her own. Lower lip quivering, she decided to say her farewell to her friend. 

Placing a hand on his back, she crouched beside him, his visor snapping as he tensed immediately. It took him a moment to see clearly, to finally see that it was her. And then he glanced down at the plum  beskar’gam  and eventually back up to her visor. “I’m leaving,” she told him calmly. Such a strange calm, like the eye of the storm before the hurricane hit. “I am going to fight for  Manda’yaim .”

Din did not speak. She had long grown accustomed to his silent contemplation. He wasn’t daft, he was just as quiet as he had always been. “You’re leaving?” But there was too much grief, too much confusion for him to understand properly that evening. 

She nodded slowly. “I can’t turn my back on the Empire again. Not when I can fight against them. I will be joining our  vod in the coming battles,” she announced. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Din stared and she didn’t know if he were in shock or if he were just being his normal, reserved self. “When will you come back?”

A shaky smile formed beneath the cover of her bucket. “We’ll meet again. Even if that is marching in Manda’s halls,” she promised, standing up. “Take care of my brother, please.”

“Sena-”

“I have to go.  Ret'urcye mhi .”

9ABY

Maybe we will meet again. Din had clung to those words in Mando’a for so many years, desperately hoping that the visage of his favorite  vod  would pop back up, insult him, and maybe toss a middle finger in for good measure. Never happened. As the years weathered on, one becoming two, becoming four, becoming  five  , he had started to lose hope. Everyone had heard about The Great Purge and the decimation of Mandalore. He didn’t like to think like this, but he expected that was probably where Sena had died. His thoughts tormented him, how he’d been too choked up with everything going on that he hadn’t even been able to tell her how he felt. Watching her turn around in mismatched  beskar’gam before walking away with the foreign Mandalorians. He hadn’t told her that he loved her and now he’d never be able to. Paz still believed she was coming home, but after more than a decade, Din was convinced otherwise. The war was over. If there was any hope that Senaar Vizsla would return to the Tribe, it would have been four years ago.

The loss gouged at him deeper than he thought it ever could. His original comfort around the Tribe faded, replaced with the sorrow of seeing the Foundlings, remembering how she used to play with them, bring them candy, and tickle the life out of them. Walking through those empty, sewer halls in Nevarro, he was a shell of armor with nothing but a ghost inside. Provide. That’s all he did. He provided for the Tribe as he always had, leaving for long bouts of time and returning to drop off the supplies before going out again. This had become his typical routine, ignoring the other Mandalorians until he’d all but estranged every single one. Paz had been the first. The Vizsla’s insistence that Sena was still out there was so misplaced and gut wrenching that Din couldn’t stand to be around him.  She was dead.  

He thought back often to their peaceful upbringing on Vorp’ya and of all the things he  should  have done. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and if Din had another chance, he would have told her how he felt back when he first gave her the  Jai’galaar  necklace. Even if she still insisted on leaving come the demise of their covert, at least he would have had those years with her. To take care of her, to love her, to  kiss  her, and to make her feel as if she were the most  mesh’la  creature in the universe. He was haunted by his memories and his yearning, so it was easier to turn his emotions off. Even at all these years, he could still hear her stupid howling in the moonlight, her guffawing, and her cultured, articulate accent. What he would give just to hear her again, to listen to the hum of her rich voice as he fell asleep.

Din Djarin was a brokenhearted man with little to live for. He’d been like this for a while, trying to carve out the rest of his 20s amongst Malk’s crew to find a little lust for life. Worked for a bit, but Xi’an was a cheap version of Sena. Her expertise with blades, while adept, still wasn’t  as adept as Sena. She also had a piss poor attitude. After that, he’d stopped trying to date, because it was always a comparison and his memories warped - placing Sena on a pedestal and forgetting how goofy or stupid she could be at times. 

He’d dropped the Mythrol off before heading down below to the covert. Wasn’t often that he felt like lingering down there for more than a day, but he went there anyway. He had a small set of quarters that collected dust. The  Razor Crest  was his home for the most part, away, quiet, and transportable. Still, he kept some meager supplies in his apartment. Which, you couldn’t really call it an apartment. It was just a recess built into the sewers that was large enough to fit a table, a small kitchenette, and a bunk. All of which were stuffed like tuna in a can with barely any room to move. This was not Vorp’ya where they had large  karyai  in each house. Punching the code into the door, it puffed open, and his visor shifted to the almost darkness.

Stepping in, his head cocked, staring at the small light in the corner that was on. He’d not been in here for months. Why would a light be on? Cold metal pressed to his throat, a soft  tut  escaping his captor’s lips. “That was very careless of you.”

Din almost threw up at the sound of the silken voice, spinning around and throwing the Mandalorian against the wall. They moved lazily, allowing for themself to be captured as he pinned them against the wall. The armor was the wrong color, not green and not mismatched as he had last witnessed it. Instead, it was a dusky grey-blue accented by stripes of ashy black, burnished to the point where it glimmered magnificently even in the dull light of the tomb-like room. The helmet was painted with strange markings, akin to those patterns on a loth-wolf’s face. Emblazoned on the left pauldron was the rebel insignia - no, it was the  New Republic  insignia now. Whereas on the right, where the  aliit  marking went was the trademark  Jai’galaar  eyes of Clan Vizsla. Several blades, a midnight blue cloak, and a relaxed confidence that set his teeth on end  as if  she hadn’t been gone for so many years and this was a mischievous game of tag around the village where she’d managed to sneak up on him again.

“Sena?”

“Huh, where?” she glanced around, the tuft of her dark braid coming into view as she mocked him. 

“But you-”

“Dead? Missing? Gone marching such a long time ago?” she filled in impishly.

“ How ?”

“I fought and we won,” she said as if it were that simple. “I told Paz to keep you updated with my whereabouts. I thought he would have.”

His stomach sank and he released her. Din had estranged Paz, sick of hearing that Sena was alive without any proof. He had believed that the man was in denial over his sister’s death, but here she stood, in New Republic glory. “The war has been over for years,” he found the chair at the small table, falling into it as he tried to rationalize what had happened. Everything was crashing down around him, his head aching just as much as his heart as she stood there, sheathing her blade and cocking a hand on the hilt.

“War might’ve been over, but I still had people to track down and kill. There’s still a lot to be done, but I knew it was finally time to come home,” she sat down across from him, clasping her hands together as she propped her elbows on her legs and sighed deeply. He saw the necklace he had given her swing forward from her iron heart. “There’s still remnants out there and I did everything in my power to work on killing every last one of them.”

He believed that. “I-” he was overwhelmed, all those pent up emotions, all those things he’d wanted to say but assumed he would never get the chance bubbling up to the surface. Originally, he would have given anything to tell her how he felt and now that he had the opportunity, the back of his throat felt so incredibly parched. “I missed you,” he said finally, cursing himself for not saying the other words, but it was a start. His emotions had been shoved into a tiny box, locked up and he’d thrown away the key years ago.

“Missed you too,  shebs ,” she snickered, but despite the humor in her voice, he could feel… something else.

Silence settled between them, but not the typical silence that they had found comfort in when growing up. No, this was deeper and more profound and distinctly uncomfortable. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wondered why she had approached him like this. She could have just greeted him in the Foundry where he’d been earlier. 

“I can - uhm, come back later. I know you just got back from a hunt,” she offered, standing up.

Din flew from his chair, unwilling to let her slip away, to let her go a second time. He caught her hand, holding it between his gloves, staring at the detailing in the leather and the seams. Heat blossomed in his throat, grinding his voice as he spoke, “Don’t.”

Visor tilting up toward him, her head listed slightly to the side where she gazed at him, questioning. “Are you certain?” she asked tenderly, her inquiry holding much more depth.

He ran his hand underneath the collar of her flight suit, brushing the edge of her helmet, before coming down to grip the spot between the pauldron and heartplate where flesh was instead of armor. Grip tightening, his chest constricted slightly at the feel - the  real feel of her beneath his gloves. Emboldened by her leaning into his touch, Din released her hand and slid against her hip, hot flames of desire licking his body and causing him to shudder at the merest touch to her fully armored frame. He looked back to her, wondering if this were permissible, if he was allowed to do this or if he had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship. That’s not what he wanted and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of doing it again.

“Din,” it had been so long since anyone had actually called him by his name. “I know it was you who gifted me the necklace and not my brother. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was afraid.”

“ You were afraid?” she poked the bear, her voice absolutely astonished by his confession.

“I was afraid to push you away and it didn’t matter in the end. I lost you to the war,” Din answered. “After what happened with Hyvhast, I thought you wouldn’t be-”

“Interested? Dank farrik you think too much,” she grumbled warmly. “If there was anyone in the Tribe that I actually felt comfortable being myself entirely, it was you, Din. I just assumed you had never thought of me like that. I mean, I was sort of annoying.”

“Sort of?”

“ OK, I was very annoying.”

He pulled her closer, her hips to his now, grinding up against her slightly. The touch made his skin dance, pulses of lightning lancing across his body as he let out a soft, trembling sigh. “Let me-” he started, voice cracking at the very idea of what he was about to offer, “-take care of you.  Please .”

“Five minutes and I’ve already got you begging? You’re a changed man, Djarin,” Sena teased, but she hadn’t pulled away. Instead she leaned into him, pressing against his growing hardness, letting out a breathy huff which crackled in her vocoder. “I just-” she cleared her throat, aroused, but also worried. “Since Hyvhast, I never-”

Din groaned at the idea. Sena having been entirely alone during war, focusing on her hatred for the Empire rather than satisfying herself. The heat between his legs twitched more, which was pushed against her. If she felt it, she said nothing, only staring up at him with her palms against his red durasteel armor. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, dragging the pad of his thumb against the collar of her shirt, exposing her copper throat. Tilting her head back, he saw the faintly glowing marks, like tiny golden dew drops that ran against the hollow and disappeared beneath the fabric. Even that small bit of skin was more than enough for him. “ Mesh’la. ”

“I trust you,” she whispered, handing herself over entirely as he ran his fingers down her hips, and picked her up. 

It all felt like a dream, one he’d had many times before, but one that he’d never been able to place. Hands gripping her ass, he could feel the well sculpted muscles, the definition of a honed warrior, and her quivering in his palms. He set her on the bed, throwing his gloves off as if they were offensive, pressing his helmet to hers in an insistent, belabored keldabe kiss. Stars, he should have done that when they were young and not for the first time now. Stripping her armor, piece by piece, he slid the fabric down to expose her gorgeous skin. Whatever Hyvhast had said was wrong. Ripping it down he exposed the breast band and more of the dazzling markings, so  many of them. She was slender, more than most humans, but he didn’t think she was shapeless. Lanced by scars from her years, her skin was smooth, pebbling beneath his calloused fingertips. Narrow waist, stomach punctuated by the line of her muscles, the bottoming of wide hips which disappeared beneath her belt and trousers. 

His eyes traced the markings that she’d been insulted for, the way they trailed down her throat, danced against her collarbone and shoulders, curved beneath the bra and were obscured from his prying gaze. “Can I?” he entreated, aware that she might still be self conscious about it all and the last thing he wanted to do was push her away. He watched her swallow hard and nod. Hook by hook, his fingers trembled, before he dropped the fabric and exposed more of her to the dry, mild air of Nevarro’s underground. Small, soft breasts greeted him, not enough to fill his palms, but befitting of her natural frame, dark maroon nipples puckering as he grazed one, watching in intrigue as they stiffened into small peaks, so pretty and perfect.

“Din, I-” she warbled quietly, the original confidence disappearing in an instance and it broke his heart hearing her like this.

“ Mesh’la, ” he repeated with stern insistency, cradling her breast tenderly. “So fucking perfect-” the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he meant every one. 

She let out a soft moan, leaning into his hand.

He traced circles around her skin, chasing the golden marks against her warm flesh, watching as each tiny movement sent chills across her body. Resting her against the bed as he followed the teardrops that cradled her breasts, he wondered how anyone could have found her unattractive. The beautiful copper of her skin, the contrast of the soft marks that had an ethereal hum as if the sun itself had dripped golden fire and graced her with its light. Finally, after minutes of wandering her upper body, he undid the buckle to her pants, discarding it to have her trembling slightly in just her underwear. Just as his hands had told him earlier, she had full legs, years of stealth and crouching, her ability to jump as if she were a nexu, and to land gracefully from extreme heights without injuring herself. The curve of her hips bottomed out and Din was entransed, caressing her ass, finding more of the golden marks as they flanked the outside of her leg and burned a wake to the tops of her feet. 

“I-I dreamed about this,” he told her, resolve crumbling as his index fingers glided down her stomach and against the hollow of her hip. He’d been quiet for decades, resenting himself for his silence. “If I ever saw you again, what I’d tell you. Wh-what I’d do to you. Was always so afraid to push you away.”

“What’s changed now?”

Din laughed at her question, the same soft laugh that fizzled out through the vocoder, not quite being picked up properly. “Nothing changed. Not how I feel. Just… Circumstances. Regrets. Things I never said when I should have. That I-”

“Not yet,” she interrupted. “It’s been 10 years. Let’s enjoy this now and talk after. There’s a lot to talk about. But not now-” Not when he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Not when all he wanted to do was praise her and love her. Even if she wouldn’t let him say it just yet, he fully intended on showing her what their separation had done to him. He wasn’t inexperienced by any means, but it had been a long while, never feeling the urge to do more than palm himself for relief, often dreaming of how he’d remembered her. Now she was here, spread out on his bed against the woolen comforter, her chest rising and falling quickly as he flicked the edge of her underwear. 

It had been over 10 years and in his haste, the little box he’d locked and thrown the key away for, had burst open. He smirked at the irony of Sena being the wiser one for once, warning him to be careful of what he said, for they might not be the same people. Somehow, he doubted that. 

Pulling the underwear off, he drank in the vision of her nude aside from her helmet. Neither of them could remove it, not unless they exchanged  riduurok  and she had been correct. There was much to discuss, like what had happened during the war and what their future might hold.  Their future.  Din had been living life day by day, never thinking of what might be waiting for him in one year or two or ten. Soft dark hair painted the top of her mound, fingertips cruising toward the bundle of nerves as she squirmed at the touch. He wanted to taste her, to feel her plush skin against his face, and to bite every since golden drop upon her skin as if he were a parched settler on Tatooine desperate for water. 

Finally, he drew his fingers beneath her legs, slicking them against her wetness, astonished by how wet she actually was. “All this for me? I’m beginning to think you liked me a lot more than you ever let on,” Din purred to her disdain, watching her jerk her chin up and expose the hollow of her throat. “Or that you’ve just been pent up from never being pleasured. Dripping - waiting for someone to take it-” he slid his middle finger in with ease, a soft yelp crackling through her modulator as her back arched. Despite her hourglass frame, she was still small and light boned, part of him worried that he’d not be able to do much more than play with her. 

“I might’ve done this sooner if I knew how much you talked,” Sena gritted out through her teeth.

He pumped into her, bowing over her and taking her breast in his free hand. Grinding his helmet against hers, he listened to the soft noises that the modulator wasn’t catching quite right, her back arching as he placed another finger in. “I can be quiet if you want,” he doubted it, but decided to threaten silence to see what she would do.

“Kriff! Please don’t,” she whined, her voice hitching as he thumbed her clit. “Keep talking. I like it. I -  ahhh ,” he found the spot, pinching her nipple as he quickened his pace on her bud. 

“That’s it. Be a good girl, come for me. You like it right there, don’t you?” he pressed harder, a shudder overcoming her body as she gripped his heartplate. “Fuck-” his cock throbbed painfully, stealing his breath away for a moment as he listened to her titullating response to his stimulation. 

“Can you take it off?” she asked between her belabored breathing. “The  beskar’gam -”

He had been so riveted by her, snared in the trap that was her body, that he’d forgotten entirely that he still had everything on, weapons included. Only his gloves had been shed, fingers deep in her warmth and clutching her chest as he unraveled her string by string. Removing his hand, she whimpered at the loss of the pleasure, pressing her thighs together as Din ripped off his own attire without an afterthought. The years of being covered head to toe, unwilling to let anyone look at so much as his hand, barely a consideration as she laid out bare for him. He’d already made this decision a long time ago, piling the armor on the ground, chest heaving as he bent back down over her, picking up where he left off. 

Her fingers pushed against him, calloused pads in the dark hair on his chest, tracing the muscles of his pecs, between his breastbone before tracing down his stomach. Each gently, tentative touch as she came to remember him, but in a new way. Her palm flushed just beneath his abdomen, causing him to tense involuntarily, his own breath getting caught in the back of his throat as she ghosted over his pelvis. Distracted by her roaming hands, he fixated, hyperfocusing before he coated his fingers again in her heat and began working to prove to her what he felt. 

Sena’s skin was on fire, the rough fingertips of her childhood friend and rival causing her to make all sorts of noises she’d never known were stored in her. Paz had told her years ago, during their brief transmissions while at war, that the necklace had been a gift Din had been holding onto for years before actually giving it to her. The knowledge of that had made her blubber like a baby - because Sena cried all the kriffing time. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult… The fact that the unpainted idiot had never told her how he felt, that weighed heavy on her shoulders for  years. Because if she had known, she might’ve never gone to war. The original question her brother had asked had been ill placed. When she was 16, she wasn’t thinking of romance, but by the time the covert had been attacked on Vorp’ya… if Din had asked her, she would have said yes. Back then, he had basically been a part of Clan Vizsla from how often he had been around. While they pestered one another, the original terse rivalry had been replaced with a different kind of friendship. Both of them had been too afraid to acknowledge it and Sena was still battling with the idea that no one would ever find her body attractive. What if Din had thought the same? She wouldn’t have been able to hide her embarrassment if he had scorned her too when finally glimpsing what was beneath her armor.

She didn’t feel like that now as his helmet met hers and his hands were between her legs. For what felt like an hour he explored her, tracing the Goddess Markings on her skin,  praising  her. And fuck did that turn her on. Hearing someone say that she was beautiful, that everything about her was absolutely perfect. His hot baritone in her ear, the slight fumbling of his words as they fell out of his mouth in the most uncontrolled manner she’d ever heard, losing all restriction behind closed doors. She’d never known it could feel like this, his expert fingers making her weak, the very warmth of his body so close to hers a comfort that she had so desperately missed. They’d never been close like this, but Goddess she had wanted it so badly after Paz had told her about the necklace. There hadn’t been any time for pleasure during war, but she did think about it in her dreams when she tried to escape the harsh reality around her. Dreaming faintly of the silver beskar helmet of her old friend, thumbing the  Jai’galaar  eyes, and hoping that he might be waiting for her back with the Tribe. The very necklace was frigid against the hollow of her chest now, shifting as she moaned, the muscles in her legs tensing and her toes curling. 

“That’s it,  mesh’la,  howl for me. Howl like you did by the moonpool, in the trees,  howl for me ,” he insisted, her alto cutting off as a wave of white noise and numbness began to edge at her being. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do much more than push her helmet back into the pillow as the overwhelming pressure built up in her sent swells of ecstasy coursing through every fiber of her being. The cry came after, while her body was still riding the intoxication, like she was floating amongst the starlight without a ship, out of her own body and adrift as her eyes remained shut. “So perfect,” he muttered against her, removing his fingers as her bundle of nerves twitched, oversensitive and grounding her back to reality as she tried to suck in a few strangled breaths. 

“D-Din, that was-” she was stammering, unable to catch her voice as it ran away from her with the orgasm, making her sound pitifully tinny.

“Was it what you imagined?” he asked, his voice quiet again. 

“I didn’t know what to imagine,” she admitted dolefully. Sena  had touched herself before, but it had never felt that good. Someone else’s fingers gliding over her, the arousing words in her ears, the feeling of proximity which set her teeth on end and skin crawling in just the right way. It was lovely and it was real, not just a string of thoughts and what-ifs. No fear of being caught with her hands in her pants while trying to get some shut eye and relieve the tension in her shoulders - the obviously palpable tension from the stress of being at war for so many years. Her eyes listed down, noticing his massive hardness, somewhat terrified of being speared on the end of it. His fingers had filled her up and she could only fathom what his cock might do to her. “What about-”

“Do you want me to?”

She moaned gently, still taken aback by how careful he was being with her. They were both in their fucking 30s and she was the blatantly inexperienced one. Yet, here he was being so tender, despite how much his hardon had to be bothering him. Pleasure wouldn’t come without a bit of pain first and Sena, while afraid, knew that it wouldn’t kill her. Nodding, she reached down and grasped him, her fingers unable to fully encircle his girth. He was tacky from where his own wet fingers had fisted himself, her juice smeared along his length as she stroked him once. His helmet ground into hers more, a deep rumble in the back of his throat which she could hear in her ear. 

“Are you  certain ?” he challenged this time, spitting the words out in the same dark manner as he had when talking to her amidst his playing. “If you’ve never-”

“I’ve been hurt worse before, Djarin. I think I can handle a little temporary discomfort,” she retorted thinly, stroking him again, enjoying the way that he bucked against her. “I know  how  this all works.” She’d just not experienced it. While she appreciated how careful he was being, she didn’t need to be fully coddled.

He brushed between her legs again, the gesture making her tighten when his fingertips touched her swollen bud. “You might think you know,” he started, positioning himself above her, jerking her hips toward his. “But I don’t think you do.” The weeping head of his manhood met her folds, lathing it in her wetness before he tested against her slightly. With one glance, she knew that he was going to absolutely split her open, her hips dwarfed by him and her sex quivering at the idea of trying to accomodate him. He began to ease against her resistance. She chewed her lips raw, trying not to cry out as he moved in and then out, coating himself and trying to make progress, centimeter by gruelling centimeter. Her own hands were clutching her breasts, pinching her own nipples in a futile attempt to distract herself. “Sena-” his visor tilted up. “You need to relax or this isn’t going to work.”

Relax?  Relax?  He was literally stabbing her between her legs, how could she relax? Her chest heaved in short, panicked breaths before she scrunched her eyes shut trying to calm herself down. A hand rubbed against her stomach, soothing in small circles. This wasn’t at all like what she had witnessed on Tatooine. This was an agreement between two people who cared for each other. She let out a long exhale and loosened her grip on her aching nipples. Din pushed into her entirely, filling her to the brim, stretching her and breaking past the initial discomfort. While it still hurt a bit, she adjusted her hips and let out a quiet mewl as he froze, head bowed, buried to the hilt. 

“Dank farrik,” he cursed, gazing down at Sena’s copper body, his cock sunk into her warmth, her silken walls quivering around him as he gripped her hips. Even if she’d calmed down for a brief moment, at his words she’d tensed again and squeezed his cock. Din gasped, muttering in Mando’a to himself, absolutely blissed out in the moment. “S-so good. Yo-you feel s-so good,” he managed, finally finding the willpower to glide out and back in.

“Was it what you imagined?” she asked in a faint voice, her articulate accent raking electricity down his spine. That kriffing voice. He could listen to it all day, even if she was saying the most stupid, pointless things.

Din’s jaw slackened and he managed a choked laugh. “Better,” he swore, craning back down, caging her body beneath him as he moved with no insistency. With little intention of hurting her, their reunion wouldn’t be too impassioned. Even if she claimed she could take it - her telltale stubbornness shining through - Din knew that he might be hurting her a bit. She was impossibly tight, but her walls eased slightly as he brought his helmet back down to hers, savoring each gentle keen that escaped her throat. He placed a hand against her neck, fingers sliding through a few stray strands of inky hair, thumb tracing the hollow as he gave a little squeeze. He was already getting close, a combination of how long it’d been since he’d had sex, the fact that it was her, in addition to how perfectly she wrapped around his length, so pleasingly snug and firm, leaving little to no room for anything else. “You were made for me,” he insisted in his delirium, sailing along a growing high as his legs ached and he felt the building pressure behind his groin. 

She was hanging onto him, the golden marks on her skin winking as he glanced down at her, reminding him that she wasn’t quite human, but something so much more precious and coveted. A piece of the sun bundled up in beskar and joined to him as she threw her head back against the pillow again. Her walls fluttered around him, her whimper dying in her chest. 

“Coming a second time? Fuck-” he was being thrust precariously to the edge by her, wishing he could last a bit longer, but she was strangling his cock. “Y-you’re so good. So perfect. C-can’t believe I waited this l-long. I-I’d wait forever if it meant I c-could have you a-again.” 

She bleated at his words, continuing to strain beneath him on the edge of her own orgasm. 

Despite intending to be utterly gentle with her, he had to bring himself over. He pumped into her a good few times, the sensation absolutely wrecking him, as she cried out, digging her fingernails into the flesh around his shoulders. He painted her insides with his seed, clamped on so tightly that he hadn’t the strength or will to do it elsewhere. Sagging forward, he pushed the visor of his helmet into the pillow beside her, trying to collect the scattered fragments of his sense as he wondered when he’d ever had such a good orgasm. His body was still quaking from the effort, despite how slow they had been going, tanned skin slick with sweat from a combination of effort and the stale desert air. 

Finally, he disentangled himself and slipped down on the small bed beside her. He offered his arm, the cool beskar helm nestling into the crook of his pec, clicking lightly with the bottom of his own. 

That’s going to get annoying, he realized, but put the thought aside. Mindlessly, his hand nestled against her waist and traced against it, comforted by her silken skin underneath his palm. Sliding over them like the moonlight on the moors of Vorp’ya, a comforting silence eased between them as they slowly drifted down from their high like a leaf slowly spiralling down from a tree’s most upper branch. He was nearly dozing off, her nails tracing lines in his chest hair, when she finally spoke. 

“We should talk.” 

Those words shouldn’t have frightened him, not when he was holding her against him, naked save for their helmets, having just fucked her, but they did. His heart fluttered, disconcerted and malcontent at the suggestion that there was really so much to talk about. “About?”

“What this means, what happened during the war, and where we go from here,” she answered simply.

They owed each other to fill in the gaps, and try to work things out. “Mm,” he hummed, continuing to caress her. “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Paz.”

“That you’re an absolute  di’kut ,” she informed him.

Din snorted. Of course Paz would still be mad at him, though he didn’t entirely blame the man. They weren’t on the best of terms at the moment. “Could say the same for him.”

“You’re both idiots,” Sena declared. “But I know it must’ve been hard to believe him after all this time.”

“Hard? It was nearly impossible. Why didn’t he just show me one of the transmissions?”

“Because they were coded specifically to be erased immediately after being opened,” Sena sighed. “I really could only send one at most every year or two. I was deep in Imperial territory and if those got intercepted, I could have gotten my entire team killed. I promised Paz I’d only send them to the  Kote. ”

He should have expected that Paz would have offered evidence if he had it, but it still made him upset that he’d gone for so many years without confirmation - having to rely on the words of a man who was grieving for the loss of his entire clan. “What were you doing? I assumed the worst… that during The Great Purge you went marching-” his voice cracked, fingers tightening against her as he closed his eyes and tried to shake the terrible nightmares he’d recounted as he imagined her being killed over and over again without him there to watch her six.

“Barely made it out of there. Mandalore was absolutely ravaged. There were a few of us trying to figure out where to go, what to do… We didn’t feel right just throwing the towel in and giving up. Not after all the  vod  we’d lost on Mandalore. So, we found the rebels and offered our help. I split off from the others as the rebels began growing their numbers. I did a lot of recon, recruiting, and then set up on Hoth. Lot of people joined, but a lot  of those people didn’t know their ass from their elbow. They had heart and they needed training, so I stepped into the position as teacher. None of them ever took a shine to fighting like Mandalorians, but they also didn’t have the luxury of extensive training. It was learn quick or die in the next fire fight-”

She continued detailing her years amongst the Rebels, how the operations grew, and she continued to help train until there were others who could take up the torch. Her talents were better used elsewhere, especially with the growing tension and necessity of an elite set of soldiers that could employ better stealth tactics. Her hatred of the Imps had never faded and she fell in step with being known as the best extractor of information. Whenever an officer was captured, she would be the interrogator, making certain they didn’t off themselves with their implants. They were tough nuts to crack, but Sena always had them singing for death, begging to be released from the revenge she took out on them. There was no pity in her heart. Not one single shred. 

With the war reaching a climax, she took boots to the ground, working alongside other soldiers and groups as a leader and front-liner. Her years of experience, tactical training, and warfare made her a prime candidate for commander and she went wherever she was needed. No wonder she had no time to reach out, she was constantly traveling and offering support to troops. There was no time to run-ashore, to lollygag, or to take a moment for herself. They were at war and she’d be damned if she slacked even for a moment, costing anyone their lives. Din’s heart burned with admiration for her sacrifice, her unflinching resolve, and dedication to the cause. With each story, each word, he felt his resentment for her lack of contact vanishing as if it’d never been there. She hadn’t purposely been estranging herself. Sena had been an important leader in the war and trying to reach out to the Tribe would’ve put it in danger. She had been protecting them with her distance and he’d given up on ever seeing her again because of it.

When the end of the war came, it did not mark a complete close. The Death Star might’ve imploded, but there were still many warlords looking to make a last stand and attempt to regroup forces to bludgeon the wounded New Republic. Again, she could not leave in good faith until she was quite certain that the New Republic could handle everything on their own. So she remained, helping track down and hunt the remnants, counting the heads on spikes as she considered what returning home might feel like. It would all be worth it. She’d gone that far and that long to protect her people, for the risk of the Empire swooping in and taking the Tribe once again to never happen a second time. Her own personal needs did not rival the needs of the many. 

Listening closely, he felt himself falling in love with her a second time. 

“So as you can imagine, it’s been a long awaited homecoming. Not to mention how glad I was to take this kriffing bucket off on  Dinhue . Thought the thing was glued onto me at that point,” she remarked, rapping her knuckles against the grey-blue steel. “Not that I didn’t miss you, but I wouldn’t trade what I did for anything, Din. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I had to go. I had to because they destroyed my planet. And then did it a second time when they attacked Mandalore.”

“I understand,” he assured her. “If you had remained here, you’d be asking yourself constantly what might have happened if you had helped. You wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling back against his neck, the beskar chilling him. “Didn’t think the war would take that kriffing long, but… suppose it couldn’t be helped.”

“ Ni vod’ika ,” he teased, tracing the golden marks on her collar.

“I was a commander,” she groused, but shifted abruptly, sitting up so that she had a palm on the pillow and was gazing down at him. “And when you say that, when you say  my- ”

“I mean it,” Din answered honestly. “ My cyar’ika. Mine.  Did you think I would change my mind after you told me your war stories?”

“Thought I might be too cool for you. That you’d be intimidated-”

“ Intimidated  ?” Din snarked, laughing at the idea. He pushed her off, a soft huff escaping her mouth as she landed and he rolled on top of her. “Intimidated by you? After I had you soaking wet and on my cock, begging for me to talk dirty to you? You’re still the same  di’kut. Arrogant, foolish-” he ground his hips to hers, his length beginning to twitch. “-so fucking dorky.”

“Alright, alright-” she complained, squirming beneath him. “I get it. My one brain cell did get a little swollen over the years. The rebels aren’t Mandalorians, so it was easy to stick out-”

“No, you’re wrong about that,” he palmed her breast, twisting her maroon nipple between his fingers, watching as it pebbled beneath his touch. “Despite being a  di’kut , you’ve always been special. You’ve always had a way with people. And you’ve always been an impeccable warrior. I was always jealous of that - your ability to play so nice with others, the way that they’d all look at you, how they all accepted you right away when you first arrived to the Tribe. The fact that Rhenx favored you more than me…” he huffed, letting loose all his discontent and the frustration he’d felt growing up as they fought for the lead. The growing attraction that had become more as he admired her talents, the ones she excelled in versus him, the fact that she was able to blend into all aspects of the Tribe. He’d always been reserved, unable to lead from the front as she did so naturally, surrounded by friends and hunters who adored being in her space just as much as he did. 

“You know, it doesn’t sound like you like me very much,” Sena chuckled, squeaking when he pinched her nipple. 

“You’re right,” he admitted, bending down to spread her legs again, thrusting his hardness against her quivering lower lips. She gasped as he slipped right back in. “ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum .”

“D-Din!” 

He moaned at the sound of his name being cried out, conscious to not be too rough, but still finding himself pumping into her at a steady pace. Her walls trembled around him, his palm seated against the small of her back, another flush to her mound as he drew quick circles around her clit. “I’ve loved you for such a long time. S-since we were kids. I-imagined h-having a family w-with you,” he was fraying around the edges, her sharp keening and noises hooking him toward the abyss once again. “E-each year you were gone. Felt like a piece of me died too. N-never telling you. Can’t do that again. Can’t let you out of my sight without letting you know how you make me feel. Hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed. Fuck-” his voice was breaking, the overwhelming urge to kiss her again consuming him. “Yo-you’re so good. Didn’t even dream you’d be this fucking amazing.  Mesh’la.  These markings-” he followed the crescents beneath her breasts. “-I want to taste every single one. I want to taste you.  I want everything .”

Her back arched beneath his hand, walls clenching around him and pushing him into the sweet divinity of her warmth, the heat of her embrace, and the sharp intake of air before letting out a trembling cry. His head scraped her cervix, each thrust sending jarring shockwaves up his spine, from helmet to toe. For the second time that afternoon, he climaxed and was winded, losing all sense of knowing as he fell forward. His helmet felt awfully constricting, more so than usual as he panted, the breaths billeting back in his face. 

They both fell asleep, exhausted from their tryst.

Din woke up to the space beside him vacant of Sena’s warmth. Panic billowed in his chest, eyes snapping open as he wondered if it had all been some kind of illness induced fever dream and the exchange had never happened. But when he glanced across the small room, he saw her at the kitchenette brewing tea. Her long hair had been pulled out of the braid and scattered in obsidian waves all the way down past her ass. She had his shirt on, which was big and baggy, the sleeves pushed up, and the hem skimming the tops of her thighs. Even if her armor looked good on her, Din liked seeing his own clothing draped over her slender form. Her visor settled on him and she gestured to the kettle.

“Would you like a cup?”

“Mm,” he nodded, grabbing his trousers and slipping them on, glad that she was still there and that it hadn’t been a dream. Striding over toward her as she began steeping the leaves, none of which were his, he placed his hands against her hips and brushed into her, humming as he set his chin on top of her helmet. Eventually his hands wrapped around her entirely, her slender form leaning back against him as she huffed at him. 

“I can’t finish if you’ve got me like this,” she informed him. 

“Then don’t,” he muttered.

“I’m not wasting good tea leaves,” she snipped, worming out of his grip so that she had enough room to work. Once she had steeped them properly, she removed the leaves and added a bit of honey.

“Made yourself comfortable in here while you waited for me, didn’t you?” Din mused, aware that this apartment was rather scant in supplies.

“I take my tea everywhere with me,” she insisted evenly. “These are from Naboo.”

“Which you’re not actually from.”

“No, I am not,” she admitted. 

“Where are you from?”

“Paz told me you overheard that evening.”

“Course he did,” Din grumbled, wondering how much the siblings shared with each other. At this point, seemed like bloody everything. “Yes, I overheard that you were Anaxian. Although, I never knew much about Anaxes or the people who lived there.”

“A lot of different people lived there. I lived in a forest called Genmaris,” she informed him.

A forest. Now he understood why she had been so much more excited to see a tree than the pond. She was accustomed to running between branches and boroughs and had there been more trees, she might’ve leapt amongst them completely in her natural element. “What was it like there?”

“Peaceful,” she sighed wistfully, facing him and leaning back against the counter. “I was a brat-”

“Still are-”

She gave him a defiant head tilt before continuing. “Used to find ways to worm out of the castle all the time. Go flouncing in the woods and get all my nicest dresses ruined-”

“ Castle? ” Din repeated.

“I was a princess,” she sounded so indifferent that Din was shocked into silence. “Oh, come on now. You said you overheard that evening after the farce with Hyvhast. Paz called me a princess.”

“I thought it was a pet name, not literal,” he croaked in disbelief. 

“ Anyways, ” she continued. “Genmaris was very beautiful and rich with culture, vegetation, and the architecture was glorious. Metal wasn’t very often used for building. The castle was made of stone and wood.”

“The accent makes more sense now,” Din realized out loud.

“Hm?”

“Your accent,  princess .”

“Don’t start that  osik  with me. I haven’t been a princess for twenty-two years. That life was put behind me when I joined Clan Vizsla,” she snapped irritably, his lips curling up at her frustration. “  Speaking  of which, my brother is rather cross with you.”

“You think he’ll be more upset after he finds out I fucked you?” Din teased, quickly adding, “Twice.”

She slapped his chest -  hard - taking her mug of tea and sliding out of his grasp. “Paz does like you. He was thinking of us as a match back when we were 16,” she sat down, crossing her legs, the hem of the shirt riding up slightly. “But you were too stupid to do anything other than stare.”

“You could’ve said something too,  cyar’ika ,” he took the other mug and sat across from her. 

“Anaxians don’t reach sexual maturity until their twentieth name day. And what that means, is that we don’t go through puberty until then. I wasn’t really thinking about that sort of stuff until we were older and even then, I was quite put off after what had happened,” Sena reminded him, lifting her helmet enough to take a sip of her tea. “I ended up dating because it felt like the right thing to do, since everyone else was.”

Din’s stomach shifted uncomfortably, horrified by what he was hearing. Not because he’d overstepped boundaries, but because Sena had been trying so hard to fit in and she had gotten burned because of it. Hyvhast’s stupid bucket appeared back in his mind. She had dated him because ‘it seemed right’ only for the mando to strip her growing body after constant pressure and coercion. No wonder Paz had been livid. He’d also felt just as upset, but Paz had known all these things those years ago. His sister was still an adolescent and Hyvhast had defiled her, laughed in her face, and then told others about it. Fortunately, the Tribe wasn’t as stupid as Hyvhast and Jiabe had throttled him for speaking out of turn. 

“And now?”

She glanced over at him. “Well, we didn’t quite date did we? Though circumstances withstanding, I wouldn’t take back any of what we did.”

He was happy to hear that, taking a sip of the tea, which was pleasantly floral with earthy undertones, a hint of caf, and the sweet bloom of the honey. “What are we?”

“Together, if that’s what you’d like,” she proposed, but quickly followed up. “Despite what you’ve said, I think we should get to know each other again. We shouldn’t be too hasty.” They shouldn’t exchange  riduurok  immediately was what she was darting around.

Din would have right in that moment, but respected her request. Duly he remembered that he had promised Karga that he’d pick up the next big bounty soon, something about beskar being involved as payment. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her side after being reunited. But she had full beskar armor. He did not. “Together then,” he agreed. “You’re not going to tell Paz that we-”

“ What!?  ” she screeched. “Do I want your helmet bashed in? No! I’ll tell him that we’re courting. Again, he’s still rather pissed at you,” she cocked her head, setting the mug down on the table. “I know the years haven’t been easy for you. Paz told me that you’ve been living a half-life, not really engaging with the Tribe. Still pulling more than your fair share of weight, but a lot of our  vod  aren’t too pleased with you. Din… Are you ok?”

He sighed, bone weary and not looking forward to this conversation. “The days were monotonous. I just fell into routine and… you were really the only reason I talked to most of the Tribe. Your brother tried to bring me back in and we got into a few fights over it. I thought you were marching away, so hearing him sound so foolishly hopeless about your return… I started to resent him. Which only grew as the years dragged on and he still hadn’t given up about you.”

Sena stood up, trotting over to him and wrapping an arm around his hot neck. “Well, you’d better apologize then, because who’s the  shebs  now?” she pointed out, letting him lean into her chest, hooking his bicep around her waist before he tugged her onto his lap. 

“I am,” he grumbled, nestling his helmet into her collar. 

“Mm, you have changed a bit. Admitting defeat so quickly?”

“Only to you,” he frowned, sitting back up. “It’ll get better.  I’ll get better,” he assured her, touching his helmet down in a keldabe kiss. 

“Better? No, Din, you’ll  feel  better. You’re not broken, just hurting. And I’ll be here for you to talk to. I’m not going anywhere now,” she insisted, pushing back against his helmet. 

He hummed in agreement, holding her close, savoring their proximity once again, clinging to the idea that he’d not be alone again. Truly, he’d never been alone as he was surrounded by the Tribe, but he’d estranged himself after the defeat on Vorp’ya. He didn’t feel hopeless anymore, but there were still many other emotions he had to come to grips with. “Do I really have to apologize to Paz?”

“ Elek, di’kut, ” she flicked his helmet. “Better sooner than later, because if Paz finds out that you-”

“You said you wouldn’t tell him,” he scowled.

“If it’s going to force your apology out of you, perhaps I might casually mention it.”

“We won’t be exchanging  riduurok  ever if your brother kills me,” Din reminded her lightly.

“Mm, would be such a shame. You’ll never find out what an Anaxian princess actually looks like,” she jested.

“If this part of you is any hint at what’s beneath the bucket-” he ran his hand down the front of the shirt she was wearing. “-then I know I’m in for the shock of my life.”

“Oh,” she huffed mockingly. “Can your heart take it?”

Din pushed her off his lap as she broke out into a fit of howling laughter. He’d missed that especially.  “Still a brat.”

“ Your brat.”

“My brat,” he agreed.

Translations

ori'buyce kih'kovid - all helmet, no head (overdeveloped sense of authority) mesh'la dala - beautiful woman di'kutla - stupid, worthless Hukaat'kama - watch my six shab - fuck/fucked dala - woman ni cetar'narir kay'shebs - I'm going to shove my boot up your ass shebs - ass jayc'kovid - dickhead osik - shit Vor entre - I owe you a debt (or thank you) Kaysh mirsh solus - his braincell is lonely Oya - let's hunt, let's go Manda'yaim - Mandalore Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye (lit. Maybe we'll meet again) di'kut - idiot Ni vod'ika - my little soldier

[kisskissbanggang]

The Sabotage of Simkung House - Part 2

[Stray Kids Multi Fic - 15Min Read/4K Words - Changbin x - Female Reader - Non-Idol!au, Variety!au - NSFW/Smut, Plot - Reverse Harems, Variety Shows, Unfolding Plot, Gym Sex, Daddy Kink, Secret Hook-Ups]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Feedback

How could a show like this get tedious so fast? By the end of the first week you had established a rhythm: clean, get a dumb text from Felix, flirt a little, and do a tiny amount of Chan’s laundry every night. The frequency was the biggest part of your routine that puzzled you. 

Until you realized -- maybe that was his angle. Maybe, perhaps, Chan was awful at flirting and this was his attempt at seeing you in “private.” You set about experimenting, coming up to his room early one night, right after you heard steps travel from his room to the bathroom. Being the oldest had its perks, such as no roommate to answer when you pretended to wait after knocking. You bashfully gasped as a hand tapped on your shoulder from behind, and you turned to see Chan wrapped up in a bathrobe, his soft, wavy hair still soaked after washing. 

“Noona,” he plainly greeted, “I apologize for making you wait. It was nice of you to come meet me up here instead.” He brushed past you into his room, returning with a measly pile of laundry that he set in your basket before shutting the door in your face. You smiled meagerly, shrugging in defeat to the camera at the end of the hall when you turned to retreat downstairs. 

You hit the bottom step and let out an actual gasp this time, surprised as you were that Changbin was currently helping Hyunjin with his squats in the home gym outside your room. Both boys watched as you nearly fumbled Chan’s laundry out of your hands, Changbin’s smirk catching your eye before he turned his attention back to correcting Hyunjin’s form. You separated and got started on Chan’s laundry before heading back to your room to think. Did you have it all wrong? Maybe Chan couldn't be won that easily. You would have to do some more reconnaissance.

The next morning, you awoke to your requisite text from Felix.

>How’s my shining star this morning? Try interacting more during the day. You rate the best out of the staff cast. 

You huffed out a sigh as you pulled on a simple pair of pants with your cute blouse, more suitable for housework when you weren't attempting to get any work done for your own show. The curtains needed to be steamed and the hardwood needed to be tended to on the main floor. You would have to wax each room when the boys weren't using them. Somehow, though, the house was already seemingly empty. You grabbed a duster and peeked into each room, trying to feel out where everyone may have run off to. Seungmin hadn't warned you of any big happenings coming up, so it would seem odd that no one was around. 

Until you opened the door to the backyard. Apparently, the boys had begun a morning exercise regimen, with Changbin leading everyone in push-ups. Chan seemed most adept beside him, with Minho doing well enough at the end, and Jisung and Hyunjin attempting to keep up behind them. 

“Noona,” Changbin greeted over his shoulder, “we’re about to start some yoga to cool down and then we’ll be heading inside.”

“That’s fine,” you reassured him, “I was just checking up on you. I thought you’d all run away,” you laughed. 

“Want to join in?”

“Yoga?” You asked, considering. “Sure. Save me a spot tomorrow morning. Now, nobody steps foot in the study today until I'm done waxing the floor,” you teasingly wagged a finger at the boys, waving goodbye as you walked back in the house. 

You really did plan to join them. Your scheme now involved getting so invested in their show that you spent even more time with all of them. Surely, you'd be able to figure Chan out that way, and get the others in the process. Seungmin popped up as you headed to the study. 

“Do you need any workout clothes for tomorrow, noona?” He whispered in the quiet of the hall. You shook your head, silently thanking him and waving goodbye. Weird. If he’d watched your nighttime footage, he'd have known that you'd worked out before bed every night after the first. Then again, what assistant has time to watch the dailies?

Nonetheless, the next morning you arrived just in time for yoga with the boys, covered up pretty well with tights under your shorts and a hoodie on over your t-shirt, with a mic from the crew clipped on since you were out in the backyard. You stretched out with everyone else, them doing it to cool down from their workout, and you to warm up after your night of sleep. You attempted to not notice the boys all glancing at you as you easily kept up with and occasionally outpaced Changbin, your casual relaxation more than making up for any poses you didn’t quite get. It was apparent to you by now that the safe approach for all of them was to pretend you were entirely oblivious and innocent. 

Except for Minho. 

Minho caught your eye during Downward Facing Dog, smiling cutely at you as you stretched. And, as you transitioned into Child’s Pose, you noticed both Changbin and Chan taking note of your acknowledgement, each with one eyebrow cocked. At least, that is, until you smiled back at Changbin, causing him to quickly divert his gaze, and now Chan’s raised eyebrow was directed at him instead. 

Now what did that mean?

You were curious to the point of distraction for the rest of your yoga session and you thanked the boys for including you before you headed back in the house to get started on chores. For the time being, you would bury your head in your work while you attempted to formulate your next step. The amazing thing was, though, that you couldn’t even do the thing you usually did when you wanted to be productive and think through things. 

Streaming wasn't just your main livelihood aside from the occasional AV, it was something you enjoyed enough to be doing instead of pursuing something related to your degree. You could take some time, get some thinking done and have some fun, and please some fans while you were at it. You’d been miserable working retail and clubs. This way, you were your own boss and running your own life on your own terms. You understood why you signed the contract knowing you couldn’t stream -- filming property that belonged to the studio and making money off it was pretty much stealing in a legal sense, and you didn't need to bring the law into complicating an already complicated lifestyle -- but you still missed it. 

You headed upstairs after your day of chores to catch Seungmin and return your mic, which you hadn’t thought about and had promptly stowed in your apron for the rest of the day. You looked around, hands on your hips and confused as you saw the crew had already cleared out. 

“Hmm,” you wondered out loud, “I wonder where Seungmin is.” You’d grown accustomed to this the past couple days, just asking for something out loud to yourself and Seungmin or Jeongin appearing and giving it to you. The house was wired enough that someone was bound to hear you. 

Or at least you thought. 

You waited a solid few more minutes until Seungmin popped his head in from downstairs. 

“Noona!” He laughed, just a little surprised. “I came back for my earbuds. Did you call for me?” He walked over, picking up a pack of wireless headphones off the corner of a table. He walked over and took the mic from you, wrapping it up and setting it back in its cradle for now. “This is the only room with no microphones or cameras, so if that mic's off you’ve been out of luck.”

“Oh!” You laughed, “that makes a ton of sense. Thank you.”

Seungmin waved you goodnight and you returned the same as he hopped down the stairs for the night before you eventually went down yourself. All this thinking for the day and you still couldn't see a clear path ahead of you. Maybe you just needed to clear your head. 

You had “cleared your head” plenty since arriving at the house, usually for your viewers in the middle of the night when you weren't getting any other work done. The first time, the only feedback you got was Felix telling you to partially cover up with a blanket to appear a little more modest. You ventured down to your room, sitting on your bed and flicking through Twitter. It felt odd seeing your friends and fans and not talking to them, but it was still nice to see what everyone was up to. Everyone looked so productive that it sort of made your heart hurt, like you were missing out. Even Duckie, one of your streaming friends you’d met when you first started, was on a sabbatical for work but was still uploading old content to keep things fresh, along with some new selfies. You clicked through to his profile, scrolling through and liking his new posts and really feeling like you were missing out now. Previously, you’d considered hitting him up to possibly ask him over to collaborate, actually meet him and see his face for once and fool around, but you always felt too small, too amateur since he got started a couple years before you. You jumped through all sorts of imaginary hoops to justify your belittlement in regards to this guy who you only knew by his username. Even tapping through selfies of him wearing the necklace you got him as a birthday present, you knew that was just a thing friends did, but not friends like you were curious to be. For God's sake, he was even still occasionally wearing the cute pair of expensive briefs you got him as a not-so-secret Santa gift a year ago, but he remained unapproachable in your mind.  Maybe once the show wrapped you could consider it again.

And, you suddenly realized, you’d used up almost half an hour aimlessly scrolling and browsing. You checked the time -- so much for clearing your head. You got up, ready to try to get some work done, and grabbed your laundry basket. You headed upstairs, hesitating just a moment before knocking on Chan’s door. Should you say something? You wouldn’t even be sure what to say by now, to try and figure out what his problem was with you. By now, you were thoroughly convinced that's what it was: a problem. 

Chan opened up, taking one look at you with a sigh before fetching his laundry. “You don't have to suck up to me, you know,” he muttered as he rummaged behind his half-closed door, “I don't have anything to offer you.”

Yup, you confirmed, he has a problem with me. 

“Then tell me to stop,” you simply replied. 

“Why would I do that?” He asked as he set his clothes into the basket in your hands. “Appearances are important. You're being paid to work here, and I'm being paid to work here while you work. Don't let me get in the way of that. Goodnight, noona.” And with that, Chan briskly shut the door in your face. 

You sighed as you stormed down the stairs. You had done nothing but be nice to this prick, and he thought you were getting something out of him?

You sort of are, stupid, you silently chided yourself. 

You quickly sorted Chan’s laundry in with the rest of the boys’ and stomped back into your room, pacing in your annoyance when you heard someone descend the stairs. Maybe, perhaps, this was a good opportunity to turn this energy into something productive. But who could be down here at this time of night? You got your answer as you heard some weights being pulled off the rack out in the gym. 

Of course, you realized, Changbin. 

Changbin had given you an equally quizzical look earlier during yoga, and now seemed like a perfect time to catch him while he was distracted. 

You emerged from your room in a more comfortable outfit than you'd worn that morning: just some leggings and a sports bra, your hair pulled up and out of your face again as you stepped onto the treadmill. The sound of weights being rested tipped you off, and you took off your headphones as you looked back. 

“Oh, Changbin,” you greeted, pretending to pause the music you hadn't been playing, “I didn’t know you were out here. I can--”

“No, noona, don’t be sorry,” Changbin replied as he looked you over, “there's plenty of room for both of us.” He gingerly laid back down on the bench before starting to lift again. You let yourself ogle the way his muscles tensed as he worked out. After all, you could get some information and get some work done if you played your cards right. Changbin looked down his nose at you, catching you watching him before you quickly turned back to the treadmill to program it. You did, however, catch his small smirk before you looked away. 

“Thanks for inviting me to yoga again,” you called over your shoulder.

“Of course -- noona --” he shared between lifts, “I’d love -- to have you -- back again.”

“Don’t you mean ‘we’d love to have you back again?’”

“No--” he breathed out a laugh as he took a second to catch his breath again, “I mean I would. Maybe Minho, with how he looks at you. And the others. Well, not Chan-hyung, but--”

“I know,” you cut in, just agitated enough for Changbin to catch. What he didn’t catch, however, was you still hadn’t programmed the treadmill by the time he started lifting again. You stepped off and strode over, hesitating for only a moment to let him sense you before swinging a leg over and gently lowering yourself onto his lap where he laid on the bench. Changbin gasped and nearly fumbled the bar before you helped him get a grip and rest it.

“Chan-hyung told me about you,” he warned, quietly but confidently. 

“He what?” You asked, astounded. The audacity of this prick. 

“I asked him what his deal was with you. He told me about bit players who try to weasel their way into bigger parts on variety shows.”

“Oh, god, and you believed him?” You asked bluntly. 

“Well, I mean--” Changbin grumbled, looking a little caught. 

You rolled your eyes. “I just happen to like you and the others and look where that gets me.” 

“You like me?” He asked, and it was almost innocent. Changbin's hands still held onto the bar where he'd racked his weights, almost like he was trying to keep from grabbing onto your hips that had just started to subtly grind against his. 

“Of course I do,” you cooed. For his sake, you weren't even lying -- you did like him and the others. “You're handsome and funny and nice and so fit,” you praised. Changbin actually moaned under his breath as your fingers traced the definition of his abdomen under his shirt, teasing the lines of his hips that would eventually lead you down between his legs. Considering your bruised ego from earlier that night, your head had inflated tenfold since then, watching as Changbin grew breathless at how you rolled your hips against his growing erection. 

“How about you?” You asked, finally setting a treat on the mousetrap. “Do you like me?”

“Yes, noona,” he eagerly supplied, watching as you slid off his lap and down onto your knees in front of the bench. He groaned as you freed his length from his thin shorts. You only licked the tip of his cock and he cursed under his breath. “You sure you’re a housekeeper?” He smirked, gritting his teeth as you continued teasing the tip of his length with your tongue. “You don't act like one.”

“Well, have you met any who wanted to do this before?” You asked before taking his length deep between your lips. You pulled off him with an audible ‘pop’ and jerked his cock. 

“No, but I'm enjoying it,” he gasped as you dipped him deep into your mouth again, now threatening to suck him into your throat. “Maybe too much. Come here,” he demanded, grabbing your hand and pulling you up onto his lap again. He kissed you hard, his tongue tangling with yours as he got up and spun you around to sit you on the edge of the bench. It was his turn to sink to his knees in front of you as he pushed your thighs up to your chest. He pulled your leggings to your knees and you bit into your knuckle as you felt his tongue taste you between your legs. Changbin hungrily licked at you for a minute, his fingers getting a good feel inside you before he got back up. The head of his cock nudged up against you. 

“Noona, do you--” 

“Call me ‘baby’,” you insisted. 

“Really? I was about to ask--”

“Call me ‘baby’, or ‘beautiful’, or ‘slut’ or literally anything else,” you demanded, and Changbin nodded. Admittedly, being everyone's noona was starting to grow a little thin, but now you were more intrigued by the flush on his cheeks. 

“If we’re in the mood to ask for things,” he carefully began, the head of his length still prodding against you, “can you call me ‘daddy’?”

“Really?” You smirked sweetly. His nod was almost sheepish. “Please fuck me, daddy,” you pouted, and with a sharply whispered curse, Changbin sank into you. You whimpered for effect, holding onto your legs where he had them pinned to your chest. 

“That's it, baby, you're so tight like this,” he groaned as he fucked you, his hands holding tight onto your knees. 

“Not so loud, daddy,” you quietly pleaded, “the others might hear--”

“Hear what, baby? How well you're taking it?” He grinned as his hips pumped hard against you. You moaned loud, biting into your knuckle as Changbin worked over your pussy. “Tell me how you want to cum, baby,” he implored, “I want to make it happen before I fill you up.”

You groaned from his filthy words, surprising you since Changbin had been mostly quiet up until now. “I want to ride your face, daddy,” you whined sweetly. 

Changbin smirked as he pulled out of you, tugging your leggings the rest of the way off and helping you off the bench. He laid down, his head right at the edge. “Come here, baby. I want to taste you again.” He gasped as you lowered yourself, but positioned so you could still tease and suck his hard length. “What’re you doing?” He asked, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your warm pussy. 

“I want to taste you again, too,” you smiled, squeaking out a moan as his hands pulled your thighs down so he could lick you. Changbin ate you like he was starving, groaning and humming against you as he tried not to buck into your mouth. You moaned and sighed around the cock in your mouth, your legs trembling from propping yourself up over Changbin’s face as you rolled your hips against his tongue. Just his enthusiasm alone was pushing you closer to orgasm -- not a big one, but still jolting through to your fingertips and making you cry out and gag on his length when it happened. 

“Come on, baby,” Changbin prodded, “I’m not finished with you yet.” He helped you back up, slipping his shirt off to wipe up his chin as he bent you over on the bench. His fingers dipped back into your sensitive pussy, scissoring inside you and feeling you out before he slid his cock deep inside you again. From this angle, he stretched you even more than he had when you were on your back, and you whined from the extra stimulation. One hand roughly gripped your hip and the other grabbed at your breasts as he roughly fucked you. 

“How close did I get you, daddy?” You smirked back over your shoulder. 

“Too close, baby, but I'm going to fuck you as long as I can.” Changbin landed a playful smack on your ass as he pumped into you, groaning in tandem with your moans as he rolled his hips. He hadn’t lied; it was really only a few more minutes before his breathing was tagged and he sounded like he was right on the brink. You just needed to seal the deal. 

“Is daddy gonna cum?” You asked sweetly. 

“Yes baby,” he panted, “how do you want it?”

“How do you want to give it to me?”

Changbin thought for a moment, his hips still snapping against you as he decided. “I want to watch you swallow it down, baby.”

You happily cooperated as he swiftly pulled out, pulling you off the bench and turning you around before you landed on your knees in front of his dripping cock. Just to get him there, you dipped his length deep into your mouth, the head nudging into your throat as his moans grew more desperate. You sucked his cock deep for a few more strokes, gagging on it hungrily before Changbin came with a deep groan. He threw his head back but quickly got his eyes back on you just in time to watch you pull off and let the rest of his load spurt into your waiting mouth. You looked up into his eyes as you graciously swallowed everything. Changbin pulled you to your feet and muffled your surprised moan as he kissed you deeply, his tongue greedily tasting his cum on your own. 

“Thanks, noona,” he laughed breathlessly, still holding your hand.

“Thanks, daddy,” you winked, loving the red tinting his cheeks now that the haze of sex was starting to dissipate from his brain. 

“First time doing anything like that,” he smirked, “maybe we can do it again.” Changbin squeezed your hand and kissed your cheek before gathering his shirt up and heading upstairs. He didn't catch the puzzled look on your face as you searched for one of the cameras in the basement. You gave a sarcastic curtsey to the nearest one before retreating to your room. 

Like clockwork, a soft knock sounded at the door only a few minutes later. Jeongin had turned out the lights in the basement and was dutifully waiting for you with a bottle of water and his small messenger bag, which you had gathered over the past few days was actually full of next to anything you might need, including extra birth control methods and hygiene products. For all intents and purposes, he was a great assistant to have on set. 

“Jeongin,” you whispered in the silent darkness of the basement, “I'm confused about something.”

“What is it, noona?”

“So far both Minho and Changbin have said they've never done anything like this before. Any idea why they would broadcast that this is their first AV like that? No one likes boy amateurs like they do girls.”

“Didn't think about it,” Jeongin shrugged, “but Felix told me the cast is really committed to playing up their studious personalities, like they're won over by you in the midst of filming their other show.”

“So they’re doing a pure and tempted bit?” You asked. You weren't one to question the big boss, but it didn’t hurt to be sure. Jeongin shrugged again. 

“That’s a question for the PD’s, but I think that’s about right.”

“Can I meet with Felix about it? I just want to know I'm following the right direction.”

“Sorry, noona,” Jeongin shrugged again, “Felix said no meetings except for urgent matters. He wants to maintain the atmosphere in the house. Goodnight.”

And as quickly as he came, Jeongin was gone, having crept up the stairs back up to the attic to keep watch. You turned back to the warm light of your room, made a little cuter by now with some of the decorations you’d brought from your small apartment. Thoughts swirled around your head, wondering how to be as committed to maintaining a vibe for the show like the boys were. You set about folding and putting away your laundry, keeping busy as you thought. 

When you noticed two pairs of your panties were missing. 

[To be continued.]

[dragonswithjetpacks]

For anyone who was interested in my Cullen/Trevelyan fic, I've got four chapters up, now.

Beautiful War

Summary: Dame Claira Trevelyan is known to be a stubborn and off-putting woman. She was always told she never amounted to anything, that she was never pretty or graceful enough to marry. She believed that for the longest time. But her strength and her compassion managed to catch the eye of someone beyond her what she imagined possible. A man just as stubborn and oblivious to how his feelings for his leader are more than just respect.

Chapter Four: Agree to Disagree

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Read here on Ao3.

The requisitions for the journey into the Hinterlands were well underway. Word had not yet arrived how successful the troops were with aiding the refugees. But Claira had suspected the constant warfare in the area had much to do with their letters being intercepted. Or that there may have not been a chance to write at all. With her going to the Hinterlands, it would provide the others in the Inquisition with enough information to proceed further with their plans on the Breach. It was important not just as her first mission, but the Inquisition's as well. She needed to be ready.

"You're sure you don't need more?" Harritt asked as she watched the last of the supplies being loaded onto a cart.

"I'm certain, Harritt. If I take anymore, we'd be low on stock here. I'd hate to put you behind in orders."

"It's no trouble, my Lady. I'm happy to help."

"And I appreciate it every bit of," Claira smiled.

"How about the new setup? Is it fitting well?"

Harrit had known the lady was a warrior but heeded her request to remain flexible. The leathers were hardened but the metal was light, granting her the protection she required but also the movement of a quickened fighter. She looked down to admire her armor, fitted specifically to her measurements. With a smile, she could not recall the last time something was made so well for her.

"Like a glove," she patted her chest piece.

"So glad to hear it," he smiled proudly. "If I don't see you before you set off, make sure you take of yourself!"

"You as well, my friend," Claira waved and began to make her way toward the door into Haven.

The snow was falling lightly on the mountain and the sun was just warm enough to keep the bitterness at bay. It was a good sign. Claira pulled at her gloves, tightening them closer to her fingers. As she reached the stairway to the gate, she turned to observe the soldiers training. They were always loud. But today, they seemed particularly riled up. Their Commander was shouting at them, correcting their stances, and striding through the rows watching carefully. He seemed so focused, his brown lowered and his lips turned down into a stern frown. It suddenly softened as he caught Claira's stare.

"Lady Herald," he called after her, causing her to stop.

He trotted through his crowd of men, but he was in no true hurry. His hair was a bit tousled, no doubt from the exercise throughout the early morning. His cheeks were very red, but if anyone spent a good amount outside they would have the same appearance.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked.

"I do," she obliged him.

"We haven't gotten a chance to truly speak," he placed a foot on the first step and rested his hands on the hilt of his sword. "That's partially my fault. I apologize."

"Not at all," Claira shook her head slightly. "You're a busy man."

"Indeed," he smirked. "Correct me if I'm out of place, but I was wondering your stance regarding the mages and tempalrs?"

Claira paused. The intent was misguided in her mind, she was certain.

"I don't recall having a stance, Commander."

"Yes, with the disputing between us, I don't recall you having a chance to speak on it."

"And so you wish for me to speak on it now?" she looked around to find they were, in fact, alone in their conversation.

"I'm simply asking your opinion, my Lady."

He was doing his best to appear curious, but Claira could see through his hardened gaze that he was seeking an argument. Perhaps he felt he could sway her into siding with the templars, given her family was close with the Chantry. Or did he know of her origin at all? No, he most certainly knew. This was a ploy if she ever knew one.

"I've hardly had a moment to observe our situation. Of course, it will depend on who we are able to reach out to. As of right now, either option looks grim in this war."

"Of course."

"But... since you ask... I'm inclined to agree with Cassandra. The mages could also be of use."

"Is that so?" he shifted, his back straightening as if to form a wall she could not break down. "What of templars?"

"The templars?" Claira tilted her head. "Many of them still follow the Lord Seeker. They've holed themselves away from this. Nulled the Nevarran Accord. It doesn't seem rational, to be honest."

"So you're saying the templars are lost?"

"What? No. No, you've proven that, Commander. But I fear there is no hope for the Order. They will act on their own, now. And it appears they have chosen to turn a blind eye."

Cullen grimaced breaking the eye contact they held. "I'm a bit disappointed to hear you say that."

"Well, I'm not here to please you. Or anyone for that matter."

"Then you won't mind humoring me with your reasoning?"

"Did you question Cassandra or Leliana with their judgment?" Claira crossed her arms against her chest.

"I trust their judgment."

"Oh!" Claira shouted, composing her stature even further. "Is this about trust, then?"

Her voice was louder than she thought, causing a few of the lingering scouts to look in their direction. But they did not stop their altercation in spite of a few curious eyes. In fact, Cullen stepped upward onto the stair his foot was resting on, bringing him closer to the Herald.

"Why wouldn't it be? They're the Hands of the Divine! She trusted them with her life."

"And they agree with my opinion, so what makes it different?"

Claira was not backing down. She matched his move, placing her dominant foot forward and down a stair. There was a respected distance between them, but the tension that rolled within that space was crashing as waves would against a rocky cliff. Many of the soldiers felt uncomfortable nearby and retreated to their tents.

"Because they'll agree with anything you say because you've been labeled the Herald of Andraste," he pointed a finger at her.

"And you'll disagree with it because that would mean things wouldn't go your way. You templars are all the same."

"What do you know of the struggles of templars and mages? The Trevelyans have been catered to for years."

"You know nothing of the Trevelyans."

A nerve was struck, and he knew it quite well. Her voice was deep and cold. Her arms dropped to her sides but her shoulders remained upright. The waves seemed to subside but the cliff remained vigilant. They both stood, their eyes not leaving the other as if to wait for some sort of outburst.

"Perhaps we should end this conversation," she lowered her tone. "I have important things to attend to before nightfall."

**********************************************

A night drinking at the tavern was not going to fix things for her, and she knew that very well. But going back to the Chantry meant packing for the next day. And her mind was far too busy with other things to focus on that. A few drinks would quiet her thoughts. Or so she would have herself believe. She looked down into her drink to find her reflection at the bottom disappointing. She cast it aside, alerting the barkeep of a refill.

"You look stressed," she said.

"I think I need a good rest," Claira muttered, toying with the handle of her mug.

"It might just be me, but I think sleep is the least of your concerns, Lady Herald."

There was no doubt she was right. Claira tapped the bar side, feeling her anxiety rise again. It shot up from her calves to the base of her neck and no matter how long she bounced her legs up on the barstool, it would no go away. Who was he to judge her? Why was he so salty about disagreeing with him? Why did he feel the need to bring her family into the equation? Why was he yelling? Why did he have to get so close? Why was he so pleasing to look at? No... no, no... He had no right. To be that way or to be so-

"Damn it all," Claira sat back in her chair, throwing her mug up as she let the liquid courage flow down her throat.

**********************************************

Cullen was in the wrong. He was just too arrogant to admit it. Still, each time the anxiety rose to rear its ugly head, she felt that slight twinge of guilt with it. Claira was a horrible liar. Even to herself. She knew she needed to apologize. She didn't know what for. Perhaps she was in the wrong for acting harshly. Or for insulting him as a templar. It mattered not. Leaving the argument as it was would cause it to fester with negative thoughts, eventually spreading doubt like a disease. It would not only be a poor way to start their fellowship with the Inquisition but also jeopardize their future of working together. It was the right thing to end the bickering now.

"Commander, the fires have nearly gone out from the cold," a captain complained while still attempting push-ups.

"Then I suppose you should have thought of that before taking a break this morning to eavesdrop."

"Yes, sir," he groaned.

Cullen's pride was often stronger than he'd like to admit. He didn't want to say his stance on the templars was wrong, but he refused to admit there was another way when he was so easily dismissed as if his thoughts and experience had no place at the table. Regardless of the Order, the templars were a part of something he felt compelled to. It was not so easy to let go and if he could do something for them, he would always choose them. There was respect for Cassandra and Leliana, and he would gladly discuss his intentions freely with them if given the chance. But something about Claira made him irritable. He knew nothing about her. And yet he was supposed to take counsel from her? He was confused and suspicious of her actions. There were still many questions he needed to be answered in order to comply with her demands. Where was she during the rebellion? Why does she sympathize with the mages when the rest of her family sent aid to the templars? Why did she feel so strongly about the mages when she had clearly never been around them?

He rubbed his chin in thought as he recalled the fierce expression when she loomed over him on the staircase. She stood against him when many would not. Still, he knew he should not have been so aggressive. A simple talk to get to know her would have sufficed. Instead, he responded with anger like a fool.

"That's enough, soldier," he said, wanting to find peace on his own. "We should get some rest. It's been a day."

Cullen was off toward his tent, too stuck in his own mind to pay attention to the sarcasm across the field. Many of them were joking under their breath about the Herald. She was fearless. And he had to admit, she most certainly was. He entered his tent, shedding his pauldrons along with his cloak and rubbing the back of his neck. A good sleep would do the trick, but he was convinced that the restlessness he felt would not allow that to happen. Claira was leaving the next morning. As much as part of him wanted to say good riddance, the other half wanted to seek her out. With nothing but doubt chasing his thoughts, he grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. If sleep would not ease his thinking, then a decent walk would have to do. He set out toward the pond at the edge of the camp.

**********************************************

Claira knew that since the sun had set, she would find Cullen in his tent. This made her even more nervous. It was difficult enough for her to seek him out, but to intrude into his personal space was beyond challenging. She would be out of her element. Then again, it was more important for her to settle things rather than let her own arrogance show. The closer she grew to his tent, the louder her heart banged against her chest. She stood in front of it for a moment, studying the slightly lifted flap. She couldn't hear him inside, even when she called out to him quietly. She lifted the canvas and found there was no one there. There was a candle, barely lit. And his pauldrons rested on a wooden chest. His bed was left messy. And there were garments unfolded but placed neatly on top of a chair next to his desk. He must not use it that often. She blushed upon seeing them, allowing the door into the tent to fall. Turning away, she half expected to return to her quarters.

"He's brooding again," she overheard a couple of scouts walking toward their tent.

"He's always brooding," the other replied.

"Not his usual brooding. This is serious."

"What makes you say that?"

"Didn't you hear? The Herald had a bit of a disagreement with him this morning. He's been sulking ever since."

"Well, who would argue with the Lady Herald?"

"I mean, it's good someone does, right? There should always be someone with a different look on things."

There it was. The guilt again. She couldn't go back to bed, now. For Maker's sake, the troops thought he was sulking of all things. Pulling her tunic tightly against her neck, she made her way to the edge of the camp. The next place she thought of was the training dummies. But as she cleared the tents and saw them lined before her, she was nearly blinded by the sight of the moons. They cast long dark shadows that contrasted the white snow. Just beyond the camp, she could make out the outline of someone walking along the edge of the pond. There was no doubt about it. It was Cullen.

As she approached him, she felt a rush of impatience as if the fingers of anxiety traced her spine. It sent a cold chill down her back. But then she caught the silhouette of the side of his face, his cheekbones and nose standing out against the cold moonlight. The trim of his fur shifted in the wind along the lining of his neck. He wasn't wearing his pauldrons and she caught a glimpse of his tunic hanging loosely from his chest. She caught herself looking and wondered why so suddenly she was thinking of him this way. Surely, it was the ale. But despite his good looks, she pressed on, reminding herself that physical appearance was only a distraction.

"Good evening, Commander," she called out to him as she neared the banks of the pond.

He turned, clearly surprised as she grew nearer.

"If I could have a word?" she requested.

Cullen looked back out toward his men, still buzzing through the camp. They were well occupied. He wanted to go back to them. He wanted to tell her no. He was not interested in what she had to say. But curiosity took the better of him. Though, he took a good long while before answering her. The brightly lit moons made the snow glow around them, reflecting light onto her pale skin. He had noticed her freckles after being so close that morning, but never really looked at them on her face. They traced her cheekbones under her eyes. And along the left side, she had a faint tattoo. It also appeared that her hair was cut by her own doing, being much longer on one side than the other. Her nose was quite prominent but her lips were full. As were her cheekbones. And her eyes were shaped like almonds. For a moment, he lingered on how she was quite beautiful. He also noted she was still in her armor, which meant she never went back to her quarters. Which led him to believe she lied in order to end the conversation.

"Of course," he responded plainly.

Claira was quiet for a time, listening to the sound of their feet crunch through the snow. She thought it would be rude not to appreciate the moons and the setting it had laid before her. The stars were always so clear above them. But for that night, they glistened with magic in the sky. If anything were to go wrong, she hoped she could at least remember that moment.

"I want to apologize for my behavior," she finally began. "I feel terrible for the way I've spoken to you."

Cullen wanted to agree with the statement but quickly shut his mouth. He would not ruin the conversation the second it had begun. If she wanted to speak, he wanted to be welcoming.

"It isn't just me you are disagreeing with. I shouldn't take it so personally," she continued.

Claira stopped after realizing they were closer to camp, now. She did not want the others to hear as much of their conversation as they had before. Cullen gestured toward his tent nearby.

"You were rather defensive from the beginning," he pointed out. "I'm not exactly sure where the conversation took its turn."

Claira reflected upon their previous encounter as they approached Cullen's tent. He lifted the flap for himself but did not bother to appeal to the courtesy of welcoming her into his sleeping quarters. She flinched as it fell upon her, but stepped in, regardless. He was reaching across his shoulder to untie his cloak when she spoke.

"To be fair, you were rather demanding."

He stopped for a few seconds to glare in her direction. Looking slowly back over to his shoulder, he wisked his cloak off with one gesture and lay it across his exposed garments. She was correct in guessing he was not one for sitting but also embarrassed for peering into his tent without his presence.

"No, you're right," he said, squinting at a scroll written in small lettering. "Your interrogation should have ended the moment Cassandra began to trust you."

He put the letter down but has hands pressed against the desk for longer than they should have. He closed his eyes, lower his head deep in thought. Guilt and forgiveness were not emotions he was good at portraying.

"I couldn't have expected everyone to set aside their doubts," she assured him. "You were right. They value my decision-making due to the circumstances. I haven't considered this and have taken that thought lightly. It's just... it still feels so odd. The title hasn't settled with me. I do no understand its weight. I only feel like myself. Like a person."

"You humble me, my Lady," Cullen sighed as he straightened up. "I should not have doubted you, to begin with. I apologize."

"No no, please," she insisted, stepping toward the candlelight. "As a leader, I should reflect on my impact on others as well as listening to opposing opinions. When the time comes, I want you to come forward."

"When the time comes?" he questioned her wording.

"I'm truly not certain of what will happen between the templars and mages. The Hinterlands will be a representation of this war. I know where I stand, but there will be a time for all of us to speak. And I hope you will continue to speak your mind."

"Even if we disagree?"

"In most circumstances, I would ask for you to speak if you disagree," she affirmed. "I find an arguing opinion can leave an open-minded compromise. However, it appears with this specific case, we seem to be... stuck. It's a sensitive subject for us all. But that doesn't mean you should change your mind because no one agrees with you. I won't suppress your choice. I do hope, though, that we can move past this disagreement once the decision is made."

Claira knew her truth would put Cullen at ease. But she owed him nothing. Especially if he was going to be difficult to reason with. In return, Cullen felt the very same. At the very least with their conversation ending in agreeing to disagree, they could tend to the matter more delicately without a bitter taste for the other. They knew in the near future, they would clash once again. And hopefully, when that happened, their understanding would have grown.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Scholars and Slackers

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Namjoon / Reader

Word Count: 1,802

AU: Podcast

Dialogue Prompt: "I’ll be honest, I’m not fan of how tall he is. He could be like inch shorter, really. "

↳ part of my AU drabble game

“You know what’s the worst part about this podcast?” 

Leaning into his microphone, Namjoon adjusts his headset.

“No,” you say, propping both feet on his desk. Namjoon glares because he hates when you do that, but you don’t put them down. As you both know, his bark is worse than his bite. “Tell me, RM. What is the worst part about having this podcast?”

“The money. You know what they say. Mo money, mo problems.”

“Oh, right.” Seriously, you nod. “Sponsors are killing themselves to be heard on our campus-only podcast. Which – by the way.” You pause. “Drink Red Bull. This message is brought to you by… Red Bull.”

Namjoon snorts. “Yeah, you’re right. The problem is definitely not the money. In case any of you needed reminding, we’re just two broke college kids like yourself. Donate today!”

“If you’re waiting for a noble argument, we have none,” you add. “Keep us fed – or more accurately, help us get drunk at Klein’s on Friday nights. That’s where your donations are going. To alcohol.”

“We’re college kids first, humans second.”

“Anyways.” Leaning back, you wriggle your toes on Namjoon’s desk. “If money isn’t the problem, what is?”

“It’s your fucking feet on my desk.” Namjoon groans, his expression souring. “I know this is a podcast, so our listeners can’t see what Viola is doing – but she’s currently seated at my beautiful, hand-crafted desk with her shoes on top of my carefully taken notes.”

Viola is your podcast name and RM is Namjoon’s.

Viola, after the Shakespearian character of said nomenclature, your favorite of all he has written. The moniker seemed appropriate when you two began this podcast, since you met while watching the campus production of Othello. (It was terrible. You gave it two out of five damned handkerchiefs. Namjoon gave it one.)

Unimpressed, you glance at his desk. “He’s lying,” you say. “My feet are currently on top of a crumpled bag of those gross flavored Lay’s and what seems to be a diary. Ooo!” you gasp. “Anyone wanna hear RM’s deepest thoughts?”

The question is rhetorical since you aren’t live, but Namjoon snatches his notebook away like you are. 

“No,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “My deepest thoughts aren’t that exciting. Not that deep, either. One time I thought about the Mariana trench. That was pretty deep.”

“Friday, October 17th.”  You mock-read aloud, in a dramatic tone. “Today I realized we’re all just wisps of time in the universe. All who came before us, all who come after and all who fail to leave their mark upon society – what was the point? Are those who altered history any happier in the beyond?”

“I’ll have you know,” Namjoon interrupts. “I’m currently seated on my bed holding my journal. Viola is reading from nothing.”

“Okay, true enough,” you say with a laugh. “That’s not what RM’s journal says. What it actually says is Monday morning, 7:00 AM. Jacked off in the shower. Monday afternoon, 4:17 PM. Jacked off in my bed. Monday night, 11:49 PM –”

With a loud thwacking sound, Namjoon hits you with his journal. 

“They get the point, Viola!” he says, making you snort with laughter.

The sight of his eyes crinkled, face squished makes your heart do a backflip. Fuck, are you in love with him. You have been ever since the week of your first, official podcast. 

It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment. Maybe the first time Namjoon ignored your rambling bullshit and pointed out exactly what you were thinking. Maybe when you ended the podcast and realized you’d talked for over an hour about nothing. Or maybe later than that, with your feet propped on his desk and his smile giving you heartburn.

Whatever the moment was, the result is a giant crush on your best friend. One you can do nothing about, since your podcast (Scholars and Slackers – two guesses as to which one you are) is a massive success on your campus. You didn’t expect it to be. What began as a mostly reviews hour – campus productions, local restaurants and the like – soon developed into something you never imagined. Namely, your friendship.

Viola and RM are known on campus, even if Y/N and Namjoon are not. Their friend chemistry is infamous and the spine of the podcast. It’d be suicidal to risk a relationship because, while Namjoon is correct and neither one of you is rolling in cash, the podcast does generate a substantial amount of income towards student loans. Things would be hard if the podcast suddenly came to an end.

Shifting forward, you crack open your laptop. “Let’s see,” you say, scrolling through last week’s comments. “I’m reading the comments from last episode and damn, some of y’all are thirsty.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Are they asking you to take your top off again?”

“No, but again.” You blink, shaking your head. “I don’t understand. You can’t even see me!” you say, as Namjoon starts to crack up. “Do you really want to subject RM to torture that badly?”

Abruptly, Namjoon’s laughter stops. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says into the mic. “I think we should ask RM what he thinks before dismissing the topic so quickly.”

“Pass,” you say, waving his suggestion aside. “Anyways, here’s a comment asking how tall RM is.” Pausing, you frame Namjoon with your hands. “I mean, he’s tall. I couldn’t fit him in a bread box, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll be honest, though, I’m not a fan of how tall he is.”

Namjoon sits up straighter. “No?”

“Nah. He could be like, an inch shorter, really.”

“And why is that?”

“The nook.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“You know.” You wave a hand. “The nook! The spot beneath a person’s arm where the other person fits. It’d be ideal if you were just a little shorter, RM, since right now your nook is just too tall. It’s hard to snuggle.”

Namjoon stares at you, mouth agape. “I – what? When have we snuggled?”

“We haven’t. I’m just guessing based off height ratios.”

“I...” Namjoon makes a strange, choked sound. “This is ridiculous. Come here. I’m going to disprove your dumb nook theory.”

“Come there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?

“I’m going to snuggle you, you ass.”

“RM. You are not snuggling me during our very serious podcast, just to prove a point.”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Viola, shut up and let me put you under my arm!”

“You sound like you’re going to give me a noogie,” you yelp, frantically moving away. “Hard pass.”

Rolling his eyes, Namjoon flops back on the bed. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, scrolling through some more comments. “Hey, look. I found another request for your top to be removed!”

“RM. That one is from your username.”

“It is not!”

The rest of the hour passes this way. You manage to get to the point eventually, reviewing a new café off campus which you felt had great atmosphere, adequate coffee. Namjoon refuted that atmosphere shouldn’t even be a requisite in food ranking and you spiraled from there.

Once finished, you remove your headset and sigh. “Another excellent podcast,” you say, sticking your hand out in his direction.

Namjoon stares at the extended appendage. “Are we concluding a business interview?”

“No, silly. I don’t want you to shake my hand, I want you to kiss it.”

Namjoon snorts, batting your arm away. As he stands and yawns, he stretches both arms overhead. The motion exposes a tanned strip of skin and, cheeks heating, you quickly look away. Rather than stare at your gigantic crush/best friend, you scroll through more comments. The oddest pattern has emerged as of late, even though you and Namjoon have yet to discuss it.

Most of the comments are related to content. People point out things they found funny, relatable or disagree with. Occasionally, people troll for someone to remove their shirt or do push-ups on air. Then, there’s the recent wave which seem to be multiplying by the week.

Jenny918: When will Viola and RM just kiss already??

hOOKEDonPhoenix: y’all if they aren’t dating within the year, I’ll eat my own hand

irredeemableDreamer: the tension is so thick in that room u need a HACKSAW to get through it

Jaw clenched, you read them all. 

You can only assume Namjoon’s seen them, but he’s never mentioned their presence. He’s never said anything about them at all and so, neither have you. It does make you wonder though, if your listeners are able to hear something you don’t. They all seem to theorize a tension which doesn’t exist.

Standing up from your chair, you push this from mind. Perhaps they just don’t have opposite sex friends of their own.

Slinging your bag over one shoulder, you shut your laptop and slip this inside. “Alright,” you say, glancing at Namjoon. “I have to go finish an essay. Lemme know if you need help editing.”

He nods, one arm behind his head. Namjoon’s glasses are on, squinting at the bright computer screen. 

“Sounds good.”

You wave, halfway into the hall when he speaks up behind you.

“Y/N?”

Paused on the threshold, you turn back. “Yeah?”

Namjoon’s expression is uncertain. Unusual, for him. Typically, you’re the mess and he’s the pulled-together one. Right now though, Namjoon seems to be dissecting a complicated math problem in his head.

“Would you want to…” Trailing off, he hesitates.

Although you wait for his sentence to finish, Namjoon seems to check himself. He bites down on his cheek, stifling the words.

After another long moment, you arch a brow. “Would I want to what?”

He inhales and glances away. “Uh, would you want to listen to the podcast before I post?”

Oddly disappointed by this, you nod. “Yeah, that’s fine. Just email me when you’re done.”

Offering a half-hearted wave, you leave. It could be your imagination but as the door shuts behind you, you swear that you hear Namjoon groan. The sound echoes in your mind down the hall, since you feel exactly the same.

The only difference is he’s groaning because he needs to edit an hour-long podcast and you’re groaning because you need to get your feelings for your best friend under control. If random listeners can hear the obviousness of your crush, you’re more transparent than you thought. It’s only a matter of time before Namjoon confronts you and when he does, you don’t know what you’ll say.

Thinking this, your lip quirks. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you log in with a URL Namjoon knows nothing about.

QueenMab01: RM, take your shirt off!!!!

Grinning widely, you return your phone to your pocket.

↳ part of my AU drabble game

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[abitnotgoodiebag]

Ties that bind

Title: Ties that bind

Square filled: G1 - Wearing each other’s clothes

Warnings: language, light violence

Word count: 6,185

Summary: Sam keeps finding Bucky’s hair ties where they Should Not Be

Link to AO3

Ties that bind

1.

Sam wanted nothing more than to clean himself in solitude and sing loud (and terribly off-key) Motown hits.  It was a rare moment that Sam was able to luxuriate in the shower without having to worry about rationing the hot water.  Two grown men in one house shouldn’t use as much hot water as they do, but Bucky did not understand the concept of a short shower and had a tendency to make their water heater work overtime.

Sam didn’t have the heart to curtail Bucky’s extended showers, as he seemed to be so content afterwards, so when he had the chance to have his own quality time, he made sure to take it.  Bucky hadn’t come back the previous night, no doubt off on some strange SHIELD side quest so Sam had the whole house to himself.

Sam was determined to treat himself, so not only did he bring his bluetooth speaker with him into the shower, but he also dabbed some of his homemade beard mask onto his beard and after a bit of thought, added some to his face as well before he began to tinker with the water temperature.  As Sam waited the requisite 3 minutes, he grabbed a fresh washcloth from their linen closet and decided he was in a Toni Braxton mood.

He got in the shower, already crooning ‘You’re Making Me High.’  The steam from the scalding water filled the room, opening Sam’s pores and clearing his sinuses.  He washed the mask from his face and beard, settling for humming as he removed all traces of residue.  

“ And in my mind I feel, I think I might be obsessed.  The very thought of you makes me want to get undressed .”  Sam’s thoughts drifted towards his housemate as he sang, thinking of Bucky’s tendency to wear as few clothes as possible while in the house.  Sam’s got eyes and Bucky was built like a brick house especially to distract Sam Wilson from everything.

Sam had embraced the steam for long enough as the initial notes to ‘Un-Break My Heart’ trailed lazily through the bathroom.  He made to grab for the exfoliating gloves he kept on a hook suctioned to the tile of their small-ish shower stall and was baffled when only one came away in his hand.  He pulled at the second glove, frowning as he saw that it was attached to the hook with something small and dark. Closer inspection showed Sam that it was a hair tie. Sam did not sport enough hair to utilize hair ties and Figaro damn sure didn’t use them, seeing as he had no thumbs and didn’t take showers.  This left only one suspect.

“BARNES!”  Sam’s deeply annoyed shout completely erased the light mood of his shower and once he untangled the glove from it’s hair-tie captivity he quickly gave himself a good scrubbing, muttering angrily to himself about needing separate bathrooms and pondered (not for the first time) looking for a bigger place.

He finished his shower, dressed himself quickly and was making his way back to his room when he crashed into the (shirtless, as usual) glove-bander himself.  “What the fuck, Barnes?” Sam asked, irritated.

Bucky looked back in confusion.  “You ran into me, Tweety.”

“I mean why the fuck would you tie my glove to the hook?!”  Sam knew he probably looked a bit nuts. “Is a man’s bath glove not sacred?  What do we have in this world if not the sanctity of our toiletries?”

Bucky looked alarmed until Sam’s words sunk in and he began to snicker.  “I kept knocking them over, and I didn’t want them to get all over the floor so I secured them so I wouldn’t keep jostling them.”  Bucky looked down at Sam through his lashes in the most infuriating way. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”  

Sam stood there in the hallway and felt his irritation slip away despite his best efforts to hold onto it.  Bucky batted his eyes some more and Sam knew he was done for. “It’s all good, Barnes.” Sam sighed.

Bucky’s grin faded a bit at Sam’s resigned tone.  “I’m serious, Sam. I thought it’d be helpful.”

Figaro chose that very moment to wind himself between their legs meowing for his breakfast.

“Figs says ‘fur-give me, Pops, you know Bucky was trying to be a good guy.’”  Bucky said, imitating a cartoon cat voice.

Sam reached down to pat Figaro and rolled his eyes on his way back up.  “Sounded more like a ‘Why hasn’t that weird bum fed me instead of yapping it up in the hallway’ to me.”

They headed towards the kitchen, Figaro bounding ahead, yowling in impatience.

“What’s that?”  Sam said, pretending to translate the hungry meows. “‘Bum should cook?’”  Sam looked pensive for a moment as he opened a can of Fancy Feast and tipped it into Figaro’s dish.  “I think you’re onto something, Figs.”

Bucky just laughed and made his way to the fridge, pulling out the carton of eggs and some cheese.  Sam reached past him and grabbed the last of their spinach to Bucky’s amused brow.

“It’s like you don’t believe in green foods.”  Sam sighed, shaking the container of produce.

Bucky grabbed the spinach and was soon well on his way to making a couple of omelettes for the two of them.

Sam hummed in contentment as he watched Bucky and Figaro soon jumped in his lap and started purring in contentment.  Sam scratched behind his ears and inhaled the scent of their breakfast. Bucky soon slid the food onto plates and grabbed glasses and the last of their OJ as well while Sam observed, trapped under his purring cat.

“Your food, your majesty.”  Bucky said, bowing as he set Sam’s plate down in front of him.

Sam smirked and inclined his head while Figaro raised his head, sniffing at the omelette with interest.  “Thank you kindly.”

Bucky flopped onto the stool next to Sam and attacked his food like he was starving.  Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Bucky’s enthusiasm and Figaro, disliking Sam’s movement, vacated his lap in disgust.

Bucky smiled at the feline diva and his antics.  “I guess his majesty wasn’t impressed after all.”

Sam looked affronted that Bucky was referring to Figaro as royalty over himself and stuck his tongue out before taking a bite of his meal.  “I guess you’ll have to keep trying to gain the good Prince’s favor. How tragic.”

Bucky snorted and reached out to steal a bit of Sam’s food.  Not one to give Bucky an inch, Sam used his fork to block the attempt and flashed a victorious grin.  “Not today, Buckaroo. You gotta be quicker than that!”

“But I’m a growing boy!”  Bucky whined, still trying to get at Sam’s plate.  He pulled out the big guns when he pouted and batted his eyes.  Sam was forced to share the last bit of omelette in the face of such an effective offense.

“Geez, you baby.  Take it.” Sam said, chuckling.  “You know the puppy face gets me every time.”

By the time Bucky finished the last bite, Sam had forgotten all about his vexing shower.

2.

Sam was a tad hungover.  Never one to say no to drinks after the mandatory monthly Avenger’s meetings, Sam, Bucky, Thor and Luke Cage had gone back to his Hell’s Kitchen bar and promptly gotten wasted.  Well, Sam got wasted, everyone else was enhanced and probably just got pleasantly buzzed. No Sam absolutely does not have a chip on his shoulder about his tolerance, not even a little bit.

His head felt like it was full of rocks and dryer lint and he stumbled as he made his way into the bathroom to splash water on his face.  Staring at himself in the mirror, Sam grimaced. He looked terrible and unfortunately he felt as bad as he looked.

Shutting off the bathroom light, Sam shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen, needing to simultaneously eat and vomit.  He reached the kitchen, meeting Figaro on his way in (seems he wasn’t the only one looking for breakfast). Sam dutifully fed his spoiled cat and debated trying for anything more than water after almost gagging at Figaro’s breakfast.  Sam decided that cereal sounded like a safe bet and grabbed the first box on the top of their fridge (Count Chocula because apparently there weren’t any adults in their house) and the almost empty milk jug from inside of it.

A bowl and a spoon were the next order of business for the hungover hero and he gingerly moved as slowly as possible to stop the queasiness he was trying not to think about.  Armed with all the necessary things to force something into his protesting stomach, Sam gingerly sat down in the least wobbly of their barstools, leaning his elbows heavily on the island due to his persistent nausea.

After a rough 30 seconds, Sam’s stomach had settled enough for him to pick up the box of sugary goodness and pour himself a restrained amount.  That was the plan, at least. Instead it happened like this: Sam picked up the box of cereal, squeezing in a bit to pop open the cardboard flaps.  Sam held his bowl steady and waited for the pattering of his cereal to reach his ears. The sound that actually reached his ears was the entire bag hitting his bowl a little bit too hard.  The inner bag of cereal, closed haphazardly with a bright green hair tie that immediately sprang free, burst open and littered the entire counter with chocolate bits and tiny marshmallows.

Sam, who was not expecting this at all, could do nothing but watch as his meager breakfast scattered any and everywhere throughout the small kitchen.  Sam could do nothing but rest his head on his arms and wait for death to claim him. The cool tiles felt good so close to Sam’s sad forehead. He spread his arms so they weren’t overlapping and the coolness intensified.  He let out a small gasp of contentment, pleased when he didn’t immediately feel like vomiting.

Sam rested there in the kitchen for a moment.  Well, it was supposed to be a moment. Sam’s body had other plans and he fell asleep right at the counter and all was serene until the apartment’s tranquility was shattered with a shriek of “FIGS, YOU FAT FUCK!”

Sam jolted awake, causing him to almost hurl.  He closed his eyes and prayed for the spots in his vision to go away and take the lurching room with them.  His prayers were not answered and to insult to injury Figaro decided Sam’s lap looked like a good place to sit, jostling him even more.

“SAM!”  Bucky yelled from the hallway.  “YOUR FUCKING CAT IS AN ASSHOLE!”

Sam could only moan quietly to himself and stay still to quell the room’s spinning.  He heard Bucky enter the kitchen and made no move to look at him, he just let out another pitiful noise.

Figaro could sense that he had no friends in the room at the moment and abandoned Sam’s lap to scamper out of there, no doubt to take the warm spot left in Bucky’s bed.

“You ok, man?”  Bucky asked softly next to Sam’s ear.  “Did Figgy knock over your cereal?”

Sam had forgotten all about his aborted attempt at breakfast and replied in an even softer voice.  “Figs didn’t do shit, Barnes, this cereal mess is your fault.”

“How can this possibly be my fault?”  Bucky asked, indignant. Then he spotted it.  “Oh.” he said.

Sam snorted and then winced and then just groaned.  “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

“Well it keeps the cereal fresher!”  Bucky tried to explain. “I know you have those clips but-”

Sam cuts him off with a raised hand.  “Nothing in this world matters to me right now except surviving.  Fuck this cereal. It probably would’ve come back up anyway.”

Bucky’s face softened at Sam’s misery and he spoke softly, “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ve got you.”

Minutes later, Sam was presented with a glass of cool water and a plate of banana slices and a single piece of bread before Bucky left the kitchen.  He sipped at the water, feeling the soothing glide of it down his throat. The bananas seemed too daunting so he instead started with the bread. He finished half the slice and felt marginally better.

Unfortunately falling asleep at the counter had done nothing for his generally achy and sore body.  Sam knew he wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination, but he could not deny that his hangovers were getting worse with age.  He managed to finish the water and eat a few pieces of banana before admitting defeat.

“You ‘bout ready to move somewhere less bright?”  Bucky asked Sam lightly once he returned.

Sam nodded once and stood up slowly.  They made their way into the living room where Bucky had closed the curtains and Sam immediately sank down into the couch.  Bucky grabbed the fuzzy blue throw Sam had bought him for Christmas and tucked Sam in gently. He turned the TV on and set the volume at a level barely above silence and began Planet Earth II.  

He went to the bathroom to find some ibuprofen and returned with the pills and another glass of water.  Sam took it gratefully and let out a satisfied sigh when he drained half the glass. “I am never going out with you assholes again.”  He said ruefully.

Bucky snorted, knowing Sam would break his promise as he had the last six times he’d made it.  “I don’t know why you try to keep up with Thor and Luke. It’s not a competition.”

Sam scowled.  “Says the juiced up jock.”

Bucky straight up laughed at Sam’s petulance.  “Look, Dinky Duck, I know my own limits and don’t go past them.  As the grown man you insist that you are you should really try that.”

Sam just pouted and slumped down to watch the documentary playing before them.  “You’re not the boss of me, Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head in exasperation before settling in for what promised to be a lazy day of recovery for Sam.  Sam fidgeted a little until he was perfectly cocooned in his blanket, leaning slightly against Bucky. He was out cold in less than thirty minutes, smiling lightly and soaking up Bucky’s warmth.

3.

The day had been full of chores and housekeeping.  Two grown men sharing a space had a tendency to leave the housework until the last possible moment.  That morning Bucky had swept and mopped (wearing nothing but royal blue briefs and singing loudly along with Aretha, obviously trying to give Sam an ulcer) before taking out the trash on the way to a nearby SHIELD field office.  Sam had begun their laundry while he worked on dusting and cataloguing exactly what essentials they needed to restock (they were down to their last two rolls of toilet paper, Figaro would soon starve, and the toothpaste had been squeezed to within a millimeter of its life).

Sam had given up trying to separate their clothes anymore.  Once he woke up to Bucky rifling through his dresser looking for a t-shirt for the second time in as many days, Sam had forgone it utterly, keeping the shirts in his room, the pants in Bucky’s room and the coats and hats and things in the hall closet.  Clothes were for whoever got to them first in their house and so it took Sam a few weeks to notice the pattern.

Fall was making its way into winter and that meant that the four hoodies they had between the two of them were constantly in rotation, especially for their lazy-ass runs to the corner store.  Three of the hoodies originally belonged to Sam (before the whole of their wardrobe became communal), so he didn’t notice until he was unloading the dryer that he saw them all in the same place.  Three of the hoodies had new adornments. His navy blue HU hoodie, faded with age, was trimmed in bright red hair ties on the ends of the frayed strings, making Sam smile at the clear attempt in coordination.  He saw multicolored elastics on the pulls of his gray USAF hoodie and his red Avengers one. Bucky’s lone black hoodie with a red and green stripe across the chest that had been with him since leaving Wakanda had no embellishments, just ratty, uneven strings tied in large messy knots.  

Sam took a moment to note that strange fact before transferring the wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer.  He grabbed the basket of clean clothes and brought it to the living room to fold while he caught a few episodes of his guilty pleasure (Law and Order:SVU, Olivia was the best), Figaro falling into step behind him.

Later that evening after Bucky came home from whatever debrief SHIELD had mandated without the groceries he was supposed to stop and get, the two decided they were too lazy to shop and cook dinner.  Bucky suggested they visit that new Thai place that opened up a few blocks away and Sam didn’t see a reason to object so they dressed up in their outerwear and headed out.  

Every time Sam saw Bucky in his Howard hoody, Sam couldn’t help but smile.  The fact that he walked around the streets of DC with the Bison proudly displayed on his front filled Sam with warmth (and he couldn’t deny, the confused glances that Bucky got from members of the public made Sam smirk a bit).  The red hair ties bounced on Bucky’s chest with every step he took and Sam was so distracted by them that he almost face planted after missing a curb.

Embarrassed, Sam kept his eyes straight ahead until they reached their destination.  Luckily for them the dreary weather was keeping most people indoors and there was no wait for them and they were quickly escorted to a table near the window.  Their server brought them both water and took their order with quick efficiency. Sam choked a bit when Bucky ordered nam tok but decided to enjoy the ensuing entertainment.

“I guess we’ll just get the stuff from the store when we leave?”  Sam asked as they waited on their food.

Bucky grunted with a half shrug.  “If we must.” “I know your previous residence was a hut with no plumbing and all, but I am very much used to wiping my ass with Charmin.”  Sam said with a grin.

“Well if it’ll keep princess Pigeon quiet, then I guess that’s what we’ll do.”  Bucky said magnanimously, as if accompanying Sam to the store was doing him a favor.

Sam crossed his arms in mock annoyance and saw their server approaching with their food.  Sam, unlike Bucky, did not just pick things at random off of the menu was entirely too excited to see how Bucky liked his choice.  The server arrived at the table and Sam slyly reached for his phone. He discreetly activated the camera while Bucky unrolled his silverware and set his napkin across his lap.  Bucky took a (rather too large, in Sam’s opinion) bite of his meal. First there was silence. As his eyes watered and cried, Bucky coughed hard and his face turned strawberry red.  Sam snapped a quick photo as he chuckled.

“You ok, Buckaroo?”  Sam asked, his face a picture of smiling innocence.

“Why would you let me do this?”  Bucky sputtered out a few minutes later after he

“Man, I didn’t let you do shit!”  Sam said through his laughter. “I told you picking things at random is a terrible idea, maybe now you’ll listen.”

Bucky just glared at him with red eyes and cheeks.

Sam took pity on him and switched their plates.  Sam was no stranger to spicy food and while nam tok wasn’t his favorite, he at least knew to eat it in smaller bites and he did sort of enjoy the burning of his tongue.  He dabbed a bit at his lightly running nose and winked at Bucky who seemed personally offended that Sam wasn’t a crying mess.

“Unlike you, I am used to my food with something other than three grains of salt.”  Sam couldn’t resist cracking.

Bucky huffed and finished Sam’s pad see ew in silence.

Sam sent the photo of Bucky’s red face to all of the Avengers the moment they left the restaurant.

4.

Sam was confused.  His car was in it’s normal place, but he could tell that someone had touched it.  He stood on their porch and cocked his head to the side. His brain was screaming that his vehicle had been messed with, but BeepBeep was exactly where Sam had left her after his trip to CostCo the previous afternoon.  The front wheels were just as crooked, the fallen pine needles didn’t give any indication that they’d been run over or disturbed in any way.

Sam had not gone with just any car once he took up the Captain America mantle.  Sam went with his Dream Car .  Sam purchased a beautifully restored, crimson and black (absolutely not Hot Rod red, he had some class) 1970 Plymouth RoadRunner.  The car was an absolute monster and Sam had been known to spend a good chunk of time detailing it and keeping it pretty.  Sam figured that after all of the shit he’d seen, that there was no reason to put off things that made him happy, and boy did this car make him happy.  He remembered his father showing him all of the old muscle cars he liked as a boy before he died and always treasured those times (his dad liked the mustang the best, but Sam had always been partial to the bird-themed cars.  What can he say, he likes what he likes).

Sam knew that someone touched his baby.  And he was absolutely fucking sure that a certain someone was not stupid enough to touch his car (especially after absolutely obliterating his last one).  Sam made sure to pay for this one in cash upfront and carried the absolute highest amount of insurance, well, as high as an Avenger could reasonably expect to have (Sam will admit that they did go through vehicles more than the average citizen).

Deciding that he wouldn’t rest until he figured out what was different about the car he approached her cautiously.  One too many bomb threats (a few of which were NOT hoaxes) had made Sam trust his gut even more. He sometimes wished he had the Parker kid’s petey-tingle or whatever the kid was calling it these days.  A quick circle of the car didn’t put Sam at ease even though he couldn’t see what was different.

He checked the trunk and the undercarriage, getting his jeans dirty in the process.  He couldn’t find anything underneath the hood or underneath the seats. Nothing in the pockets in the back of the seats.  He finally got in the driver’s seat, frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t shake the feeling of something being different about his BeepBeep.

He fit perfectly in to the seat, so it hadn’t been moved.  Sam growled to himself, overcome with frustration. He grabbed the steering wheel angrily and--oh!  He found it! He squeezed the suede steering wheel cover and felt a strange protrusion. He ran his hands around the wheel and found three additional bumps.

Since he hadn’t blown up yet, Sam decided that removing the steering wheel cover was a safe bet.  After spending the last half hour thinking that he was moments from dying in a bomb blast Sam let fly a string of curses so terrible he was surprised his mama hadn’t spontaneously appeared to wash his mouth out.

Four bright orange hair ties are wrapped around the top half of the steering wheel.  Sam cannot for the life of him figure out what they’re doing there. Bucky knows how Sam feels about this car.  Sam is so caught up in his thoughts and confusion that he doesn’t notice the subject of those thoughts standing right outside the passenger window.  Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky knocked on the window.

“You good, Sammy?”  Bucky asked, concerned.

Sam stared at him for a solid ten seconds, then gestured at the steering wheel.   “Explain.” The words were tense.

“Oh,”  Bucky said, ducking his head and blushing a bit.  “I heard you say your hands would slip on the wheel sometimes when you turn when you were talking to your sister.  I didn’t mean to pry, I just thought it’d help you stay at 10 and 2.” The explanation was so darn cute that Sam found all of his irritation leaving him yet again .  It seemed that Bucky was determined to make his life easier by any means necessary and Sam was about done trying to figure it out at this point.

“Man,”  Sam began.  “What are you, my fairy godmother?”  He leaned his head back against the headrest.

Bucky’s confusion morphed into a smirk, “Who else is going to look after you, pigeon?”

Sam groaned at the nickname.  “We were having a moment, Terminator.  Look what you’ve done to it.”

“Whoops.”  Bucky said, deadpan.  “What are you doing out here, anyway?  Going somewhere interesting?”

Sam had indeed forgotten why he had come out here in the first place, once he noticed his beloved car had been touched.  He didn’t want to go back inside and just sit around though, he felt like going out and doing something out of their routine.  “Why don’t you get in and find out?” He asked, leaning over and opening the passenger door for Bucky.

Bucky grinned and slid onto the long bench seat.  “Take us away, Sammy.”

Sam cranked up his baby, listening to the Hemi engine growl low.  He carefully replaced the steering wheel cover and placed his hands between the guides Bucky had so thoughtfully placed for him.  Sam looked over at Bucky and took in his easy smile as he relaxed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sam rolled down their windows and put on Still Bill , they needed some soul for this ride.  As he backed out of their driveway, Sam had no idea where they were going, but he knew he’d enjoy every moment of the journey as long as Bucky was on his right.

5.

Sam really did enjoy training exercises.  Well, sometimes. Today wasn’t going in his good books, though, because he was almost dead on his feet.  Bucky had kept him up all night. He didn’t hold the nightmares against the soldier at all, especially since he was just as prone to them as any of them these days.  Bucky’s just had a tendency to wake up the whole house. Sam and Figaro both did their best to calm him afterwards, but Sam knew from personal experience that usually the only thing that drove the demons away was the warm light of the sun.

All of that was neither here nor there because Sam was supposed to be focused on rescuing their virtual hostages from terrorists who’d unleashed some killer robots unto the city.  Sam was not supposed to be dwelling on nightmares that were not even his own.

He was across the street from the bank in which the terrorists had 13 hostages.  Wanda was holding the perimeter, making sure that the killer robots didn’t advance further into the city while Sam and Bucky were attempting to infiltrate the building without tipping off the hostiles.

Sam saw a flash of light in his periphery from the side street next to the bank and once he focused on it, he saw that Bucky was signalling that he had found a way in.  Sam made it to the alley and let out a low whistle as he saw Barnes point up several floors to a broken window.

“Just couldn’t resist another ride on the Sam Wilson Express, could you?”  He asked quietly as he maneuvered and rose to a hover in the tight space.

Barnes just raised a brow and lifted his arms (determined to ignore Sam’s quips), ready to be carried to the window.  Sam obliged him and when they landed in the small office on the fourth floor of the bank they made their way to the door to begin working out the best way to disable their targets.

“Cap, perimeter is secure and all robots have been neutralized.”  Wanda’s heavily accented English came crackling into Sam’s earpiece.  “Orders?”

Sam gave Wanda their location and a moment later Wanda floated in.  “Looks like the hostages are on the main floor of the bank, but we don’t know where all of the hostiles are, so I’m gonna send Redwing out to see what’s what.”

Sam tapped on his bracer, calling for his well-loved drone and--

“What the fuck is this?”  Sam asked, voice flat. Redwing’s tail-end had been covered in a rainbow of colors.  Sam didn’t even need to look any closer to know that they were Bucky’s damn hair ties.  He has not had enough sleep or coffee for this and Sam was just done.

Bucky snorted before schooling his face into an innocent expression.  “Redwing is a pretty bird, Sam. Just like his mom.”

“Nope.”  Sam got up (leaving the beautifully--absurdly--decorated redwing hovering) and walked out into the hallway and made his way to a balcony where he shot the two targets holding the hostages.  Bucky was at his six and he took out the one above them. They were making their way down the stairs, back to back, when their virtual construct blew up around them.

Sam and Bucky stood in the middle of the second largest training room, Wanda and Redwing several yards behind them looking at them (a bit too judgmentally in Sam’s opinion).  Sam threw his hands up and left. He headed straight to his room in the compound without another word.

He had just managed to take off his wings, boots and goggles before Bucky was banging on his door.  Sam sighed and contemplated ignoring him, but Sam knew that Bucky was stubborn enough to stay out there all night, the asshole.

Sam opened the sliding door just as Bucky was about to start banging with his left hand (and wouldn’t that just do wonders to the poor metal?).  Bucky abruptly dropped both hands to his sides and looked at Sam in concern.

Sam didn’t want to do this now, he was sleep-deprived and keyed up for a reason he hasn’t really examined himself yet.  “Can I help you?”

Bucky held out his right hand and Sam saw that he had brought Redwing back, without all of the extra layers.  “I didn’t mean any harm by it, I thought you’d laugh.” Bucky said softly.

Sam did laugh as he claimed his mechanical wingman which further confused Bucky.  He felt as if the last two days had lasted an entire week and Redwing being ‘pretty like his mom’ was just too much.  He moved to put Redwing back in with his wings and said, “Babe, I’m too tired for life right now. It was funny.”

Bucky was silent when Sam turned to look at him, finished with the drone.  “What?”

Bucky came closer, right into Sam’s personal bubble, still not saying a word.  Sam raised an eyebrow in question.  

“Wanna try that again, Wilson?”  Bucky’s voice was lower and Sam felt faint at their nearness and Bucky’s damn (voice, smell, face, body heat) everything .

Sam internally rewound the last two minutes and mentally slapped himself.  Seeing as how he’d already put it out in the universe and Bucky wasn’t running away, Sam was (still) too tired to be upset.  Eyebrow still raised, he said, “I said : Babe, I’m-”

Sam didn’t get to finish his sarcastic reply as Bucky was kissing him.  Bucky’s lips were touching his and Sam must surely be dreaming. He will cuss if his alarm goes off and he has to do this terrible training day all over again.  He threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and kissed back eagerly, because if this was a lucid dream he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

Bucky pulled back slightly, laughing, “So not a mistake then?”

“Obviously not a dream, you would be naked and shutting up,”  Sam muttered to no one before Bucky distracted his thoughts by licking a stripe from his neck to his earlobe, sucking the latter into his mouth.

The noise Sam made could have been categorized as a moan (or a shriek depending on which one of them you asked) and he pulled them both further into the room, determined to get horizontal before he passed out from either exhaustion or (suddenly requited) horniness.

Neither Sam nor Bucky were seen for the rest of the day.

+1.

Sam yawned as he shuffled into the compound’s kitchen and went straight to the coffee pot, praying there was some left.  He was in luck as there was just enough left to fill the largest mug he could find. Once his coffee was creamed, he joined the rest of the Avengers at the table and reached for a muffin from the tray someone (probably Rhodes, he was considerate like that) had brought.

Bucky’s sleepy form plodded to the table and he grunted in appreciation as Sam handed him the half-full mug of coffee he’d made.  Sam knocked Bucky’s shoulder with his own and Bucky dropped his head on Sam’s shoulder in answer (covering Sam’s upper torso in loose, wavy hair) once he’d gulped down the rest of the coffee.

“Why do you people wake up so early?”  Bucky whined.

“It’s 9:30, Barnes.”  Rhodes said, unimpressed at Bucky’s displeasure.

“Last I checked, that was before noon, which is a more reasonable hour for being conscious.”  Bucky mumbled, determined to stay grumpy.

Rhodes snorted.  “You sound like Peter.”

“How dare you, Quill is an idiot.”  Bucky said, affronted.

“Not that Peter, dumbass.  Parker. The actual teenager.”

Bucky’s frown deepened even further because he was certainly not a chipper, happy, talkative teenager, he was a grown man who just enjoyed resting his worn-out body sometimes.  “Why is everyone on my ass all of a sudden?” He wondered aloud, shaking his hair out of his face.

Sam giggled softly at the word ‘ass’ and Bucky smirked up at him.  Valkyrie rolled her eyes at the two of them and set her bottle of whatever she was drinking (not coffee, that’s for sure) down on the table hard enough to rattle silverware.  “You two are sickeningly chummy this morning.” She observed them with narrowed eyes.

Bucky whipped his head around to glare at her, tossing his hair back again when his glare seemed to have no effect at all on the Asgardian.  Bruce cocked his head and looked at both Bucky and Sam closely. “You know, she’s right.”

“Thank you for your support, dear greenie.”  Valkyrie said sarcastically as she took a fortifying swig of what smelled like rocket fuel.  “After what I heard of yesterday’s training exercise, I would have expected more--not this.”

“You gossips!”  Sam accused with his mouth full of the last of his muffin.  Crumbs flew everywhere and everyone looked disgusted except Bucky who looked at Sam in amusement.

“Look at these guys,”  Bucky said, shaking his head and then tucking all the hair he shook loose back behind his ear.  “Just bumping gums all over the place. For shame.”

“Oh my God, babe.  Just put it up already!”  Sam said, exasperated as he took the black elastic from his wrist and handed it over.

“Whatever, mom.”  Bucky griped as he pulled it into a messy bun and stuck his tongue out at Sam.

The rest of the table was shocked silent.  Bruce and Rhodey’s jaws dropped and Valkyrie just stared at them with a brow raised.  Wanda remained unaffected, simply going back to her magazine. “Well that explains a lot.”

Sam ignored her and proceeded to give Bucky a loud smacking kiss on the cheek.  “See? The morning is better already, isn't it Barnesy?”

“Absolutely not.  I draw the line at cutesy names.”  Val got up from the table, draining her bottle as she went, leaving them with Bruce, Rhodes and Wanda.

“We don’t have to take this, Willie.”  Bucky said, pulling Sam close and kissing the top of his head as Sam laughed at the butchering of his surname.  “They don’t deserve our shmoop.”

Bruce kept glancing between them trying to gauge whether or not they were serious.  “Are you just messing with us?”  

Sam looked up at Bucky and grinned.  “Are we, babe?”

He was answered by Bucky getting up, picking Sam up and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.  Bucky kissed the side of Sam’s backside and headed out of the kitchen. He paused at the doorway, looked back at everyone and slapped a laughing Sam’s ass, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

“Nah.”

Sam’s laughter echoed after them.

[iamartemisday]

Pepperony Week Day One- 5+1 Things

A/N: So I posted this last night, but I was informed that one of my tags wasn’t spelled correctly. Somehow, in my attempts to fix it, I managed to erase the entire post. That’s what I get for trying to fix it on mobile. >>

So here we go one more time. Hope you enjoy!

**

5 times Tony didn't realize he was in love with Pepper, and 1 time he did.

When Tony made a random low-level administrative assistant his new PA, it was mostly for the novelty.

Here was a woman confident enough to break into his office and tell him to his face that he was wrong. Observant enough to catch a mistake not even he, the guy who built a working robot before his balls dropped, had spotted.

Plus, she was a former model. In magazines and everything. Whoever said models were dumb could go eat their ignorant words with some ketchup on top.

Virginia Potts, newly baptized as Pepper, spent her first day on the job familiarizing herself with her new responsibilities, organizing the photos on her desk, and signing a truly immense amount of paperwork. Seriously, Tony had to talk to Obidiah about switching to digital. What kind of futurist was he killing all those defenseless trees?

Given his track record with PAs, he expected Ms. Potts to last a month, maybe two. Not a crack against her, but he was a handful and he knew it. When she inevitably quit, he'd have a generous severance package and a glowing reference ready for her. Now it was just a matter of how long before his partying, all-night science binges, and frequent overnight guests of the female variety wore her down.

Three months later, she was in his office while he slept off a hangover, notes in hand as she briefed him on the upcoming board meeting.

"Mr. Daniels in HR needs to talk to you about calculating this year's Christmas bonuses. Mrs. Prowitt in accounting just had a baby and you need to send out your personal congratulations-"

"Potts…"

"You still have paperwork to sign for the merger with Rushcorp-"

"Potts, please…"

"And R&D has taken issue with the blueprints you gave them for the new missile prototype. They're saying the flight system isn't feasible with our current technology. You might want to have a word with them."

"Potts! I'm dying!"

He struggled to lift his head and look into her eyes with all the pain in his formerly inebriated soul. As usual, she was unsympathetic.

"This is why I told you not to go out partying on a Tuesday night," she said.

"As if you never partied on a Tuesday."

"No, Mr. Stark, I didn't. I waited for the weekend." She started for the door. "I'll get you some water and ginger ale. You'll be ready to go by noon."

"I could also not go."

"That's true, but you will" Her phone rang and she ignored Tony's moaning to answer it. "Hello? Oh, yes Mr. Daniels, I was just about to call you… yes, he will be ready in time for the meeting. I just confirmed it with him."

She left and Tony whimpered in agony. This must be what abandoned kittens on the side of the road felt like.

"I thought I hired an assistant," he mumbled. "Instead I got a new mom."

He almost immediately cringed at the idea. Potts was not at all like his mother. She wasn't even a really strict big sister.

No, she was something else. Something he couldn't pinpoint.

Boy, did he hate not knowing the answer.

**

"Potts, we should go out sometime."

Surprisingly, he wasn't drunk. In fact, he'd been sober for the last six days while they negotiated a contract with a new satellite company. That was a personal best for him and he deserved some recognition, dammit.

"We are out," she said, and indeed they were in the lounge at the Plaza hotel waiting for their drinks to arrive.

"I mean on a date," Tony said. "You know, with dinner and dancing and no business deals. Just the two of us."

Pepper sighed like this wasn't the first time he'd asked. And, to be fair, it wasn't. "Mr. Stark, you know why we can't date."

"Do I? Remind me real quick."

She rolled her eyes. "First of all, it's against company policy. Even if I didn't work directly under you, we're still in the same department and fraternization among employees never works out well. Second, dating your PA would reflect badly on us with the press. Finally, maintaining a professional environment in the workplace is crucial to overall productivity and good financial health."

Tony whistled. "Lot of big words there. You've done your homework, Potts."

"I have to," she said, but couldn't hide a slight smile. "If I don't, who will?"

"Good point." Tony leaned back with his hands under his hand. "It's funny, though. I didn't hear anything in there about you not wanting to date me."

Pepper opened her mouth, but none of her pre-established responses to his flirting came forth. Instead, she blushed heavily and turned away to tap on her phone.

Tony chuckled to himself. She was kind of cute when she was flustered.

Not that she wasn't always cute, but…

**

Even though Pepper wouldn't date him (and all jokes aside he did begrudgingly see her point), that didn't mean she wouldn't date at all.

Five years had passed since the pepper spray incident. There had been a few guys in that time, or so he assumed. He was too busy keeping track of his own one night stands to pay attention to Pepper's.

One day, out of the blue, she asked to leave work two hours early. The last time she did that was three years ago.

"Hitting the town, Potts?" He meant it as a joke, but also not. Tony wasn't a genius for nothing and he'd noticed the changes in her make-up and the unfamiliar perfume lingering in the air.

Pepper cleared her throat. "As a matter of fact, yes. I'm going on a date tonight and I need to get my hair done."

He wanted to say her hair was perfect the way it was because it was perfect and whoever this guy was probably didn't even notice. He also wanted to say he needed her to stay late because they had some extra paperwork to go through. Surely he had something buried in one of his desk drawers for her to look at.

"Oh, that's nice," he said, leaning back in his big plush chair. "Didn't know you were seeing someone."

"We're casual at the moment."

"Just looking for a midnight ride, huh?"

Pepper glared at him, but it wasn't her offended face. More like her 'I think you're funny but I'm not going to say it because that will just fuel your ego so I'm going to pretend to be offended' face. He'd become an expert in differentiating between the two.

"I'll be sure to have all my tasks done before I leave," she said.

"As if you need to tell me," Tony snorted. He read some papers while Pepper went to her office. Fifteen minutes later, he was still on the same paragraph and needed to stretch his legs. "So… what's his name?"

Pepper glanced at him, then went back to typing. "Craig."

Craig and Pepper… Crepper?

God no...

"What's he do?" Tony fought to keep his posture loose. "Let me guess. He's a genius billionaire in charge of his own company-"

"He's an investment banker."

"Fun. Where are you going?"

"To dinner and maybe a movie."

"You know what you're going to see?"

"We'll decide when we get there." The intercom beeped and Pepper pressed the button to silence it. "Looks like your two-thirty is here."

Tony barely paid attention during his appointment with… whoever this guy was. Something something missile guidance revamping something. His eyes always trailed back to Pepper behind a wall of glass. When she left for the night, he hung around for half an hour before going home. It was just too quiet without her.

A few months later, Pepper asked for another early day.

"Sure thing," Tony said, chewing on his bottom lip. "Got a hot date with Craig?"

"No, just dinner with my parents. It's my mom's birthday tomorrow," she explained. "Actually, Craig and I decided to just be friends. I think he's seeing someone else now."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Tony tried his best not to grin as he said it, but he was grinning for the whole rest of the day.

**

After Tony completed renovations of his Malibu home, he started doing more work from home. This meant Pepper had to come over more often than not. Aside from a requisite 'want to see the master bedroom' quip, Tony had allowed her space in his massive home. She had an office and a guest room complete with a private balcony for when she wanted to work outside.

Being as she was, most of their private time centered around business. Making deals, planning meetings, arranging his schedule, and lots of other fun and exciting activities. On weekdays, she arrived promptly in the morning and left before sundown. Unless it was quarterly report time or they were on the verge of closing a huge deal, she never deviated from this schedule.

So it was strange when he left the basement one night at midnight after five hours working on his new convertible to find Pepper asleep on the couch.

Her tablet and some papers were on the floor where she'd dropped them. One arm was tucked under her head, no pillows in sight. She'd taken her shoes off, and while Tony was no foot fetishist, her new pedicure was lovely.

She sighed and shifted in her sleep as Tony gently squeezed a throw pillow under her head and draped a blanket over her. He would've carried her to the guest room, but Pepper was typically a light sleeper and putting her in an awkward position might mean she wouldn't come over as much.

He gathered her things and stacked them neatly on the coffee table. Hopefully, those pages were in the correct order, but if they weren't, she'd have them right in under a second.

Tony stepped back to watch her chest rise and fall. Her face was so peaceful. Not like the cool serenity she used to calmly destroy brown-nosing idiots at meetings. It was like he was finally seeing Pepper in her natural state of being.

He liked it.

But of course, he liked it. He liked her.

And maybe he shouldn't be staring at her while she slept. That was kind of creepy.

**

He was never going to see Pepper again.

'No,' he told himself, 'don't do that. Stay positive. Stay positive.'

The problem with staying positive is that it's hard to do when you're running through the desert with no food or water and you've just escaped captivity and watched the man you spent three months forming an emotional bond with die before your eyes.

Suffice to say, this was not Tony's day.

He'd only briefly considered what would happen if the escape was successful. Best case scenario, he got himself and Yinsen out and they found a village less than a mile away with friendly locals who had food and a satellite phone handy. With both of those things now off the table, Tony stumbled through the sand, careful not to run too fast and waste energy. If he had to guess, the temperature was roughly a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. He'd probably sweated another five pounds off.

The one good thing about being lost in the desert was it gave him time to think. About all his mistakes and all his missteps. All the things he never realized he should've done.

He should've told Rhodey how much their friendship meant to him. Tony had been a pain in his ass since college and yet Rhodes never abandoned him.

He should've told his father he loved him. Twenty years he spent ignoring and pushing away that one simple truth, and now he couldn't avoid it. Howard Stark was an asshole, but so was Tony Stark. Like father, like son as they say.

He should've told Pepper… God, the things he should've told Pepper. Listing them would kill hours of time while the elements slowly killed him. He should've told her how important she was, not just to Stark Industries, but to him. How much he appreciated everything she did for him. How happy he was to see her every morning. How thankful he was that she didn't quit after two months and take that severance package. How much better she deserved than to be in his shadow. How much he truly cared about her from the bottom of his heart.

How much he…

God, this heat was unbearable. Couldn't even think straight.

When he saw her again after hours in an air-conditioned plane, being fed jello packets and wanting nothing more than a hunk of real meat, none of what he should've said came to mind.

"Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long lost boss?"

It would have to do.

**

It should've been another quiet post-return evening in.

Tony didn't feel like flying that night, otherwise, he'd be out on the town already. The plan was to watch cheesy sci-fi movies and laugh at all the mistakes until he fell asleep. Now he was trapped in his own body, eyes unable to close, mouth unable to open. He stared up at a monster wearing a familiar face as he literally ripped his heart out.

"Oh Tony, this is your ninth symphony," Obidiah said, among other bullshit villain monologue crap Tony couldn't hear over his own internal screaming. "This is your legacy. A new generation of weapons with this at its heart."

'Fuck you,' Tony wanted so badly to say. 'Fuck you, you lying son of a bitch. Fuck you fuck you fuck you-'

"Too bad you had to involve Pepper in this. I would've preferred that she'd live."

Someone once said there were five or six profound moments in everyone's life. Tony didn't know who that someone was or if he didn't just make that whole thing up in his head. Whatever the case, this was one of those moments.

Never before had he wanted so badly to kill someone. Not just kill them, but make them suffer the worst sort of torment. He wanted to rip Stane apart with his bare hands, destroy him from the inside out. Make him regret even thinking about threatening Pepper.

He focused all his strength on his legs, making his toes wiggle. The ringing in his ears was fading, but not fast enough.

'You can do this,' said the voice of Pepper in his ears. 'You can do this.'

His fingers twitched and he slowly clenched a fist.

He wouldn't lose one more person he loved.

[thedistantstorm]

Breaking the Wheel

The Last City | Post Red War | New Monarchy | The Vanguard | City Politics | Suraya Hawthorne | Hard Truths | Pre-Relationship Steelponcho if you squint

"... what did she mean by that?"

Hawthorne shifts her weight subtly, he only catches the end of the movement. "Don't think too much about it. It's in the past."

Cool blue eyes narrow and soften all at once. "You told her that I was trustworthy," He reminds her. “That you trust me.”

Around them, the fragile, rebuilding City carries on. Lamps, lanterns, contained fires are lit where there is little remaining electrical infrastructure. No one pays the Commander and the newly appointed Clan Steward any mind. Cayde and Ikora have long since gone on ahead of them.

"Was that a lie?" He asks, knowing full well it isn't.

She shakes her head, blinking out of their staring contest. He frowns. "You are," Hawthorne eventually says, as people pass them by.  She steps forward, as if she's going to run right into him, but then to the side, so they stand shoulder to shoulder. She faces the base of the crumbling Tower, plumes of smoke still rising into the sky. He looks out at the rebuilding City - hardship and cooperation sowing the seeds of hope.

"Tell me," He says, and it's meant to be a command, but commands do not work on her. It's what he tells himself when his voice comes out softer, hoarse and concerned.

It has nothing to do with the growing well of suspicion in his loins he does not want to believe - does not want to find out, even if he knows, he does - to be the truth.

-/

They have made it a point to be accessible. Part of his reasoning in keeping Hawthorne in the fold is that she has her finger on the pulse of humanity. She doesn't see it, but he's learned to see that her supposed arrogance and standoffish behavior is a well-worn shield, designed to protect against attachments and the inevitable emotional hurts that would follow. Another is that she is unassuming. Cunning. Intelligent. Her resources held tens of thousands of people. She'd organized a relief effort in a week, held ground and kept people safe with minimal casualties, and her reasoning was that it was the right thing to do. He still wonders how it is her criminal record was more like a novella, sometimes. He knows she was preparing for a war, of some sort, but he doesn't understand what war she anticipated or why.

The people in this district are making due. It's barely different than the Farm here, though they're building houses and restoring what salvageable framework remains. But, the sense of permanence helps. It keeps spirits up. They're home. They've won. They will prevail here, too; Things will get better.

The old Tower burns at his back, jet fuel from the old hangar and electrical sparks causing many disturbances, wildfires that are more dangerous to fight because of how compromised the framework is. The district directly below it had been completely wiped out. They will not rebuild it until they are certain what's left of the Hall of Guardians will not collapse down upon it. Just thinking of it makes a distinct sadness creep into his heart. 

It was his home. 

He shakes his head. He cannot think of it now. There will be time later. (There won't, but his people need him.)

Before him, the rebuild of the Anchor District is going smoothly. He focuses on that. On the greatness that can be accomplished when Humans and Guardians stand together and work as one. 

Beside him, Hawthorne looks around with a sharp gaze. Not judging, like he'd initially thought when they met months ago. She's looking for something. She's seeing something he doesn't.

"Alright?"

She blinks. Her gaze doesn't dull. She hasn't found what she's looking for, or it requires more investigation.

"Fine," She says. "Let's see what's happening down here." If nothing else, it pleases him that she’s acclimated to considering the new Tower her place of residence.

Above them, red and white banners flap in the early evening wind.

Part of this is checking on rebuild progress with the dispatched planners. Another is making sure resources are being stretched appropriately and that if something else is needed: lumber, steel, medical supplies, food, that it's addressed. Moving people back to the City from the Farm is a slow process. One they will do right.

The planner smiles at Zavala when he asks if they have what they need. "New Monarchy is helping us," He says. "They're filling in the gaps. We want for nothing."

This has always been a poor area, and New Monarchy helps the poor. New Monarchy always supported industry as well, specifically plasteel. It's no secret that the Vanguard does requisition quite a bit from them. They've got jobs waiting for these people. Hideo was rather insistent that once the rebuild was sound he'd find ways to get people back to work, to do his part to rebuild the economy.

And yet, Hawthorne frowns when they leave, her face reverting to a careful mask when he makes it obvious he's looking at her.

"What is wrong?"

She clasps her hands behind her back, wringing them.

"He didn't seem to be lying," He informs her mildly, guessing at her apprehension. She’d expressed a concern to him before, regarding the Clans and the Factions. Specifically the latter infringing upon the former.

Hawthorne stops walking, the step she'd been about to take forward aborted mid-execution. "He wasn't," She tells him slowly. Her hands come around her front. She crosses them. 

He's spent enough time to know what uncomfortable and pensive look like on her. "What is it?"

"I dont-" She sighs. "I'm worried," She finally admits.

Blue eyes blink at her, so very bright. She does not market herself as an emotional creature, though he knows she feels as deeply as he does. To express it so blatantly means she does not feel her feelings are unfounded. “Explain.”

As if she's at war with herself, her dark eyes flutter closed. She squeezes her hands where they rest above the opposite elbow, releases her defensive pose and exhales.

There is something in her gaze that could cut diamonds, their normal shade of earthy brown cool and dark. "You asked me to stay because you believed I'd make a difference."

He nods, mutely. He was there, he does remember his well drafted list of reasons, his defenses, all the things he hadn't needed because he'd started honestly and she'd rewarded that with some trust and commitment of her own.

"Part of why I agreed is because you can't save this City from itself."

"What?"

She reaches out: her nimble, cold, gun-calloused fingers wrapping around his wrist. "You,” She pauses, features concentrating, trying to put things the best way she can, with the least amount of offense. He knows she’s trying, that she holds a fear of failing her people - their people - very close to her chest. “You don't know know this City like I do." Something in her gaze softens just a smidgen. "Come with me."

-/

They meet up with Ikora and Cayde near what will eventually be the restored plaza at the heart of the district. For now, the storefronts house people en mass, providing better shielding from the elements than tarps and tents.

Hope in the face of destruction, the heartiness of Humanity is something breathtakingly heartrending to behold. This was the scene of a last stand. Of humans and militia defending survivors. He’d been told the story. Flowers and candles alight the street, banners - Vanguard, New Monarchy, patchwork flags for Clans - fly overhead.

A ball rolls in front of them, and Cayde makes quick work to nudge it back to them. They holler and cheer, he aims finger-guns and makes a show of blowing them out with little sparks and smoke when they ooh and ah after him.

Ikora, tempered by Cayde, offers them a gentle acknowledgement of her own. She does not do as well with these sorts of things, but she is trying. She’d never admit it, but the truth to Hawthorne’s accusations - what it means to be a Guardian - all those nights ago in one of the decomposing barns of the Farm really bothered her.

They are welcomed into one of the larger, more intact storefronts. Hawthorne does not take point, like he’s expecting. Instead, he is the one who leads them, following an older woman to a back room with a wooden table.

It isn’t much. There are rolled up sleeping mats in what looks to be a door-less storage closet. The woman offers them something to drink, trying, despite it all to be a gracious host. They decline, and she nods. For the best. The people are still rationing water. The Cabal polluted much of the freshwater supply within the city with their refuse, jet fuel, and otherworldly oils.

They make idle small-talk, about the way the City’s rebuild is panning out, the good that comes when Light and Lightless work together. The woman tells them of the children whose parents and other elders take turns watching them so that work can be done, of how they’re working to re-implement some form of education system until things can return to normal.

“Thank you for your support,” She says eventually, nodding to each of them in turn. She has bright, silver-blue eyes that contrast her pewter-grey, fading hair that’s tucked back into a bun at the base of her head.

Zavala nods. “You have everything you need? We are happy to-”

“Yes,” She replies quickly, looking away. “Thank you.”

Across the room, Hawthorne leans back against the wall, crossing her arms again. Zavala looks at her. She gives him a sad smile.

“You can tell the truth,” Hawthorne encourages, gently.

The woman’s eyes find hers like magnets, pupils constricted. Conflict and panic written across her face.

“I-” She swallows. “It’s the truth. We do.” Her gaze finds Zavala’s and it makes him flinch, internally, makes him want to recoil. This woman is afraid of him. Why is this woman afraid of him? “You’ve been more than generous.”

Hawthorne closes her eyes while Ikora’s eyes narrow and Cayde stops his idle fidgeting for once. The woman looks at her, pleadingly. The Clan steward steps to the woman, sitting at the table and drops to a knee, crouching beside her. “I trust him.”

“But-” His ears feel hot, and there is something akin to panic that bubbles in his chest. He has never wanted to strike fear into the hearts of the people. He wants to protect them from anything, anyone, any form of danger or strife. He would never be their aggressor. Why does this woman believe he would bear her any ill will? He would lay down and die for her - for any of them. He would-

“He is not Hideo’s man.” Hawthorne says. She rises and places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are unfathomably open. He cannot look away. “He is the City’s and hers alone.”

Then, Zavala blinks at the woman, who looks at him in earnest. Broken. Hopeful. Terrified. He wants to ask how, why she feels the way she does, but more than that, he wants to get down on his knees and beg her to understand. Compelled, he takes one of her hands in both of hers and tries. “What is happening,” He asks. “Please, tell me.” His voice is hoarse. Ikora and Cayde look at each other, then the ground. Their stances are rigid, uncomfortable.

“Tithing began last week.” She sighs. “What we don’t have in money, they take in other ways.”

“Tithing? For what?”

“New Monarchy is supporting the rebuild.”

“The Vanguard is funding-”

“Not all of it.” The woman barks back, a whip-crack of anger in her voice. “I had thought it would subside, because of the War,” She looks up at him, her eyes three shades paler than his, but blazing with emotion. “Food, medical supplies, water. Manual labor. Not glimmer, but even more valuable now.”

“They should have enough,” Ikora says.

Hawthorne looks at the wall across from her, eyes half lidded and stormy.  “They have factories to rebuild if they’re going to meet their contracts.” Her eyes meet Zavala’s.

He breathes sharply, eyes darting over the grain of the wood that makes the table top, grasping for something, anything he can do. “I will-”

“You didn’t know,” The woman realizes, speaking with sudden conviction. She places her other hand atop his, no longer blinded by fear. “Did you?”

“I-”

“He didn’t,” Cayde agrees immediately. “Zavala would never ever, not in a million years, ever let this go on if he knew.”

“They are trying to keep the poor poor. I do not want my grandchildren to beg for scraps like I did, like my children after me, because it is only by New Monarchy’s graciousness that we should be divvied any aid when they are the ones who take our wages and extras in the first place. They do not give us support. The Guardians, City Forces, Militia, the Clans give us support.”

The woman says, “I don’t know that they’ve ever done anything good for me or mine.” She frowns, her eyes focusing on something not present, something that exists only in her mind. Hawthorne turns and steps out of the room. “No. They’ve done one good thing for this City.” She turns her head, looks to his right, directly at Suraya. “They’ve exiled a child.”

Hawthorne’s eyes turn to steel, her fists clenched tightly at her side and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“They could not.”

“They did,” She pushes.

“Impossible.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” The woman says, softer. Her withered hands squeeze his and withdraw. “That man would have the world believe you are to be our king. Certainly you know it. He tells us that you are pleased when they do well. That you are his friend - a friend of New Monarchy.” She growls, “Commander Zavala, a friend of New Monarchy is no friend of this City, not of her people, and not of me and mine. A friend of New Monarchy is that, and that alone. Even if their tenets say otherwise.”

Zavala learns. He listens and he learns and he takes to heart - even if he does try to listen objectively. This is the woman’s opinion. But she is not the only one with it, and there is no way for him to deny it holds some modicum of truth. He sees it when they return to the City streets, and the sun is setting. There is apprehension in the faces of the downtrodden, in the ones who live in the shadow of the factions, of New Monarchy. They believe him to be Hideo’s king. Belief is a powerful, terrifying thing.

-/

“That woman believed New Monarchy had the ability to exile a child,” He tells her, pacing in front of one of the still-abandoned storefronts. “The Consensus is the only governing body in this city who could exile anyone. And by no means would they ever,” He spits angrily, “EVER, exile a child. Not for murder. Not for theft. Not for anything.”

“They didn’t,” Technically, Suraya thinks.

"Then what did she mean by that?" He feels a prickle of something unpleasant, a suspicion growing in his belly.

Hawthorne shifts her weight subtly, he only catches the end of the movement, "Don't think too much about it. It's in the past."

Cool blue eyes narrow and soften all at once. "You told her that I was trustworthy," He reminds her. "That you trust me. Was that a lie?"

"You are," Hawthorne eventually says, as people pass them by.  She steps forward, back toward home, back toward the Tower.

"Tell me," He asks of her. “What did she mean? She was not a liar.”

“The child,” She sighs, shaking her head in a way that indicates she cannot believe she’s saying this, “They exiled themselves.”

“What?”

“It was that or New Monarchy would target their family. They made a choice. It was one they’d been planning to make, anyway.”

“Who.”

“It doesn’t-”

“Suraya.” His eyes burn into her with something akin to fury, compassion, heartbreak wrapped together and packed in an ultraviolet glow.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and doesn’t answer.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment she wonders if he’s going to cry, faced with the truth. His City, his beloved, precious City failed her. “Why?”

“I’d been stealing from them, for people like these. He’d said things-” Horrible, ugly, revolting, untrue things, “-and I punched him-”

“You were a child.”

“Almost fifteen.” She takes each of his clenched fists in one of her own. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It most certainly does.”

“You’re a good man,” She says, and it breaks the undercurrent of rage in his voice, his surprise giving him pause. She offers him a tiny smile as she steps back. “You would have stopped him.”

He answers her without hesitation. “Of course!”

“I’m not upset that it happened. Not to me. Not anymore.” She looks up at the Tower, then back at the seedlings of the City reborn. “I don’t want it to happen to anyone else.”

“We can change things,” He whispers, with conviction. “I know it.”

She nods. His arm comes around her shoulders. She bars her own cross his lower back. The City expands. The Vanguard is listening. They have the Clans. It will be a fight, but things will not go back to what they had. 

“We already have.”

[tibbygetsrekt]

TMW you got a new f/o and you just kind of go ham creating content.

no content warnings apply other than possible diabetes.

     The stack of paperwork never seemed to lessen, Smoker’s hand scrubbing over his face as he let out a groan. He could understand if perhaps he was a slacker like other Captains, but he wasn’t. To be honest, he had a sneaking suspicion that someone was foisting their paperwork off on him, knowing he would do it. Teeth grinding on his cigars, he reached out for the next slip of paper and paused. 

     It was off, at first his tired eyes couldn’t place what was wrong with it. But then he did, his cheeks flushing as he re-read the form four times before slamming a hand down on it as if someone else was in the room. After a moment, sitting in his chair with his eyes closed as he counted to twenty, Smoker lifted his hand and read the form again. 

Name: Tiberius Morningstar    Personnel Number: 086917 Rank: Ensign                            Date of request: smudged Requisition Request:              HIGH IMPORTANCE!          I, Ensign Morningstar, request the use of one Captain Smoker for nap time. I find myself unable to sleep and would appreciate the comforting presence of my superior officer to assist me in returning to some semblance of peak condition after obtaining forty or more winks.            At this point in time, I may or may not be a danger to my fellow man, as well as myself, or a certain Captain’s sanity as I am beginning to feel slightly manic.            I would also like to request that a more powerful fan be moved into my quarters as two sleeping bodies generate more heat than one. 

     It was signed with a flourish, and a small xo tucked in the tail of the g. Incredulous, his fingers tensed, wanting to crumple the ridiculous thing. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that, instead shoving it into the breast pocket of his jacket. 

     He couldn’t believe that they had- No, wait he could. It wasn’t so far fetched considering the reimbursement requests they’d put in for the items needed for their mischief. The bar tabs they’d submitted and marked down as medical reimbursement form. Claiming that it was ongoing treatment, though the doctor who had prescribed the treatment had been too smudged to read. 

     At the very least, he had the assurance that no one else had read the form. Tiberius tended to tuck their forms into his paperwork while they were… It wasn’t bothering, but it wasn’t helpful. His cheeks flushed again as his mind idly toyed with the idea that each time Tiberius came to his office unbidden they were flirting. He wouldn’t put it past them. 

     Fingers skimming along his jacket over the pocket with the note, Smoker pulled another form from the pile. Blinking a few times to bring it into focus, rubbing his eyes, he tried not to gnash his teeth in frustration. He had not been sleepy until reading that form, as a matter of fact, he'd only been frustrated. But now he was struggling against a yawn, losing, and then feeling his jaw crack. 

     Aggressively shoving away from his desk, he stood and stretched with a low noise in his throat as other things cracked. How long had he been hunched over his desk? Walking around it, and out the door, he ignored the startled personnel that watched him pass. Long strides carried him down hallways until he stopped in front of a door and stared at the whorls in the wood. 

     He was expected, wasn’t he? Technically? There hadn’t been a date or time on the requisition form, his mouth opening as another yawn snuck out, his hand lifting to rest against the door. Fingers curling, he rapped them sharply and felt ridiculous when he realized that he’d started slouching. Straightening his spine, and squaring his shoulders, he waited and then knocked again. 

“Ensign Morningstar!’ Still no answer, and he felt uncertainty trickle low in his belly, reaching out for the doorknob. 

     To be honest he was expecting to find an empty room, but instead found the ex-pirate sprawled on top of what looked like one of his jackets, which was spread over a mound of pillows. It was… cute. Slipping inside the room, he gently closed the door and moved to stand next to the bed. 

“Ensign!’ He called, loathe to reach out and wake them with a shake. 

     But the bed looked inviting, and so did the sleepy curl of their fingers as they gripped the fur collar of his jacket. Which he needed to figure out how they’d gotten a hold of it, his own quarters were locked at all times, even when he was in them. Watching them nuzzle the fabric, and the smile that lazily curled their lips as they breathed in through their nose made his cheeks heat. He should go, if they had finally managed to get to sleep disturbing them would be cruel. 

“Smo-kun?’ One eye cracked open, slowly shifting to look up at him as the smile slowly broadened to a grin. “Oh! You got my form…’

     If it wasn’t for the fact that it was very obvious they were too tired to do anything, Smoker would have blamed the rush of blood to his head on them. But they were struggling to sit up, rubbing at their eye with the heel of their hand. Still smiling. Absently rubbing a hand over his chest where his heart was pounding, Smoker stared down at them as he gnawed on his cigars. Their already curly hair was a bunched near their shoulder, their other hand reaching out and taking hold of his jacket to tug at him. 

“You okay?’ They asked muzzily. “You look like you’re about to tip over.’

“I’m fine!’ He snapped, embarrassed to have been caught staring, red-cheeked as he lifted his eyes and stared instead at the wall over their head. 

“Please?’

     Grip tightening, the ex-pirate staring up at him. When they realized he wasn’t going to come down to them, they stood up and leaned against him, arms wrapping around his middle with a content sigh. If necessary they would fall asleep just like this, Smoker wouldn’t let them fall over. Cheek nuzzling against his skin, they couldn’t help another sleepy noise escaping him as his scent filled their nose. 

“You smell good.’

     A low grunt is all they received as a response, making them turn their head and tilt their head to look up at him. Smoker still wasn’t looking at them, and if his face got any redder he might pass out. Pleased with themself, Tiberius returned to nuzzling against his chest, feeling the fur collar brushing against their forehead. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.’

“You stood over me and yelled…’ feeling a rumble in his chest as he coughed they struggled not to laugh out loud. “You did, not that I’m mad about it. I miss you.’

“We saw each other in the mess hall this morning…’ 

     But his arms wrapped around their shoulders, a smile tugging at his lips feeling them go on tip toe and press closer. Glancing at the ends of his cigars and seeing they’d burned themselves out, he pulled them out to toss them into an ashtray. They didn’t smoke, but there were ashtrays strewn about their quarters anyways. Something that amused him, but also made him feel a little warm in his chest. 

     Feeling the body pressed against him slump, Smoker felt a flicker of alarm. But after catching them before they fell, he realized that they’d fallen asleep leaning against him. Throat tight at the implied level of trust, he sat down on the bed and chuckled as they cuddled closer on his lap even as he tried to adjust his hold on them. 

“You’re going to fall, honey.’ He muttered, watching as they grabbed one side of the fur collar and held on tightly. “.... I don’t like sleeping sitting up.’

     He was joking, though it came out sounding like a genuine complaint. Tiberius’ eyes opened, blinked a few times and then closed again as they shifted on his lap to cling to him like a reverse backpack. Unable to stop himself, he laughed and wrapped an arm around their waist as he scooted farther onto the bed and lay down. There were too many pillows in the way, his body wriggling trying to move them as Tiberius clung to the front of him. 

“Stop… that is not nap conducive.’

“Why do you have so many pillows?’ He’d ask how but wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer. 

“You’re not always here.’ They groused. 

     Reluctantly moving, they slid off to one side and started half heartedly tugging at the pillows under him. He wasn’t much help, staring at them wide eyed until they sloppily kicked at him. Arching his back, they managed to get most of the pillows out of the way, and immediately cuddled close to his side after shoving at his jacket to get it out of the way. Eyes rolling, Smoker shifted and managed to work his arms out of his jacket despite the handicap of sleepy Ensign clinging to him. 

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to be.’

“What?’ 

“Be here, all the time.’ He felt their head lift, and used his hand to push it back down as he stared at the ceiling. 

“Wait! What are you- oh!’ 

“It would be highly inappropriate.’ 

“Probably.’ They conceded, though their shoulder lifted and fell in a shrug. 

“But if it means that you sleep more often than wreak havoc, I may have to risk it.’ Ignoring their laughter, his hand smoothed down their arm to wrap around their ribs. “Though I swear you plot even in your sleep.’

“.... I do sometimes, actually.’

     He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but it made a certain amount of sense given just how cleverly they managed to bring hell but somehow not be caught. The only reason he knew it was them was because he knew them. No tangible proof however, and never a single witness to give a concise or helpful answer. It was awe inspiring but also slightly terrifying. 

“Speaking of plotting,’ Smoker felt them tense. “Where did you get one of my jackets?’

“Oh that!’ Relaxing again, they nuzzled his chest with their cheek. “I made a copy of your key weeks ago to sneak into your quarters to nap. Then thought it’d be less nerve wracking to just take a jacket to sleep with in my own quarters.’

“You…’ he paused, taking in a deep breath and let it out slowly before trying again. “You broke into my quarters to nap?’

“Sometimes.’ They didn’t sound the least bit repentant. “No one would look for me there.’

     That was against so many different regulations, Smoker’s head ached, his teeth grinding as they slowly squirmed and shifted until they were half laying across his chest. 

“You can write me up later, okay babe?’ One hand lightly patted his cheek, resting against it to stroke their thumb against his cheekbone feeling the tenseness in his jeans under their fingers. “Or we can discuss some sort of punishment. But you need sleep. I need sleep. Shhhh.’

“I cannot believe you illegally obtained a key to the private quarters of your superior officer to make use of his effects to-’

“That’s nothing.’ They interrupted, their hand moving to cover his mouth. “Yell at me later.’

“Why? What else have you done?’ Voice muffled by their hand, he glared down at them when they smiled in response. 

“I’ll make you a list. Later.’

     At the mention of a list, Smoker let out a soft choked noise. He shouldn’t be surprised, he thought for the hundredth time. And yet there he was, and arm wrapped around them to keep them close even as he wanted to shake them until their brain cells connected properly. Faulty wiring was the only excuse he could think of that would cause someone to find such joy in that much chaos. There was a limit, and they hadn’t seemed to reach it, if their behavior was anything to go by. 

“Later.’ He finally ground out from between gritted teeth. Taking a breath in and holding it, before letting it go as well as some of his frustration. “.... ………. I don’t like sleeping on my back.’

“Smoker!’ They whined, their hand shifting to cover half his face with their fingers spread. 

     Before he could reply, they moved off him and shoved at his ribs, squirming beneath his arm until he rolled onto his side. Another nudge until he was half on their stomach, Tiberius’ cheek resting on his shoulder blade, arm draping across him. 

“Now can we sleep, please? You look terrible.’

“Wh- Excuse you?’

“One more word and I’m going to bite you.’ They grumbled, knee hooking his waist as they shifted closer. 

     A part of him was almost too indignant to care, head half lifted before falling again, grabbing another pillow to tuck between his arm and cheek. If it was anyone else it would be safe to bet that it was an idle threat. But knowing Tiberius, more specifically a sleepy Tiberius, it was a promise. Wordlessly grumbling as he got comfortable, he was amused to feel their lips press a kiss against his shoulder once he stopped moving. Moments later their breathing slowed, falling asleep quickly though their grip on him didn’t lessen. And he didn’t mind it, his own eyes closing with a sigh. He’d read them their rights later, a nap wasn’t a terrible idea after all.

[ellanainthetardis]

This was part of the 52 weeks challenge I never finished so… Have it! Week 13 : a story that takes place entirely inside a vehicle {x]

The Unforgettable Plane Trip

It wasn’t that Haymitch was scared of planes – because he wasn’t – but he hated the lack of control that came with flying to the other side of the country. He had to trust not only that the plane would hold but that the pilot knew what he was doing and not only that but that there were no idiots on shift at the control towers all over the country that day.

Trust was difficult for him.

Trust issues ran in the family or so Katniss claimed.

In any case, it was why he found himself signaling the stewardess as soon as they were up in the air and free to release the security belts. She hadn’t started rolling the cart down the narrow alley yet but she immediately came over with a professional blinding smile on her lips and a swing to her hips.

There was definitely something to be said about flight attendants fantasies, he decided, as he distractedly glanced her over. The legs were firm and endless even though the regulation uniform reached the knees and was perfectly decent. The blouse and the jacket didn’t fit her upper body as well, he couldn’t really tell how curvy she was up there, but her features were so delicate and she looked so pretty it was almost a shame for her blond hair to be tied in such a severe bun at the back of her head. The cap was just as ridiculous as it was cute.

He registered all of that but his hands were shaking and he had more urgent preoccupations than how pretty the stewardess was – they were always pretty anyway, wasn’t that the point? He was pretty sure it was a requisite to get the job.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked with a high-pitched voice that immediately made his head throb. He hated women with high-pitched voices.

“A whiskey. Neat.” he demanded.

She waited for a second and he only understood why once she had murmured a “Certainly, sir.” and had left, presumably to fetch it. A please in there wouldn’t have hurt, he decided with a wince.

“Thanks.” he mumbled when she brought him the glass. He stressed the word in an apology of sort, a little embarrassed because he didn’t make a habit of being an ass to people who had done nothing to him.  

Her smile relaxed into something more genuine when he gulped the whiskey down in a few mouthfuls.

“Nervous flyer?” she asked with a hint of teasing.

“Just an alcoholic.” he retorted.  She recoiled a little but recovered very quickly, her professional smile still stretching her lips. He handed her the empty glass back. “Another one then I’ll be good to go, sweetheart.”

She didn’t like the pet name, he could tell, but she didn’t let it show too much. He figured she had heard worse. He couldn’t imagine flight attendants were treated very respectfully, never mind when they looked like her.

He only realized he hadn’t bothered with a please again when she came back with his refill and politely moved along to another customer. He caught a glimpse of the badge on her chest. Her name was Effie.

Probably a nickname, he mused, slouching in his seat, resolutely ignoring the snores of the young man who had fallen asleep his head against the window as soon as he had sat down, even before they took off. It suited Haymitch. He hated it when strangers tried to make small talk.

He focused on his whiskey for a while, trying not to obsess over his watch, how long they had been in the air and how much longer it would be before they landed. After a while, he grew bored with watching the hues the electric lights gave the whiskey and he started looking around. There was a couple on the other side of the lane who was very busy fooling around, lost in their own little world like only young love could be. There were a few kids further down the cabin but, thankfully, they weren’t too noisy. Yet.

Eventually, his gaze fell on the blond stewardess who was rolling her little cart down the lane, answering requests with a dazzling smile and a cheerfulness that must have been faked. Being behind her wasn’t such a bad view and he discreetly watched her ass for a while before quickly redirecting his eyes to the carpeted floor when she turned around.

He wasn’t sure if she had caught him ogling her or not and he wasn’t sure he cared altogether. She was attractive and he was only looking.

At least that was what he told himself until a pair of black high heels came into view and he could do nothing but look up, gaze trailing up a long expense of legs before reaching the hem of the skirt. Her lips were pursed but she looked more amused than offended. “May I help you with something, sir?”

There was a touch of sarcasm in there that made him smirk. “Pretty sure you could, sweetheart, yeah.”

The look he gave her left no room to interpretation about what she could have helped him with.

“May I interest you in a lecture about sexual harassment?” she delivered in the very same professional but slightly sarcastic tone.

He chuckled, surprising even himself. “Guess I deserved that.” And because he wasn’t that asshole who pressured women or made them feel uncomfortable – or at least he liked to think he wasn’t – he shrugged. “Sorry.”

She looked him up and down under thick eyelashes and licked her lips. “My name is Effie. Not sweetheart.”

“Haymitch.” he offered, outstretching a hand that she shook after glancing around. He supposed she wasn’t supposed to socialize with customers too much.

He also revised his earlier judgment. She wasn’t pretty, she was gorgeous.

“Would you like another glass, Haymitch?” she offered, nodding at the empty glass sitting on the console in front of him.

“Yeah.” he smirked. “But not right now.” The plane hit a small turbulence and she grabbed the back of his seat to steady herself. For a second, they both waited to see if there would be more but when the plane stabilized they relaxed. It was only then that he realized he had reached for her waist in a reflex to help. He took it away slowly. “So… Travel often?”

The joke had the desired effect and she grinned. The genuine smile lit up her whole face and he found he couldn’t look away from her twinkling eyes.

“You are a  little rusty when it comes to flirting, aren’t you?” she mocked. Her gaze darted down to his left hand as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her and she looked relieved not to find a wedding band or the telling mark of one that had been recently removed.

“Don’t usually have to bring out the big guns.” he admitted, his smirk widening.

“Arrogant.” she concluded, lifting a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Realistic.”

He was tolerably handsome for his age and women in bars who were only looking for a one-night-stand were usually happy to go with it. It had always been that way. He wasn’t sure if it was arrogance or just habit but it had certainly made him develop a taste for women who played hard to get. He liked feisty. He had always liked feisty.

“Is that your big gun?” she asked. “Feeding a line about traveling to a flight attendant? I must admit it is a little disappointing.”

Grey eyes twinkling, he turned a little in his seat so he could face her properly without straining his neck. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t handle my big gun.”

“Now, that’s just vulgar.” She wrinkled her nose. “You will have to do better than that. Please, excuse me.”

She hurried to the harried mother five rows down who had signaled her. It was at least half an hour before she walked past him again and he didn’t lose an opportunity to call her.

“I could use a drink.” he declared.

She looked a little disappointed but nodded. “Another whiskey?”

“Whatever your poison is.” he dismissed. “I’ll meet you at the airport’s bar, yeah?”

She blinked and then lifted both eyebrows. “Was that an invitation?”

“Too subtle?” he snorted.

“Too confident.” she replied with a grin and sauntered away.

She didn’t come back again but he bumped into her on his way out of the restroom and he couldn’t help but smirk. “If it ain’t fate.”

She chuckled but shook her head, tilting her head to the side to study him better. He had the unpleasant feeling of being assessed but given that he had spent a fair amount of time staring at her ass, he supposed it was only fair. With her heels, she was almost as tall as him and he wondered how much tinier she would be without them, wondered if it was something that attracted her: the size difference, how small she would probably feel in his arms…

She must have liked what she saw because she licked her lips again, a telltale flash of something briefly darkening her eyes.

“Is the airport bar the best you can do?” she challenged.

“There’s always the hotel’s bar.” he teased.

“How about dinner?” she retorted.

He winced. “That sounds like a date, sweetheart. I don’t do dates.”

“And I do not sleep with customers. I guess we all have to make concessions when we really want something, don’t we?” she hummed and walked away again.

He followed her into something that looked like a kitchenette, resolutely ignoring the staff only sign on the wall.

“I ain’t gonna beg you to sleep with me.” he warned.

“Isn’t that what you are currently doing?” she deadpanned, reaching in various cupboards to fix herself a cup of tea. “And you are not allowed to be here.”

He wanted to say something, to snatch the last word, but nothing snarky enough came to mind and he ended up turning around and walking back to his seat, furious that she had gotten the better of him and more than a little aroused because of it.

He was pretty sure she avoided him for the rest of the flight because another stewardess took care of their cabin next.

He didn’t see her again before they landed and they boarded off the plane. He told himself he was lagging behind just to avoid the hassle of being pressed in the middle of the crowd. He told himself he wasn’t going to do it because she was clearly annoying and high maintenance and it wasn’t worth a night of sex. He told himself all that very firmly.

“I hope you had a good flight.” she told him in that professional but slightly sarcastic voice as they both stood on top of the stairs leading off the plane.

“I’m hungry.” he blurted out despite his best intentions.

“Oh, I bet you are.” she grinned and she wasn’t talking about actual food.

He rolled his eyes. “So? Want to grab something to eat?”

Her grin was blinding and it tugged at things in his chest. He should have been worried – hell, he was worried – because that one… Oh, he was ready to bet that one could get under his skin very fast and very discreetly so that he would only notice once she was already there and it was too late. But when she smiled at him like that, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I will meet you in front of the airport in half an hour.” she offered. “I need to change.”

As sexy as the flight attendant outfit was, the prospect of seeing her in normal clothes was enticing and he nodded his agreement.

Somehow, he had the feeling he would never forget that plane trip.

[captainderyn]

“I know I say this a lot, but…I love you.”

Thank you for the ask @delavairesslegacy!

Cullen Rutherford/Tucdela

Cullen considered himself a man of routine. Whether it be the Templar training or just his structured personality he performed some tasks the same day in and day out, and that was how he liked it. One such task was keeping track of and putting away his armor at the end of the day so that come dawn he wouldn’t need to rummage around the cold stone floor in his barefeet and bedclothes trying to find a stray gauntlet. There were, of course, sometimes complications to this routine, mostly of elven nature if a certain Inquisitor had her way, but that, at least today, was irrelevant.

Today, his armor was conveniently missing from its stand, every bit, from mantle to boots. Thinking that maybe one of his soldiers thought to have a laugh and steal their commanding officer’s armor he made the quasi walk of shame–shameful in only that he felt quite bare in Skyhold’s cold morning air in his boots, trousers, and loose tunic shirt–down to the training court.

His troops were all gathered in a circle as he approached, unusually awake at this hour of the morning, without their usual grumblings of falling asleep on their feet, watching a smaller figure attempt to swing a sword much too long for them around.

As he drew closer he caught sight of familiar dark red waves and the elegant point of elven years curving from beneath her dark hair. She tried to heave the sword up again, familiar accented voice rising into the still mountain air. “You just need to whack it really, really hard.” As if to demonstrate she aimed towards one of the training dummies and the sword fall into the straw and cloth shoulder, sending up a puff of dust. It stuck, and she had to pull extra hard to get it out. “See, really hard.”

“Tucdela,” Cullen called, momentarily forgetting to call her by her title first–as had become habit in the initial period that he hadn’t let himself entertain the thought of her being anything other than his leader. Title notwithstanding his soldiers have already sniffed out the gossip that their Commander and her Inquisitorialness as Varric called her were spending an ample amount of time together– and there was laughter in her voice when she whipped around, nearly tumbling to the ground. His boots–and now he knew where his armor was as she’s requisitioned all of it, no matter how big,–are much too large for her feet, he can see that she can’t really lift them, instead shuffling along the ground. Somehow she’s clipped and tied his gauntlets around her arms and fastened her chest piece around her lithe figure, even if she’s swimming in the abundance of metal.

He has seen her in the fur mantle and cloth under piece to his armor, after all her usual armor around Skyhold was in fact a cut and tucked version of the over piece he draped around her in the snow of Haven, minus the heavy fur now. Now, however, his, fully not sewn to fit her proportions, hangs down to her knees and dangles loosely over her brown undershirt. Now it hangs down to her knees, danging distractedly loose around her brown undershirt.

“What’re you doing?”

In a split second where she seemed shocked to see him without his armor, despite she herself wearing it, her eyes drifted over the loose but thin fabric of the one shirt he had been able to find in his haste before dragging to his face. Then they narrowed, a smirk quirked her lips and she barked in her best imitation of his voice–ridiculously husky and low and still clipped with the Dalish dialect. “Recruit Rutherford, you’re late!”

He couldn’t play around in front of his troops, they were already snickering behind their hands at the stand off between their commanding officer and their Herald. But she crossed her arms, cocked her hip and waited for a response.

So, in his driest voice he asked, “What’re you teaching today, Commander Lavellan?”

Tucdela hauled the sword up, gesturing between herself, her ‘students’, and the dummy. From the look she fixed on him he might as well have had the thought process of that dummy in that moment. “How to fight with a sword.”

He can’t help it, the natural banter he finds himself himself reaching for when its only them breaking free, when he immediately shot back; “Can you even swing that sword? You’re an archer.”

There are muffled exclamations from the peanut gallery of soldiers and he can practically hear the coins shifting hands and bets being made. “Inquisitor?”

Tilting her chin up he pinpointed the moment her smirk widened and she celebrated a small victory, perhaps in losing the complete professionalism he keeps a tight handle on. “Is that a challenge, Rutherford?”

It was a breach of every rule he’s set for himself over the past years of the Inquisition but she has been telling him to loosen up in front of his troops, make himself one of them instead of holding himself at a cool distance. Well, none of his men should be challenging the Inquisitor to duels in their armor. If they were then they would have something more to worry about than beating Tucdela Lavellan in one on one combat.

“You find yourself challenged, Inquisitor.” Scanning the gathered troops and waving towards the swords of one of the soldiers that was close to Tucdela’s build, a young Orlesian that had joined forgone her countrymen’s fight after the Winter Palace in favor of the Inquisition, if his memory served him right, he said. “Eira, if you wouldn’t mind lending the Inquisitor your sword.”

She handed it over with a pushed down amusement filled grin and he turned to hold it out to Tucdela, quirking a brow. “You might want to take off the armor before you bring harm to yourself.”

Stepping closer than strictly necessary to grab the sword she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, keeping her voice between them. “Oh I can think of someone and some way better to remove this armor, Commander.”

Maker’s breath. With the relative calm that had come over Skyhold in planning their next blow and waiting for information to surface on their enemy, filled with odd jobs and resource gathering, much of the stress had lifted at least slightly from her shoulders; and while he thanked the Maker that she was no longer a husk of herself those green eyes looking up at him from thick lashes as she stepped back were almost to much.

It took her a few minutes of fumbling with the straps she’s crossed and recrossed before the armor came off, leaving her barefoot and just as under dressed for her rank or even just a duel as he is. Then again, with the rumor mill pumping furiously from Denerim about the fact that the King and Queen had dueled each other–for fun, nobles nearly lost their minds at such a concept–in their royal finery, dueling in shirts and trousers hardly seemed such an issue.

It took three or four blows for them both to realize that Cullen was correct, and that Tucdela was an archer by trade and nature and not a swords-woman. While not completely hopeless with blades, she did after all carry and know how to use two daggers were something to ever go wrong in combat with her bow, she was clumsy and unsure with a sword.

She lost gracefully, though not for lack of trying. With the weight of a sword weighing her down she couldn’t dance and flit around the way she could with her bow, couldn’t jump from spot to spot. Instead she would find her flank open, then her front, then her back; all faster than she could reach with her experience.

Finally she raised her hand in surrender, leaning on her sword. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly and she raked her hand through hair damp with swear. The loose brown tunic she had been wearing clung to her back but despite her tired and overheated look her eyes were gleaming with a light he hadn’t had to pleasure of seeing for a long time.

“I give.” With a wheezing laugh she rocked back and forth on her feet. “I’ve been humbled enough.”

Then she smiled at him, beaming and happy, and he couldn’t help but give a small, reserved smile in return. Motioning to his troops he gave them his most stern look. “Alright, you’ve all had your fun at the Inquisitor’s expense, go get ready for your actual training.”

���I don’t know, Commander. Her Ladyship might be able to give you a run for your job.”

Pointing at the smart mouthed soldier, though his tone remained light he shooed him off. “I didn’t ask for your smart mouth, ser, that’s an extra three rounds for you.”

With excessive grumbling the troops ambled away to prep for their real drilling, pushing and shoving back at each other. When it was only the two of them Cullen turned to Tucdela and offered a real smile. “Are you alright?”

She waved off his concern, straightening up and relinquishing the borrowed sword as her cane. “Pssh that? I’m fine. It’s only the most work I’ve done in months.”

Cullen wandered to the pile she had made of his armor, starting to sort through it and untangle straps. “Even with the dragon you and Bull slayed in the Approach?”

“Maybe less than slipping and sliding on sand while trying to avoid dragon breath.” Tucdela mused. “Though this is a close second.”

He jumped when suddenly her arms were slung around his shoulders, her head resting against his. “Thank you, for doing that, even with your troops there. I think it’s the most fun I’ve had as ‘The Inquisitor’ lately.”

Pulling at the straps she had adjusted to make work he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her exposed jaw. “Anything for you.”

Her low hum rumbled in his ear as she pulled herself closer for a moment. “Ah, I know I say this a lot, but I love you. And I really don’t want to go to my meetings now.”

Then she was dragging her arms from around his shoulders with a huff, looking down at her sweaty and dusty garments. “Josie’s going to flay me alive if I show up in this.” She sighed, then fixed him with a look. “I’ll see you after these morning meets? Office or battlements?”

“As always.”

[marquis1305]

A poet’s heart

For my dear @saffyre-viral, who not only let me borrow their dear Inquisitor, Saturn Lavellan. But has also been more than patient while waiting the week that it took me to write this piece. Set directly after Damaia witnesses the Inquisitors shape-shifting ability for the first time. 

Saturn was always more than willing to entertain Damaia’s curiosity, without ever realizing exactly what might come of it. 

Damaia had accompanied Saturn back to Caern Bronach after they had finished cleaning out the old Crestwood caves. She found herself absolutely fascinated by the Elvhen, more so than when she had first learned what Saturn was. She could feel the questions swirling through her head as she watched the petite elf.  

Apparently, Saturn could feel those same questions.  

"Come along, Damaia, I already know that you are nearly buzzing with curiosity. I would rather be able to relax while you ask. I find that shifting forms takes more out of me than it once did," Saturn smiles, but Damaia can see the weariness written all over their stance.

Damaia can find she has only one plausible response to this.

She leans down and lifts the elf, cradling them against her chest, one arm supporting their back, and the other wrapped under their legs.  

Before Saturn can begin to protest, Damaia smirks down at her. "What can I say, I wanted to practice sweeping you off your feet."

Saturn could only shake her head and roll her eyes. Damaia carries her into the rooms near the loft, shooing out the agents playing cards. Promising them that they could have the room back after the Inquisitor had had a moment of rest. Damaia gently sets Saturn down into one of the chairs.  

"I am not a fragile creature for you to coddle, Damaia," Saturn chides, chin lifted to stare down the Qunari kneeling before her.  

"No, you are strong, and proud. Two traits I very much admire, my dear Inquisitor. But two traits that often do not allow for weakness to show, and with me, you don't have to worry about it. Because I will do my best to care for you and support you either way,"Damaia huffs a quiet chuckle, then strokes a hand over Saturn's pale hair. "What can I say, it's in my nature to act like a mother hen, clucking away at her chicks."

"I would like to remind you that I am quite a bit older than you, Damaia," the playful tone indicates to Damaia that Saturn has allowed this small act.  

"Yeah, and that is one of those things that I want to ask about, if you are feeling well enough."  

"Perhaps some water first?"

Damaia stands, scanning the room for any sort of liquids besides the liquor that the agents had left behind. Finding a jug of water in the corner, she goes to quickly fetch it, offering it to Saturn. Letting her drink her fill as Damaia fetches another chair to sit beside her. Damaia lets her gaze slip over Saturn's face, once more committing it to memory.

"You are staring again, Damaia."

"I have always had a fondness for beautiful things, for powerful things. You are both, I can't help wanting to capture each moment you allow me close to you in my mind. Unfortunately, I don't have an artist's hands," Damaia shrugs, her gaze warm as it continues to scan over Saturn's face.

"Just a poet's heart. You would have done well among my kin. They too appreciated such things," Saturn's face softens slightly, handing back the jug of water to Damaia. Who sets it off to the side. Pulling out some rations from her pack for the two to share. "Now, ask your questions."

“I will take that as a compliment," Damaia chuckles, then thinks for a moment, trying to get her questions in an order that might make sense. "What is your favorite memory?”

Saturn pondered, there are plenty to choose from considering. After a while they met Damaia’s eyes and with a wistful tone, “My favorite memory would have to be when I climbed one of the spires in Arlathan. The Elders were so pissed! See, I had a rebellious streak a mile long when I was around, what, 19? That was when I went by “she”, before I knew I had a choice in how I presented myself.”

"No wonder I never hear you complain about the Storm Coast's cliffs," Damaia smiles widely. "I would have liked to see that, and your rebellious streak. Might be fun to witness it. What did Arlathan look like?”

“That…is hard to describe... considering I don’t remember much about it besides that spire I talked about.”

Damaia shrugs, while curious, she wouldn't obsess over things that she had never expected to be able to learn about.  

“Was it easy to adapt to the changes of learning to live in modern times?”

After a beat Saturn responded, “Depends on what you mean by that. When the Veil was created, things changed. It wasn’t as easy to summon our magic anymore, our dreams became riddled with temptations from angered spirits, and many of our people died. When I fell into our “deep sleep” later on we missed a few things but it didn’t really seem any different.”

That catches Damaia's attention, honing in on what Saturn had said about sleep.

“Do you have to sleep?”

They blink a few times before they burst out laughing, “Of course I have to sleep! Just because I sleep for centuries at a time doesn’t mean I don’t have to sleep in between!” After a few seconds they caught their breath. With a slightly embarrassed look from Damaia, Saturn rushed for something to say, “Though, I get where you are coming from! We sleep for a considerable amount of time, yes… but I haven’t fallen into Uthenera in a very long time. I doubt I ever will.”

"I love the way your laugh sounds," Damaia lets her embarrassment over the question fade. Huffing a short laugh even as she runs her hands through her hair. “Were there schools?”

“They were optional. But we all had to learn to control our magic with ease. We also had training for the other fighting classes. That’s why you see me fighting with a sword or with daggers on occasion.”

"Which I find that your ability with weapons is rather impressive. Far better than my just smashing people with my staff, at least."  

"Do not discount your ability, you have a knack for catching your opponents off guard. It is quite the talent to be unreadable on the battlefield," Saturn leans forward to press a hand on Damaia's knee.

"I don't know if I would quite rank that up there with your finesse with both magic and weapons, and your ability to shift into the creature. It was amazing to watch," Damaia cannot help the awe that pushes through her voice. She catches Saturn's hand and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "But we can talk about that another time, when I have properly romanticized the moment."

Saturn laughs again, "Very well, do you have any other questions?"

"I think only one more that has been pressing on my mind, as Summer's eve is approaching. Did you celebrate any holidays?”

“Not really, no. Though we all practically worshipped the spirits. We were too proud, I think, to celebrate anything. If you meant me, then I’d love to celebrate but I have absolutely no idea how.”

"No idea... what do you mean?"

"I have never had the opportunity to celebrate anything."

"What about with the Lavellan clan."

"We had not been with them long enough to celebrate any of their holidays."

Damaia suddenly stands. Pulling Saturn up with her, drawing them close. "Then I shall simply have to find a reason for us to celebrate, my liege."

Holding Saturn close for just a moment longer, Damaia releases them, pressing one more kiss to their knuckles. "I should stop pestering you with questions. You need to rest before we head back to skyhold, especially now that I am certain of your need for sleep."

Saturn nods, feeling their weariness after the events of the day. "I am always happy to answer your questions Damaia. But it has been a long day, yes."

"Then, by your leave Inquisitor." Damaia's eyes twinkle with mischief. She watches as Saturn leaves, knowing that she would have to work quickly and borrow some of Leliana's agents to follow through with the plan quickly taking form in her mind. Damaia heads over to the requisition desk, borrowing sheets of parchment. Her near illegible scrawl skittering over every sheet, save one.  

That one, she brought back to her own tent. Where she kept the supplies that Master Vincento had given her. She would need quiet to finish this particular piece of the puzzle.  

The next morning, the group was ready to leave for their home. Damaia took her place walking next to Saturn's mount.  

"You are particularly quiet this morning, Demona." Varric's voice rings out from the other side of Saturn.  

"My apologies, master storyteller, I shall ensure to return to my usual amount of chatter. Since you miss the sound of my voice so."  

"What can I say, not often our resident lightning storm isn't booming and filled to the brim with energy."

"Maybe I am just building up for the next strike?"

"Let me know when that happens, I'll be sure to stand out of the way of the concurrent rain, kid. "

Damaia only responds with a laugh. Even as her mind races. This would be a long trip back, but Damaia hoped that her efforts would be worth it.  

In the five days that it took to make the trip, Damaia received exactly three letters.  

The first from Josephine, confirming.

The second from Solas, advising.  

The third from Vivienne, applauding.  

She spent the evenings talking with Cassandra, who, it turned out, had many difficulties hiding her initial reaction. After that however, Damaia found that she was of immeasurable assistance.  

When they finally made it back to Skyhold, as was their custom, Damaia would press a quick kiss to Saturn's knuckles, then excuse herself to gather the piles of reports that the Frostblade mercenary company would send. She made her way up to Commander Cullen's office, exchanged a few words with him in regards to the favor that she had requested, and then left with an armload of papers.  

When night fell, Damaia slipped out of the room that she had taken above the garden. Making her way to the main hall. She was met by Cassandra, Leliana, Vivienne, Solas, Josephine, and Cullen.  

"You are all wonders among wonders. Is everything prepared?" Damaia could feel herself bristling with nervous energy.  

She had painted on her red formal Vitaar, had adorned her horns with the carved gold bands that her parents' had presented her with the day she left for the Frostblades. On her ears, the golden links and cuffs that she had pierced to indicate each major victory in her life. As was the custom that her father had taught her.  

The green silks that she had requested Vivienne and Josephine to purchase wrapped around her. The band about her chest glittering with beads and jewels beneath the trimmed half jacket. Her skirts loose and flowing to her bare feet, embroidered with vine motifs.  

"You look a vision my dear, far better than your customary attire," Vivienne had been proud at what her personal tailor had achieved with the materials Josephine had acquired from her Antivan vendor. A matching suit had been laid out in the Inquisitor's chamber just before they had retired for the evening.  

Along with the note that Damaia had passed off to Cullen that morning. In her finest calligraphy.

"Wait until the moon lights the night's sky. Then come and meet me in the dining hall. Please follow any further requests as given by your advising council, as I have requested their assistance on this matter."

"That sounded very much like a compliment Madame De Fer, watch out, or I might take it to heart." Damaia teases, even as Josephine interjects.  

"There is no time for squabbling, Captain Damaia, but indeed. We have managed to prepare everything. Though I do fear that it is woefully short of what I have invisioned."

"It will be a dream, Josie. All of your parties are, so stop fussing so. Come, Damaia, we must get you in place before the Inquisitor arrives." Leliana nods to Damaia, offering her her hand. Damaia takes it eagerly, following the spymaster's lead.  

Solas falls in step beside them, eyes glancing over the scene. "Given how thorough your requests were, I have no doubt that our Inquisitor will be quite pleased with the results."

"Your advice was of great help Solas, though I would have never suspected you of enjoying such things."

"It has been one of my many pleasures, while traveling the fade, to witness grand events. It shall be of greater pleasure to bear witness to this one, my friend."

"Demona, I'm hurt," Varric calls out from the opposite end of the hall. "I had hoped we were close enough that you would give me warning if you were planning on doing anything dramatic."

"Ah, Varric, normally I would suggest that almost anything I do is dramatic, but I was hoping that this in particular would be special," Damaia flushes darkly, her normally easy chuckle tinged with nerves.  

"I apologize Damaia, but... I couldn't help but hope that Varric would be willing to capture the moment for history. It is... not something that should be forgotten." Cassandra blushes nearly as hard as the day that Saturn had convinced Varric to continue his romance serial for her. And Damaia can't help but soften at the words.  

"I do not mind, Cassandra. In fact, I would be quite eager to hear our master storyteller's rendition of tonight. Barring that I do not manage to completely fumble everything."

"It is unusual to see you so unsure, Captain, you will do fine. I am certain that our Inquisitor will appreciate the effort, even if everything is not perfect," Cullen clasps his friend on the shoulder. The gesture bolstering Damaia's spirit.  

"I assure you, everything will go to plan. Now, come, time is running short," Josephine hurries Leliana and Damaia along, shooing them to take their places. Leliana escorts Damaia to the dais where Saturn's throne usually sits. The object having been removed for the occasion. Solas and Vivienne light the candelabras, both with regular flames and with veilfire. Cullen moves to stand off to the side, where Leliana joins him after ensuring that Damaia stands in the center of the Dais. Cassandra and Varric move to sit at one of the banquet tables, which are groaning with the weight of food and delicacies of the varies countries of Thedas.  

The walls are decorated with symbols both new and old. Runes of ancient Elvhen that the Inquisition had recently discovered and been studying, those for prospering, health, and happiness were most prominent. Surrounding those were symbols of modern Thedas. Ranging from dragons, Andrastian, all the way to  Avaar and Qunari; any symbol of strength and celebration of each civilization.  

It was all just as Damaia had pictured it to be.  

Josephine had really managed to outdo herself this time.  

Each of their friends moved to sit at the tables, except for Cullen and Leliana, who stood just behind several candelabras, reading over a few sheets of paper.

She owed them both some major favors for this, Cullen especially. But Damaia had heard the man when the Chantry sister had led their little sing along. No way was Damaia going to pass up on another chance to get that man's voice heard.  

Finally, the moment had arrived.  

Saturn opened the door from their chambers.  

And their breath caught in their throat. Eyes drifting over everything in the hall. Finally stopping on Damaia.  

"Turned out that I already had a reason to celebrate, have since the day I met you." Damaia gazes with wonder at the person who had made this entire crazy year make any sort of sense. Her heart roaring at the sight of them in their formal wear.  

Leliana and Cullen's voices lift in a song that Damaia couldn't understand the words to, but Solas had said that it would be appropriate for the occasion.  

She trusted the elf to know better than she.  

Saturn walks forward, still awed by the sights and sounds around them. Catching sight of their advisors and friends watching teary eyed at the ensuing scene. Varric scribbling away furiously on a sheet of parchment.

"You did this, all of this?"

"Well, mostly it was done by our very sappy friends over there," Damaia chuckles, leaning down to catch Saturn's hands. Placing a kiss on each palm. "But I did what I could to get my vision across."

Saturn swallows back at the tight feeling in their throat.  

"Now come, this is a celebration after all. And I have managed to get us quite the finest voices in all of Thedas, we shouldn't squander the moment," Damaia clears her throat before kneeling down before Saturn. "My dearest Inquisitor, would you do me the honor of joining me in this dance?"