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dietcokegirly12 · 2 days ago

Note

HELLO, I just read your fic called "Trapped" with Poe! omg i loved it, it was the best thing I've read so far. So...I'd love to ask you if you could do another NSFW fic with a fem reader It doesn't matter what it's about as long as it's sweet and has NSFW. Sorry if I didn't specify well 😭 I'm just desperate to read another fic with him, I loved your writing tysm! 💗

“First Time?”

featuring edgar allen poe (,,¬﹏¬,,)

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── ✎ᝰ♡✧˖°🗒 ─── ˎˊ˗‧₊˚. ─── ✎ᝰ

art credit: pinterest

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── ✎ᝰ♡✧˖°🗒 ─── ˎˊ˗‧₊˚. ─── ✎ᝰ

tags: unprotected sex, cervix kissing, premature ejaculation, mention of masturbation, sub!poe, dom!reader, etc etc

word count: 2k

˚₊‧⁺˖┈┈⋆˙⟡♡┈┈˚₊‧⁺˖┈┈⋆˙⟡♡┈┈˚₊‧⁺˖┈┈⋆˙⟡♡

You and Poe had been dating for several months now, ever since you met at a library where he was working on a novel, and had captivated you with his awkward charm and boyish smile.

Immediately, you had begun to flirt with him, and after coming often to the library, eventually asked him out on a coffee date.

Your relationship had soared after that, always going on lavish dates with your doting boyfriend, and him constantly showering you in gifts and as much time as he could spare aside from writing novels where you would have cute little dates at the park, or ice-skating together, and truly he was the perfect boyfriend.

Aside from one minor problem.

You two had never… well had sex.

And you weren’t sure if it was because Poe was too shy to ask, or because he just didn’t want to, but you certainly didn’t want to push him if he was uncomfortable.

Of course, you two had kissed, even made out a few times, but it would never last long, with Poe blushing immensely and having to excuse himself where you wouldn’t see him for the rest of the night.

Hell, you two had never even slept in the same bed.

On the rare occasions, you would sleep over, since he was always insisting on driving you home, he was always up late working, and when you would awake in the morning, he’d be curled up and asleep on the couch, ever the respectful gentleman.

You really didn’t want to believe it had something to do with you, or that you just didn’t appeal to him in that way, but it was getting increasingly harder to hold back as the days went on, and you got more and more pent up.

What you didn’t know was that every night, Poe would furiously fuck his fist, imagining it was your hand pumping up and down, and indulging in the dirty thoughts he had felt about you ever since your first kiss, horny and in need of any kind of release.

He refused, however to rush you in the relationship, conceding that you needed to take it slow, and he didn't need nor want you to feel pressured by him into doing anything you weren't comfortable with. No, you were his angel, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

You would think he was starting to lose interest with the way he was almost never home, usually making himself busy with his writing.

Finally, you had enough, and in a last-ditch effort to get him to just touch you, you set up a movie night in his living room, draping the couch with lots of extra blankets and pillows to cuddle in.

"Poeee.. c'mere you've been working so hard, come watch a movie with me." you whine, tugging the raven-haired man closer when he finally came for a break.

He chuckled softly, caressing your cheek. "Okay.. sure, one movie."

You scoot over, so he can sit next to you, sighing internally as he made sure to stay a reasonable distance away, your thighs not even brushing.

As the movie progresses however, you shift closer, eager to put your plan into motion so that he won't be able to ignore you.

Gently, your hand slides up his thigh as you rest your head onto his shoulder, eyes never leaving the screen.

He stiffens slightly under your touch, but stays still, breathing turning slightly heavier.

A couple minutes tick by, and you move your hand slightly higher as you pretend to adjust yourself, until you're practically in his lap, hand dangerously close to where you knew the bulge in his pants was.

And just as your fingertips just barely ghost over him, he jolts like he's been shocked, quickly standing up as he hurries off to his room again, blushing furiously.

"M'sorry! Just remembered.. ah.. I forgot something or.. I need to... my book!"

And then he's gone.

You slump back against the couch, defeated but not ready to give up just yet.

This was going to be harder than you thought.

.˚‧˗ˏˋ ── 𓃠✎ ⋆⑅˚₊ ── ˎˊ˗‧˚.── 𓃠✎ ⋆⑅˚₊ ── ˎˊ˗‧˚

You genuinely thought that maybe it was something you were doing, or that he just wasn't attracted to you, which didn't make sense, because he told you almost every day how beautiful you were, like a creation straight out of one of his novels.

So, deciding to take matters into your own hands, you went to ask his best friend, his only friend, Ranpo Edogawa.

"Has Poe what?"

You blush, bending closer to the shorter man to whisper something into his shaggy brown hair.

"Has Poe ever had a girlfriend? Or had.. ah.. sex with anyone you would know of?"

Drawing back, Ranpo looks you up and down, smirking, emerald green eyes glinting mischievously. "What, you two haven't...?"

You swallow, shaking your head quickly. "I'm starting to think he doesn't want to..."

Ranpo grabs you quickly then, taking you by surprise as he widens his eyes in pretend shock, leading you to believe he knows more than he's letting on. "Oh, he wants you all right. He's always going on and on about the ways..."

"Ranpo?"

You turn your head, spotting your tall, awkwardly standing boyfriend, rubbing his arm as his gaze flicks over the two of you.

"What are you doing?"

As he steps closer, you quickly untangle yourself from Ranpo whose eyes dart between you both.

"Well, this was fun, but I have to get going back to the Agency. See you, Poe!" And with that, he dashes off, leaving just you and Poe alone.

Poe comes closer, eyes uncertainly scanning yours. "W-what were you doing with him?"

You quickly rush to explain, not wanting your poor boyfriend to think anything less than pure was going on. "Don't worry, baby! I was just asking Ranpo something a-about.. uh.."

He tilts his head. "He was saying something about someone wanting you?"

Sighing internally, knowing you weren't going to get away from this without an explanation, you quickly say in a rush,"Iwasaskinghimifyou everhadsex!"

He freezes at that, body going completely stock-still as his face flushes as it usually does when he gets flustered or embarrassed.

You quickly rush to apologize. "I'm so sorry. And I should've asked you but I.."

"No, it's fine." He cuts you off, voice strained and eyes unreadable as he gazes down at you.

Worried since you had never seen him make that expression, you reach for his hand, squeezing slightly. "Sorry. Let's just go home."

He nods numbly, and trails behind you as you lead both of you back to his apartment.

┈⋆ ˚｡⋆📜⋆. ˚｡⋆࿔♡✎ᝰ┈⋆ ˚｡⋆📜⋆. ˚｡⋆࿔♡✎ᝰ┈⋆ ˚｡⋆

The whole walk back, you're thinking about ways to apologize for invading his space like that, feeling horrible. He's silent, simply holding your hand and seemingly lost in thought as his mind is elsewhere.

You imagine the worst. He hates you, is already thinking of ways to distance himself, thinks you're disgusting and a pervert, and... oh you're making yourself sick with the thought, wants to break up.

You prepare to make an apology as you shakily unlock the door, turning slightly to face him. "Poe, I'm truly so sorry-"

But you don't get to finish before his lips are clumsily smashing against yours, rough and unyielding as for the first time, he kisses you with passion, rather than his usual hesitance.

He licks the bottom of your lip softly and as you whimper softly in response, takes it as an invitation to mold his hot tongue to yours, pushing you back gently through the door, and closing it with a slam with his foot.

Gasping for breath, he draws away from your mouth barely enough to lift your hips onto the counter behind you, clumsily fumbling with the buttons of your shirt as he connects his desperate mouth back against yours,

"Fuck.. waited so.. mmph.. long. I just never thought you wanted to.. I didn't wanna rush.. ah fuck.."

He breaks off in an obscene moan, one you had never heard before, and one you never wanted to stop hearing, as your hands run lightly over his pants, trying to unbutton as fast as you can.

His head tilts back, beautiful hair falling back to reveal his sharp jawline and high cheekbones, eyelashes fluttering softly.

Pushing his pants down past his hips, you finally reveal the pale, twitching cock you had been dreaming of for so long, slender and oh-so long, tip glossy with pre-cum and prominent veins tracing prettily all along him.

He shudders as you finally grip him, instinctively pumping up and down as his hips shift forward, a lewd groan slipping out of him.

"Please.. ngh.. c-can't wait.. wan' feel you."

His nimble hands come to tug lightly at your pants, clearly wanting them off, and you're all too eager to comply, undressing to reveal yourself, completely bare in front of him for the first time, full breasts and laced panties showing just how soaked you were for him.

He groans at the sight, hands shakily reaching for you again as he lifts you up to straddle him, hands immediately finding the plush of your thighs and breasts, gently squeezing everywhere he can reach, all too eager after being denied for so long of you.

And you just can't wait any longer, the throbbing in your sopping cunt becoming so intense, you feel as if you might die if he isn't inside you soon.

"Here Poe, jus' stay still.."

He grunts softly, hips jerking as his tip nudges at your entrance, you slowly sinking down on him, wincing as he stretches you so perfectly.

Before he's even halfway in, though, he's cumming, spurts of hot, white ribbons filling you up so filthily, so much of it that it begins to seep out of you, your mouth wide and head thrown back as you shudder at the feeling.

"Poe..." you gasp out, chest heaving. "Did you just...?"

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly in embarrassment, a small whine leaving his throat as you finally manage to sink all the way down, his length throbbing desperately inside you.

His hands come to fit over your hips, long fingers splaying across you as he practically pleads with you. "Fuck! M'sorry! Lemme make it up to you, doll!"

That being his only warning, he starts to bounce you up and down on his cock, tip brushing your cervix with every thrust as you moan softly, tugging on his hair as small cries of his name rush out of you.

He bounces you quicker, and reaches a hand down to explore over your cunt, fingers slightly uncoordinated, but learning fast as he quickly finds your clit, tracing over it sloppily.

Your eyes shut and a small whine escapes you as your hips instinctively buck forward, tightening around him, the slight angle change enough for him to hit even deeper into your snug walls.

He grunts, thrusts becoming more erratic and sloppy as he prods at the squishy spot deep inside you that makes you squeal, your stomach coiling tighter with every thrust.

"Poe.. m'close.. m'close.. hah.. fuck m'cumming!"

And with that being your only warning, your cunt sucks him deeper as your walls ripple and tighten, syrupy arousal coating your thighs as you finally reach your high, white-hot blurring your vision.

"Fuck!" He curses before spilling more ropes of cum into you, being so full of him at this point you can barely breathe, every movement eliciting more of his cum to drip out from between your thighs obscenely.

You collapse onto his chest, sticky against him as your breath heaves, hair sweaty on your forehead.

After a few moments, he gently kisses your forehead, trying to relax but still restless under you, shifting slightly. "Fuck..."

"What is it?" You breathe, one hand coming to comb through his soft hair fanning across you.

It's just then that you feel something hard prodding into you again, before Poe's shy voice speaks up, his hips shifting to grind against you slightly.

"Can we.. do that again, maybe?"

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munyequitos · 23 hours ago

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INTRODUCING MUNYEQUITOS SAMSTRONOMY ONE PIECE MIDDLE SCHOOL AU :3 (or msopms for short!!)

i put way too much effort into these refs but msopms has been being cooked up since like july i think LOL. anyway check out @samstronomy for the other half of the strawhats msopms references (which can be found here)!!! i'll tag all posts about them with #msopms and link back to this post as reference to what the FUCK im talking about! more information + tidbits about msopms under the cut cause this post is already long enough as is :3

all of them are transgender its like the glue that holds them together

all their guardians are the same as in canon

yes this means garp is still luffy's grandpa

garp's the principal of grand line middle school (the school they all go to)

garp wanted luffy and ace to join the navy so bad he made ace sign up for those stupid military text alerts and ace just trolled them the entire time

ace is luffy's older brother who is in high school and all the younger strawhats think he's cool exclusively cause he's older than them

luffy is so incredibly cracked at PE that he often laps nami and usopp during their mile runs

nami is an absolute menace and loaded at all times. she buys the strawhats snacks from the cafeteria

luffy has a flip phone (against his will garp makes him use one so he can call him during class to be like "WHY AREN'T YOU IN CLASS!!!!!"), nami has a regular smartphone, usopp has a dying ipad he uses to draw and text, robin has a flip phone (but it's one of those cool android ones. and also not against her will), and chopper has a non-dying ipad he uses to text and also take homework notes

crocodile hates all the strawhats by association with vivi (he has one sided dinkleberg-esque beef with cobra)

luffy met nami after he beat up some of her bullies for her, he's known usopp since like 1st grade, he met robin in detention which crocodile put her in for talking back to him (she 100% did not do that), and met chopper when taking nami to the school nurses office when she was gravely ill with the common cold

there's an enies lobby (kinda) plot where robin has to become a hall monitor in order to pay back her book debt to the school board (CP9) and the strawhats all have this emotional dramatic ass moment in the school hallway

OKAY I THINK THAT'S IT. if you've made it this far thank you for reading, please enjoy msopms!

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zewik7 · 2 days ago

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Whats your fat story? like waht made you want to get so big and fat?

Okay buckle up because it’s REALLY effed up as a story.

BE WARNED!! THIS IS A REALLY LONG POST!!

I was JUST 4 years old when, in the solitude of my little bedroom, i played pretend within myself in my toddler crib: i was a little piggy and was destined to be fattened up.

Flash forward: i was 7, i was playing pretend still with that setting, and weighed myself before drinking as much water i could, and weighing myself after that too. I enjoyed seeing the little numbers on the scale go up so fast.

Flash forward: it was early 2000 years, i was 10 and a bit chubby, and the social fashion and new norm was being thin, too thin, so thin you could see ribs. I was regularly called fat, lardass, fatass, even tho i was of normal corporature. I was always angry about this, i didn’t felt fat!

Flash forward: i was 12 and EVERYONE called me fat because i developed early and already had big tits. The rest of my body was thin, i could feel the inter-ribs space with my fingers, but for the culture fo the time i was FAT. I started doing A LOT of sports, like swimming half week and karate the other half week, and that made me bulky, not thin at all. Fat-related bullying intensified at the point that at 13 years old i requested to my mother if i could go to a nutritionist for becoming thinner. She complied, but i got so stressed from the bullying, too much sport and trying on the top of this to be the best in my class, that i actually gained weight… the “wrong” kind of weight. The FAT weight.

I was 14 when i put my fingers on the minimal curve of my belly, the littlest pouch of fat i had when i was like 7 and never again, and pushed and squeezed it. And i loved it. I searched on google, in my mother tongue (italian): “what does it means if i like being fat?”. And it found a single 100ish people forum on BHM and BBW in italian, and i spent a week reading it, watching the SFW photos, i even requested access by registration to the forum.

And THERE. THERE i asked the fundamental question: “everyone i know wants to be thin… but i like being fat. I’d like to be fatter, even. I am wrong? Am i a bad person for feeling like this?”.

And response, gentle and welcoming and kind, was immediately: “no, you’re not a bad person for wanting to decide for your own body in your own way. You’re little for now, but one day you’ll get to choose for yourself what to do about it”.

But i was 14. And any 14yo ever existed believes they know everything in the world.

So i started using my allowance. Normally i’d store it in a box under my bed until i really wanted something (at the time i already spent like 200€ for an ipod touch, but i still had a decent sum remaining), but now i planned and invested my money in my fattening.

I started buying food on the way from home to school and returning, every place selling food knew me by name for the end of the school year. And i packed kgs like my body was so thirsty for them!!

In just two years (2!!) i went from 14 yo per 55 kg (155 cm height) to 16 yo per 115 kg (160 cm height).

I bumped into things with my body because i wasn’t used to being so large! And i was so effing soft!!! I loved it!!!

It was… interesting, from an external point of view, for sure.

My parents couldn’t wrap their minds around HOW i doubled in weight in just two years, for example.

And of course they had to stop me.

They stopped giving me allowance, reprised making me do sports (this time, swimming and modern dance), put me on a strict diet… but I LONGED for that freedom, that big quantities of food and sugary carbonated drinks, even the fatigue and short breath from running briefly… but more than anything… i hated i was losing my physical softness.

In other two years, from 16 to 18, i went from 115 kg to 75 kg.

Then my mother died and she left me some money, so i could go away from home (never loved that other parent too much) in 2015 and start my TRUE gaining.

Since then, I gained more than 125 kg (280 lbs).

#death feed #death feedee #gaining fat #fat girl #fat girls #death feederism #death feedist #feedisn #obese feedee #get me fatter

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emmettpromo · 2 days ago

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Discounted Commissions 💚

If you do not want to lose this information, please reblog or save it somewhere. Someone in the whump community doesn't like that I'm a proshipper and loves getting my blogs deleted, so don't be surprised if this one disappears. I know this is a long post, but sometimes putting things under a read more get lost if the blog is deleted. Sorry!

My name is Emmett and I'm a whump creator. This account is for me to promote things of mine that might interest other members of the whump community.

Since I am unable to hold down a job while I'm working through my trauma and adjusting to a new medication, I am taking commissions at extremely low prices, so that I can have a somewhat stable flow of income alongside my Kofi income. I only take PayPal and do not offer NSFW at this time.

Below are my prices with examples. If you are interested, there are three ways to contact me:

Discord: emmettnet

Kofi: emmettnet

Email: [email protected]

Thank you!

Icons: 5 USD

Chibis: 10 USD

One Character: 10-20 USD

Full Body: 20 USD

Bust (head to thighs): 15 USD

Headshot (head to shoulders): 10 USD

Extra Characters: 5 USD EACH

Reference Sheet: 30-40 USD

You have your choice between Basic and Custom.

Basic will display a full body of the character with a color palette and basic information that you provide (i.e. name, age, gender, orientation, race, species, etc.).

Basic is 30 USD.

Custom means you get to customize the template yourself. It will display a full body, color palette, and basic information. But it also includes extra information (i.e. likes, dislikes, powers, personality, etc.) and up to three chibis of the character, which can be used to show different outfits, forms, versions, etc.

Custom is 40 USD.

Examples 1-2 are Basic and examples 3-7 are Custom.

These are outdated reference sheets, so excuse the old art!

Comic Pages: 50+ USD

Price depends on number of panels, style of comic (black and white, flat color, cell shading, etc.), and complexity of scenes. The examples below are from 2022-2024, taken from three separate webcomics I am working on.

Thank you for reading and thank you for reblogging if you do!

#whumplr #whump art #commissions #commission sheet #artists on tumblr

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vinnsley · 22 hours ago

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Hi there!! You cool with a daughter of Iris reader x Leo Valdez where Leo is stressed out about a project so y/n cheers Leo up by turning his project different colors and stuff? Thanks, have a great day!! Here, have a song rec too: Copacabana by Barry Manilow(English version)

Haven't written for pjo before... hoping i'll get leos character right💀🙏

TW/Info: none except FEM [Y/N], short drabble, fluff, max colors and set clothing ig😹

[--------------]

You've been a camper at Camp Half-Blood for awhile now, being a daughter of Iris, fighting wasn't really your strong suite, but you weren't weak either. You could keep yourself alive out there alone for a bit. Atleast.

And it has been a few days since you've seen your boyfriend, Leo, at all recently. You thought he might be at a quest or something, but after seeing Piper still at camp, you made the proud deduction that no quest has started without your knowledge.

So you decided that you'll raid the Hephaestus Cabin when you have the chance tomorrow... you were already laying in your bunk inside your cabin with your siblings already dead asleep, or reading a book to pass the time while they couldn't sleep.

Soon enough, tomorrow rolled around, being woken up by one of your cabinmates for the morning far earlier than normal, just as you requested.

You thought that if you woke up earlier then you might be able to catch Leo going to the workshop or what he called it as... honestly, you had a hard time deciphering what he was saying when he was more excited than a young kid on christmas day seeing their presents under the tree.

You quickly got dressed — Your bright orange camp shirt (Which in all honesty, you hated the color.), your dark blue jeans with your converse — And your short rainbow scarf you usually wore in your hair before putting your hair in a pony tail.

You quickly rush out of your cabin, not even thinking about closing the door as you run trough the camp, to Leo's workshop.

Not long after you find the entrance, it being wide open and you hear some type of... mechanical noises from the inside?

You went closer, peeking inside and spotting your objective — Leo's body peeking out from the inside of Festus as the dragon was resting while he worked.

You walked inside, walking closer as Festus opened it's eyes, now staring at you approaching. Leo not even taking notice of you at all.

"So this is where you've been all this time?" Your voice spoke as Leo almost immedieatly hit his head in Festus' body, before raising his head out of the mechanical dragon with wide eyes as he stared at you.

"Mi amor! I-I didn't expect to see you today!" He said, chuckling nervously as he scratched the back of his neck.

You raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you in days, Leo. It made me worry slightly." You responded, before walking closer towards Festus' leg, placing your hands on your hip.

Leo chuckled again. "Sorry. My bad. Was kinda too focused on fixing a part inside Festus." He grunted. "I just can't get it right." He grumbled under his breath and chucked his head back into Festus' back.

"Y'know... a break sounds way better than this."

"What do you mean a break? I need to finish this!

"What you need is a break!" You shot back, scoffing as you leaned your shoulder against Festus as you stared at Leo's lower body poking out from Festus.

But absent-mindedly, as you adjusted your position, you reached your hand and put it on Festus, and suddenly, instead of the goldish yellow color... he became bright rainbow colored.

Leo froze as he saw the change (from the inside? You guessed.) as he quickly wiggled himself out and stood on-top of Festus.

"Woah." He said as he looked across Festus' new look. "You could do that?"

You glanced at Festus' torso and Leo awkwardly. "Uh. I guess. I can change object's colors. Could do this since... forever. Y'know." You shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

"Since forever? Dude! You never told me!" He said. "You should've told me! My inventions could've been way cooler with a touch of color instead of—" He said before he cut himself off as you raised an eyebrow in response.

"Y'know... Mi Amor... Some of my inventions do need a new paintjob..." He smirked as he slid down from Festus' back, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Please?" He said with a charming smile.

You raised an eyebrow. "This whole charming thing isn't really working when you smell like oil and like you haven't showered in weeks." You point out.

"Well, excuse you, but i am taking showers. Quite frequently to get rid of the smell." He stated with a pout.

You chuckled as you smirked. "I know, i know. I'll also try to color in your inventions, doofus." You respond.

He grinned happily at that, immedieatly pulling you towards the desk that was situated in the room, with a bunch of materials and tools, Leo rummaging around at the mess and gather them on the middle of the desk.

Awhile later, many gadgets, tools even material at this point was different colors than usual. Even Festus was now pink and blue with some white here and there. Both of you were now on the back of Festus, Leo peeking his head out of the poptart look-alike.

"Finally fixed the issue." He said with a soft smile on his face. He seemed more at ease than you ever did before, in all honesty. This whome color-adventure winded him down slightly, but he was happy, it showed. "You really should've told me you can do this... i would've loved to have you here to color my projects." He said, staring at you softly before leaning down and kissing your forehead.

[--------------]

tried my best w this one💔

small extra;

"Yeah, yeah. This may be all fun and games... but i'm pretty winded, Leo." You said.

"So? What's the problem with being tired?" He asked, looking at you as he put another project you colored away.

"I probably can't color everything back..." You revealed.

Leo's eyes went wide, before the two of you looked at Festus. The dragon only snorted out smoke from it's nostrils...in annoyance if you guessed.

"So Festus is staying as a fake poptart?" Questioned Leo.

"...Guess so. You might have to get used to this new version of Festus." You said. "Might take awhile before i could color him back..." You giggled.

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silkendress · 3 days ago

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Bitten Bullet

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 2: Just You

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Read on AO3

You stare blankly at your phone.

You lay flat on your back on the bed, almost completely swallowed up by blankets, your phone screen the brightest light source in your dark room.

It’s the night after Simon gave you his number. It’s the night where you are wracking your head for what to text him for the first time.

In your mind, you have to text him tonight. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t want his company. Yesterday you tried to think of something to say too, but nothing clicked.

You stare at your phones virtual keyboard, your thumb hovering over letters but never pressing them. You’re on the screen to send Simon something.

You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s awake like you; if he’s a night owl or has difficulty sleeping.

The thought of him sleeping puts the thought of him without his mask in your head. You wonder what he looks like under there. You wonder if he’s waiting on you to text or call like how you’re waiting for your nerves to settle to do one of those things.

You’ve been laying here for what feels like hours.

Maybe just a simple text telling him it was you—so that he could save your number in return—was enough.

That’s what you end up going with. You make sure to include your name and some mildly identifiable information—‘the one that works at a bookstore, you walked me home again yesterday’—and hit send before you become too embarrassed.

You click the power button on your phone to make the screen go dark and you bury yourself under your blankets, your heart pounding as though you just ran a marathon.

When you wake in the morning you pace your morning routine as not to rush. You were putting off checking your messages due to nerves. It wasn’t as if the slower you went would change anything, but it made you feel better to put it off for now.

You make up your bed. You brush your teeth. You shower. You don’t check your phone.

It isn’t until you’ve dried off and redressed that you finally built up the nerve to see if Simon replied to you. He did. There’s a tornado of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Got it.’ Was all he replied. You felt oddly relieved, you weren’t sure what you were so nervous about—Simon didn’t seem the type to be a texter, anyway. That was fine, you were certain many people weren’t. You were just pleased he responded at all.

Your phone hangs loosely in your palm as you walk to the kitchen to have something for breakfast. Thoughts pass your mind, all about Simon.

Another day passes. You fall back into a mundane routine. You haven’t texted Simon since, you’re not sure how to initiate conversation with him, despite your borderline desperate longing to do so.

Chloe told you earlier today that she would be with her sister for another two weeks, that her sister and the baby are healthy but she just wants to be with them. Chloe sounds happy, you’re happy for her.

It’s yet another late night that you can’t sleep. You’re in a cocoon of blankets trying not to stare at your phone—you remember reading somewhere about ‘blue light’ and sleep disruption. It takes a few minutes of you laying as still as a statue until you drift off.

A booming, revving noise makes you jump awake, gasping for air.

The motorcycle again. Your phone is in your hand before you know it.

‘I heard a motorcycle just now. Was that you by any chance?’

You hit send before your doubts can creep up and paralyze you. You hastily click it off and set it on the nightstand to lay back in the bed.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes between that text being sent and now, just that it feels like forever. Now that you thought of it, you suppose someone would have to pull over first to do anything on their phone on a motorcycle.

You were expecting the notification ping of a new text message, so you jolt upright when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the now lit up screen of your phone with wide eyes and lips parted in mild shock. On the third ring you snap yourself out of it and make yourself answer.

“Hello?” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. You mentally wince.

“Hey,” the low sound of him on the other end gives you excited jitters. “Did I wake you?” He sounds careful, a barely-there softness to his voice that makes your hands get increasingly fidgety.

“No, no. I’m just a light sleeper, is all.” You mutter, huffing out a soft laugh in a nervous reflex.

He hums, and then there’s silence.

Not quite silence but close enough because Simon isn’t saying anything. You think you can hear the soft rumble of an engine in the background on the other end. You wonder if he pulled in a gas station to refuel, or if he returned home for the night but decided to call you before heading in.

You think Simon is alright with it—the lulls in conversation. You could relate to an extent, you were quiet too, but he definitely was more self-assured than you. He never felt the impulse to unnecessarily fill the silence with chatter.

You’re so deep in thought that when he speaks again it almost makes you flinch in surprise.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mouth feels dry, you have to swallow before you can speak. “Uh, no, I have work—“

“Day after?” Flat and to the point, he isn’t deterred one bit.

“Yes. I-I’d be free then.” Your heartbeat feels like a drum.

You hesitate before asking; “Why?”

There’s a pause, you can’t tell what Simon is thinking, only that his reply is spoken bluntly.

“Got a second helmet yesterday.”

The day is bright and beautiful, the sky is blue and the warm sun is a welcome contrast to the chilly autumn breeze. Your eyes are trained on the road and your ears are especially attuned to anything that sounds like a motorcycle.

After the call Simon texted you a time and a place. You spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about today, and now you were fiddling with your hands in an attempt to dissipate the nervous energy in your limbs.

Here you were about to get on the back of a bike owned by a man you had a chance encounter with at a bar—a man you had grown increasingly intrigued by and even tentatively fond of, but that was beside the point. You think you’re being more daring than you ever had in your entire life precisely because you were becoming keenly aware of the fact your comfort zone was suffocating you.

It doesn’t change the mild absurdity of the situation.

‘I don’t even drink.’

You find yourself checking your phone periodically for the time, Simon would be coming in a few minutes.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. But then again, you couldn’t believe you met Simon at all, let alone kept in touch with him.

He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was an acquaintance now, surely. You still had so many musings about him, curiosities that had yet to be sated; but you held back. You didn’t want to overstep a potential boundary.

But that didn’t change the fact you curious about him.

You wanted to get a close look at his tattoos. You wanted to know the story behind each one—assuming there was one to be told—and when he got them.

You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like.

You wanted to know what he looked like.

You wanted to know if he wondered about you like you did him.

You wanted to be able to say you knew him, not just an awareness of his existence but a deeper knowledge of him as a person.

You waffle back and forth with your thoughts. ‘He’s the one that offered to take me on his bike,’ you remind yourself in intervals. It works for calming your nerves, but only for a short while.

Your mind combs over things about Simon you do know.

He’s in the military.

He likes motorcycles.

He smokes.

He always wears a mask.

He, for some reason, is keeping in contact with you.

And he is also about to pull up to you.

Your mind belatedly catches up with your senses. You hear the revving first then you see Simon—and the bike—in the distance.

It’s like all of your self-soothing methods were for naught. Your stomach flutters with frenzied nerves and you shift your weight on your feet repeatedly in an effort to shake off some of the jitters.

A part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually show up.

You don’t know much about motorcycles, you couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it. It was black and shiny, the metal bits of it reflected the sunlight.

Simon looks in his element on it. More than competent. Your legs feel wobbly.

He rolls up and his boots settle on the ground, then his heel pushes out the kickstand. You can tell it’s a motion he has done many times before, there’s no hesitation or carefulness to it.

Simon flips up his visor. His eyes take you in, lingering for a moment on your fidgeting, gloved hands—the gloves he gave to you—then back up to you.

He dismounts his bike, a lazy cadence to his movements. Your face feels warmer all of the sudden.

His helmet comes off much the same way, he’s wearing a mask like you expected, and denim jeans and a thick hoodie. He rests the helmet on the seat of the bike for now. In the sunlight his cropped blond hair reminds you of straw.

“Nervous, are you?” He nods down towards your hands. You tuck them in your pockets.

“A little, yes.”

He grunts. “Don’t be,” he meanders to the back of the bike and opens up the trunk box attached to it. “I won’t be goin’ above the speed limit. Not while you’re with me.” His tone is almost protective. You’re not familiar with that tone general, it makes your insides feel fuzzy.

He pulls out another helmet. Your heart rate doesn’t go any slower.

Simon comes over to you with the helmet tucked underneath his muscular arm. Your hands are about to extend outwards to take it from him, but he takes another step forward.

He takes the helmet from under his arm holds it out. “Gonna put this on ya now.”

He says it slowly, almost tentative. His eyes are so intensely trained on you that you almost feel self conscious. Your mind swims, a vast sea of uncontrollable thoughts.

Your brain catches up in slow motion. Simon interprets your silence as a green light to continue.

It’s no-nonsense and straight to the point, but for you it feels like an eternity. You are paralyzed in place and looking straight ahead to avoid his gaze—straight ahead just so happens to be his broad chest, which fills up most of your vision.

He’s careful yet swift with placing the helmet on your head, his gloved thumbs brush over your cheek incidentally as he settles it on you. His palms almost encompass your entire face.

‘His hands are big.’ You realize helplessly.

It wasn’t like you’ve never seen his hands before, it just was that there was something about having said hands in such close proximity that made you starkly aware of their true scale.

You don’t have to wonder if there’s callouses or nicks on his hands, you’re so confident in your assumption that it would be more of a shock if there wasn’t.

It wouldn’t stretch your imagination too far to twist the brief, unintended contact into the image of him cupping your face instead. Your stomach swoops and you mentally berate yourself, mortified.

He demonstrates how to flip the visor up and down and how to take it off yourself. You find it remarkably difficult to absorb his instructions even despite your apt attention.

Then Simon’s eyes narrow questioningly down at you. Your heart lurches for a moment, he must have said something that should have prompted you to answer, but you were much too preoccupied with dousing the fire growing in your face and breathing slow to steady the rabbit-kicks between your lungs.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this—“

“I-I want to.”

You surprise yourself with your sudden insistence. The words tumble from your mouth inelegantly and rapidly. You truly wanted to crawl under a rock in that moment, you felt as though your desperation for human connection couldn’t have been more obvious. Rationally you knew that your blurted out reply could be understood as mere excitement, but you weren’t being very rational right now.

Fortunately, you don’t spiral further into self-deprecation as you are not given much of a chance to, not when Simon utters a single word that has your mind scrambling for a reason you’re not certain of.

Simon’s head slants ever so slightly, a look in his eye that you’d almost call amused. “Good.”

Something in the timbre of his voice reminds you of the fact that very soon you will be in the closest proximity you’ve ever been with him—or with any man for that matter. Hugging your male family members didn’t count.

He takes one step backwards away from you before turning on his heel and approaching the bike to put his own helmet back on.

“Alright,” he starts with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you pay attention. “When we go around corners don’t lean. If we get on the road and you’re too nervous just tap me and we’ll pull over, won’t be able to hear you that well unless we’re stopped.”

His speech isn’t harsh but it demands attention. Your eyes are wide, you’re nodding along. You wonder if he’s done this before—give people direction. It sounds like it. You are reminded of his job, military, he told you.

“Understand?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head at you.

You nod. “I understand.”

He tips his head slightly forward in a single gesture of acknowledgment, seemingly pleased with your answer. He goes towards the bike, one hand on the handlebar and the other near the back.

Then, with an effortless amount of strength, he tugs the bike forward along with the momentum of taking a large step. The kickstand rolls up and away.

Your mouth goes dry when some ancient, primitive part of your brain shudders in delight. You shift your eyes away and downwards at your feet, burning and mortified.

Simon settles himself on the bike, his long leg easily swinging over the side. He then motions you to come over with a single croon of his two fingers. Your heart is a drum.

With every step to him your nerves rise in anticipation, excited and electrified. You’ve never been on the back of a bike before.

When you come around to the side of the bike you pause. You find yourself once again thinking of how his presence will be adjacent to yours once you sit down behind him.

“Just swing your leg over it.” He supplies, acknowledging your hesitancy but being unaware of the deeper source.

You make yourself do it, lest you tick him off to the whirlwind going on inside your head.

You had to throw your leg wider than you were expecting, your shaky legs didn’t help you much. You were fearful that you would lose balance, but somehow scrambled on the back of it in one piece.

Your knee brushes against his hip incidentally, it’s barely a second of contact but you jerk your leg away like you had been burned regardless.

With how hot your face was feeling, you might as well have been.

It was an almost uncomfortable contrast; the heat of your body yet the chill on your skin due to the breeze. Your palms felt clammy in your gloves.

You pressed yourself as far back as you could on the seat, which wasn’t much considering the minuscule amount of space you were working with. The way you were seated was a bit awkward, it would be all too easy to scoot yourself forward to get more comfortable, but then you’d be pressed against his back.

“Settled?” Asks Simon. You nod, but then sputter when you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.” You clear your throat.

There’s a pause that stretches on long enough that you were worried you said something wrong somehow, you begin to analyze your conversation up until this point to try and figure out what, but before you can begin combing through your memories in earnest Simon speaks up.

“You can hold on if you need to.”

For a moment you don’t know what to say.

“Okay.”

And Simon just waits, almost expectant. He gave you the go ahead to hold onto him,and now he’s seemingly waiting for you to do exactly that. You weren’t even on the road yet.

He said you could. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

You move in increments. Your hands reach out slowly in front of you, slow enough that you don’t think Simon is aware you even are. Then you lurch forward, and there’s no discretion about it.

You move up in the seat, your arms hover over his sides, and—

Two hundred-something pounds of muscle suddenly becomes less abstract.

He’s solid. You can’t even wrap your arms around him entirely. You feel dizzy.

Your hands are laid flat and stiff over his abdomen, you can feel the steady rise and fall of him as he breathes. You imagine his heartbeat, strong and anchored. Not at all like yours, which was pounding with an almost frenzied electricity.

He shifts a little in his seat, he’s only getting comfortable but you are panicked that he’s attempting to nudge you off, so you lift your hands off him.

His hand, which completely wraps around your wrist, comes down to reposition your hands where they were previously.

It’s so fast yet so absentminded that you are convinced it’s more of a reflex than a conscious move.

He says nothing. You say nothing. Your palms rest against him.

The engine roars especially loud suddenly, you jump against him in surprise.

Your stomach swirls with nerves.

“Hold on.” His voice is raised just enough so that he can be heard over the noise. You find your fingers curling to clutch onto him when the bike begins to slowly move forward, turning to pull out into the road.

You cling ever tighter.

Any and all semblance of personal space is disregarded when he begins to ride in earnest.

He doesn’t go over the speed limit just like he promised, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were still trembling behind him. You hug onto him tight when he goes on the highway. If it bothers him he makes no show of it—verbal or otherwise.

You feel even smaller pressed up against him like this, his broad back filling your vision to the point that if you wanted to comfortably see what was in front of you, you’d have to try and sit up and look over his shoulder.

The sound of the wind whipping past you is almost static to your ears. You’re caught between two separate strains of nerves, one from anxiety over being on a bike for the first time, the other from the rapid pace of your heart thanks to the sturdy man you were clinging onto for support.

It makes your hands jittery and your stomach swoop. When you go around a turn for the first time your hands squeeze him like your life depended on it. You doubted it bothered him, considering how he eclipsed you in every way.

He comes to a stop at a red light.

“How are you holdin’ up?” His calls over the hum of the engine, his helmet muffling the sound somewhat.

“Good!” You call back to him, moving one of your hands to give him a small, yet shaky, thumbs up.

His chest rises and falls sharp and quick, a short chuckle. You can’t hear it. It makes your heart feel warm nonetheless.

As the ride goes on your nerves melt away bit by bit. You find comfort in Simon’s solidity.

It was when you relaxed somewhat that it dawns on you that you had no clue as to where he was taking you—if anywhere at all. He didn’t really specify anything other than a time and place to collect you.

Time ticks by, the feeling of Simon’s presence so close to your own becomes increasingly familiar. It still doesn’t rid you of the occasional fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, much to your chagrin. It wasn’t an awful thing to feel small in such a way with Simon—far from it; the issue was how embarrassed it made you.

You went out of your way to ensure your thoughts never crossed that line you drew for yourself, but as you were holding onto his broad midsection it became an increasingly daunting task.

So lost in thought you are that you do not notice that he has turned into somewhere until the bike goes slower than you were expect. You sit up just a little in your seat in an attempt to look over his shoulder the best you could.

It’s a quaint little restaurant. A sign with chalkboard written on it sat out in front of the entrance, informing potential patrons that they were still serving breakfast.

He parks the motorcycle. Then he waits, and waits. It isn’t until he shoots you a glance over his shoulder that you realize he’s waiting for you to get off the bike first.

You dismount as carefully as possible, but you can’t shake the feeling you look awkward regardless, like a newborn filly. Once both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground Simon follows.

You are reminded to take off your helmet when Simon does. Once it’s off your head you hand it to him, wordlessly waiting for him to confirm your assumption that he just took you to breakfast.

He takes your helmet with two of his thick fingers hooked into it, then he’s placing both helmets back in the trunk box. Your eyes dart from him to your feet in random intervals. You were still wrapping your head around the idea of breakfast with Simon.

You’re not certain of what to say, if anything. Thanking him right at this moment felt too presumptuous, so you hold off on that. When he clicks the box shut he regards you for a moment, observant.

When your eyes meet you give him a small smile, it’s more of a reflex if anything. Whatever was there disappears, his posture eases.

“C’mon.” He beckons with a nod of his head towards the building. Looks like you were having breakfast after all.

You are quick to follow. You notice his steps are slower to make up for your shorter strides.

Subconsciously, you are walking closer together than before. You notice it only when the fabric of your jacket brushes against him. You flinch and yank your arm away. You’re about to sputter out an apology.

But Simon remains impassive, almost as if nothing unusual occurred, like you didn’t accidentally cross over into his personal space.

The thought of your hand in his is an unbidden one.

Simon opens the door for you. You tell him ‘thank you’ in a hushed tone as you skitter inside.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. There aren’t many people within, it’s small but not claustrophobic. The primary decor is wood and earth tones, the scent of coffee drifts across the air invitingly.

“Any preference?” You blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for what he was asking.

‘Seating preferences,’ you realize belatedly. “No.”

You and Simon end up seated at a table in the far back. Simon takes the seat facing the entrance.

He’s leaned back lazily in the chair across from you, It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. His legs are spread in nonchalantly and his arms rests across his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him.

This is also the first time you are acutely aware of Simon’s legs. They’re thick and long, his denim jeans cling to his limbs as his legs stretch the material out. The jeans weren’t tight or form fitting, just that he was so well-muscled he ended up filling most of the space in them out.

His voice startles you out of your observations. “Get whatever you want.”

You feel embarrassed, even though Simon can’t read your mind it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. You sheepishly lean forward in your seat to skim over the menu, your hands still neatly folded in your lap. Then you glance up at Simon.

“Thank you.”

He simply nods.

“I like this place.” You suddenly say.

Simon cocks his head. “Do you, now?” You ignore how the rough timbre in his voice gives you pleasant butterflies.

“I do. It’s very…” Your brows knit together as you search for the word. “…Rustic. I like it.”

“Had a feeling you would.”

You force yourself to read the menu to help you get your mind off of your increasing body temperature.

“What will you be getting?” You ask after a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Simon doesn’t bristle, but you can’t ignore the almost exasperated tone in his voice, like he’s had this conversation before and is already bracing himself to have it again.

“Nothing.”

You peek up at him. He holds your stare. He eases a little when you don’t push the subject any further.

His following words are more neutral in tone, a clear change of subject. “Get what you want.” Simon points to the menu with his eyes.

You do exactly that.

Eggs, potatoes and bacon sounded delightful, so that was what you ended up getting.

You just ordered, so there still would be some time until your food came.

This was uncharted territory for you. You’ve never been on a bike or had a man take you somewhere to eat, two new things in a single day; that was a very welcome rarity for you.

“Do you come here a lot?” Now that you were in such a setting with Simon you found yourself more conversational than usual. There was a desire to know more about him, no matter how mundane. He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

Simon lightly shrugs his shoulder. “Not that much.” He answers. “Just enough to know the food’s decent.”

“Well, thank you for taking me.” You mumble sheepishly, not quite certain on how to word it.

“Should be thanking you for coming with me.”

There isn’t trepidation in his tone but there is a sort of carefulness there that you can’t place. You’re not expecting it, so you can’t help the way your eyes widen. You nod quickly, not wanting your surprise to be mistaken for something negative.

“I got to try two new things today thanks to you.” It slips out easily, without much thought.

His eyes crinkle somewhat. “Liked the bike, then?” There’s the faintest twinge of pride in his tone.

You like it, you like the thought that he takes some measure of satisfaction in it; it humanizes him and gives more clarity to the jagged edges of his exterior—it doesn’t sand them away, just makes them more legible.

Your lips twitch in a brief smile. “I was scared at first, but yes, I did.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You don’t have the time to register the potential implication there before he speaks again.

“What’s the other one?” Your confusion must show in your face, he elaborates. “You said there were two new things.”

‘Oh.’

The soft clatter of a plate being set down before you makes you jump. You are quick to hastily apologize and stammer out a thank you to the waitress, she only smiles at you and gives an apology of her own for startling you before leaving.

You didn’t even realize you slipped and admitted that, now your mind was working overdrive to figure out how best to word it. There’s an awkward beat of silence until you pick up your fork. You take a bite of potatoes first. It’s more than just decent, it’s delicious.

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asks wryly.

You chew and swallow before speaking. “Very good.” You reply cheerfully. Simon seems pleased.

He then looks at you expectantly.

There wasn’t really much point in dancing around it, you already brought it up by accident, the issue was how to say it without earning potential judgement.

“The other new thing was this.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Never been taken to dinner, either?”

You shake your head. You poke at the food on your plate, growing increasingly self-conscious. Simon catches it.

“Not your fault some bastards don’t know how to act.” Despite his flat delivery it’s reassuring. You find yourself feeling less insecure. You don’t get the impression that Simon is a man to sugarcoat or utter empty platitudes, so you are appreciative.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, though.”

Simon cocks his head at you, intrigued. “Wouldn’t know?” He asks, parroting it back at you.

“Wouldn’t know.” You confirm, taking another bite of your eggs. You don’t realize that you just implicitly admitted you’ve never had a boyfriend until you’re taking a sip of your water.

For an imperceptible second you freeze before forcing yourself back into motion. In this situation it would be better to just move on and ignore it, but that still didn’t stop your face from feeling like a bonfire.

You think Simon recognizes the implication immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised at all. You’re not certain of how you feel about that.

What you are certain of is the relief you feel when he doesn’t press on about it, but you still feel a tad mortified. If he’s put off by your lack of romantic experience he doesn’t show it.

Maybe it’s the desperation to change the subject that makes you ask Simon;

“So, what do you usually get when you come here?”

That simple question kicked off a sort of back-and-forth conversation between the two of you, which the questions becoming increasingly mundane as it went on.

The questions are asked by you, and Simon answers, then waits for you to give him an answer in return before you toss another question at him.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Favorite color?

What about your favorite season?

Cats or dogs?

Things of that nature are thrown back and forth between you two. You’re pleasantly surprised that Simon is entertaining you.

You decide to push your luck and dip your toes into more slightly personal questions—nothing inappropriate, of course. Simon doesn’t hesitate.

Early bird or night owl?

When’s your birthday?

Have you ever rode with any of your friends?

Simon sits up a little. “What, on the back of it?” His tone is so incredulous that you fail to suppress a giggle.

“No, no, just in general.” You amend. Simon leans back in his seat once more.

“No. Just you.” Just you. No one else. You wonder if he was simply solitary or if there was something else—maybe both. You brush off the warmth blooming in your chest.

You think about what kind of friends Simon would have.

“Doubt they’d be interested.” He continues. “Don’t think any of ‘em even ride.”

“Ah. I’m assuming you don’t have breakfasts with them either?” It’s more of a joke than a question.

Simon answers regardless. “Sometimes I do,” you can’t discern the look that’s in his eye. “But nothin’ like this.”

You cock your head at him, curious. “Never took them here?”

“No.” He confirms bluntly.

“Just me?” You ask. His dark eyes stare at you intently. Your heart pulses.

The entrance to the restaurant opens and Simon’s eyes dart to the door, severing the intense connection briefly. Then his sights shift back.

“Just you.” He replies without skipping a beat.

You look down at your plate just to give yourself a reprieve from the lingering intensity of his stare. You’re almost done with your food by now.

His voice dips a bit lower in a light tease. “I was going to ask you if you ever had any other men walk you home, but I already know the answer to that one.”

Your face awash with warmth. “What’s the answer?” You manage to speak.

You notice the corners of Simon’s eyes wrinkling, the pitch black in his eyes almost look warm for a flicker. Your heart aches with every pulse. He says it in the same tone he had when asking you if you liked his bike.

“Just me.”

Simon ends up paying for your breakfast. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he insists that it’s not a problem. You acquiesce.

He opens the door for you as you’re exiting just like he did when you were entering.

“I’ve got a place in mind to take you to, if you’re up for it.” He has already retrieved the helmets from the back of the bike.

You nod immediately.

Simon was right, you were getting more accustomed to being on a bike already. You still clung onto him for support, however. You were able to appreciate things that you couldn’t before due to your fear; the cool wind blowing past, the auburn trees lining the road.

You cherish what little time you have left being so close to him.

Time that slips by too fast even when you’re holding it tight, because before you know it he’s pulling in somewhere and slowing to a complete stop.

You glance around. It’s a park, if not secluded. You don’t see any other vehicles parked. The trees in the vicinity are so red they might as well be torches.

“It’s beautiful out here.” You say aloud, dismounting the bike.

Simon takes your helmet and puts it along with his in the trunk. “Thought you’d like it.” Unless your ears were deceiving you, you detect a hint of cheekiness there. You’re not used to it coming from Simon, he sounds as dry and flat as usual, but it’s there’s an element that’s foreign to your ears. You cherish it.

You smile sheepishly and turn around to get a better view of the trees in the vicinity. “Do you like coming here a lot?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Sometimes.” He sounds indifferent.

“Oh, hopefully I’m not being invasive or something—“ You begin to stammer, the words tumbling out almost reflexively.

Something in his expression softens. “You’re fine.” Simon replies. You relax a little, but not by much due to how you’re chastising yourself.

You force yourself to brush off the negative self-talk when Simon comes over to stand next to you. Once he’s there he’s grabbing something out of his pocket. A box of cigarettes, you realize.

You’re busying yourself with admiring the trees, you hear the sound of fabric shifting. A comfortable silence envelopes you both. It isn’t until you notice Simon’s hand moving up to his face that your eyes shoot over to him.

He hooks his thumb up and under his mask, underneath his chin. You blink and suddenly you’re staring at pale skin where midnight fabric used to be.

There’s light-colored stubble on his jaw, you catch a scar running there and up, it disrupts the natural growth pattern of his facial hair.

There’s a scar on one side of his upper lip—the same side the other scar on his jaw is—it is vertical and goes from the seam of his lips to seemingly all the way up, maybe even to his nostril. You can’t tell, his mask is still dipped low enough to obscure his cupids bow and the rest of his face. It intrigues you because you’ve never seen a scar like that before.

His lips themselves look like how you expect, slightly chapped and maybe a bit redder than usual from the cold.

You make yourself dart your eyes away. It would be rude to stare.

But then holds the cigarette between his lips, and you find yourself paying as much attention as possible through your peripheral. He feels in his pockets for a lighter for a fraction of a second before he’s bringing it up and setting the cigarette alight.

It isn’t long before the scent of nicotine follows.

And the two of you simply exist in one another’s presence like that for a little while. Nothing is said because nothing needs to be at the moment. You think about how nice it is to have someone be effortlessly content with you. There wasn’t any song or dance you had to do while tone deaf and out of rhythm just to keep away the dreaded labels of ‘odd’ and ‘strange.’

It was just you and Simon.

He says your name. You turn to look up at him.

“Yes?” There’s a pause there, you watch his lips thin out into a line, the motion is almost imperceptible. It’s a welcome strangeness to see a portion of his face now. A small part of you that you bury deep hopes that the sight won’t be unfamiliar one day.

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes are far away.

“In a month or two I’m gonna be gone for a while.” Smoke pours out his mouth in wispy coils. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still looking at the autumn trees.

“Oh.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“How come?” You ask, then realization dawns. “For work?” The question is asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He confirms after a stilted pause. He takes another drag.

“I’ll be back.” He says after a beat of silence. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at the moment.

You don’t want him to leave, but that was just the reality of things. Sensibly, you knew that a month or two was still a lot of time, but just like the time you clutched as tight as you did Simon on the bike, it would slip away before you knew it.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” The words sort of pour out, like water from a stream. There’s no question about it, you’ll wait for him; there’s no harm in it. It wasn’t like you’d be putting anything or anyone on hold.

Simon finally looks down at you. His eyes are cavernous, searching.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for or not, only that he looks away from you and back to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else.

The subject leaves a lingering melancholy in the air that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You make an attempt at further conversation to shift the tone.

“You’ll be here for Halloween.” You state, not quite sure where you’re going with it.

Simon only grunts in reply.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Simon stills for a moment. “Not sure.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Like what?” He sounds mildly amused.

You think.

“Something with a skull or skeleton on it.” You eventually decide.

“Have jokes, do you?” He says dryly, though not offended.

“Not a joke. But I have an actual joke to tell.”

“Go on.”

“What do you call a pile of kittens?”

“You tell me.”

“A meow-tain.”

He actually snorts through his nose, you even see the scarred corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smirk, he’s more endeared by you than the joke itself. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”

You beam up at him, and the silence is comfortable yet again.

It’s a minute until next he speaks. “I know what I’ll get you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll see at Christmas.”

Something about the rustling of trees and the soil being stamped underfoot is soothing.

After Simon put out his cigarette and lowered his mask back over his mouth he asked you if you wanted to walk around the park for a bit, which was how you and him ended up walking on one of the short trails.

Simon walks closer to you than usual. You don’t think you’re imagining it, not when you incidentally brush against one another at sporadic intervals.

Neither of you make a move to put some distance between one another.

It’s the distance—or lack thereof—that makes your mind wander.

You think about that day at the convenience store, the night at the bar, and the othernight at the bar when he walked you home for the first time.

You think of Simon, the scar on his jaw and the muteness in his obsidian eyes. The oddly stable monotony of his voice. Big hands that put your helmet on for you for the first time.

You didn’t expect him to show up.

Not when he standing on the other side of the street, not when he came into the bookstore to give your freezing hands gloves, not when he pulled up on his bike.

When does it stop being chivalry?

It was a dangerous thing for someone as sentimental as you to ask.

You didn’t want to smother. To desperately clutch so tight that it suffocated. Having false hopes flood your heart almost always ended with you drowning, so as always, you just took what you were given.

You’d mentally reprimand yourself for every skipped heartbeat and flutter in your stomach, and you would convince yourself that it would be fine if Simon suddenly stopped talking to you one day. Drifted away, further and further until he was a stranger once more.

Your heart was soft and bleeding, too easily bruised for your own good, that’s why you always got so hurt. It was why in spite of having a lovely day you now found yourself hurting.

So you bury down your desires of companionship and the word-you-refuse-to-say with a shovel that’s so well-used it might as well be another limb—

A single, thick arm shoots out and grabs you by the middle.

You are caught before you fall forward on the cold earth. So lost in thought you were, that you tripped over a pebble.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Your mind is in utter disarray.

‘It was just an off-handed term of endearment, let it go.’

It slipped out from his lips without thought, it didn’t have to mean anything, you’ve heard people use that word before, it didn’t have to mean anything.

It’s difficult to let it go when his strong limb remains wrapped around your waist. He waits until you steady yourself before slipping his arm away.

It’s just as difficult to forget about the effortless strength he exerted to pull you upright before you fell over, especially when that ancient sense hums in delight at such a display.

Your heart pounds hysterically despite your best efforts.

“Thank you.” You mutter quickly. He gives a single, curt nod.

You wait until your pace returns to a normal rhythm before speaking again, you want to put as many syllables between you and that term of endearment as possible.

“Did you ever read that book?” You can imagine the green cover and gold lettering clear as day.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Try as you might, you could remember the letters but not the specific ones which formed the title on the book.

“Mythology.” You blink up at him in mild surprise.

You didn’t take Simon as one who would be interested in that subject. “Oh! Do you usually read those?”

“No.” He answers flatly, “Wasn’t my first choice. Just wanted somethin’ different.”

“I understand.” You do, you truly do.

A beat of empathetic silence washes over the two of you.

“Do you read a lot?” You carefully store the bits of information about him in your mind, in hopes that one day you’ll be able to paint a fuller picture.

“Not often.”

You shoot a curious glance at him. “Oh, so what do you do in your spare time?”

Simon says nothing for a moment. He’s searching for an answer, you realize.

Eventually he responds. “Wait.”

You blink at him, momentarily puzzled by his response. ‘Wait for what?’ Your gaze says. He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

You see two birds foraging. Further down the trail is a little babbling brook. You exclaim your enthusiasm for both, and for every other thing which grabs your attention on the path. Simon only gives you an endeared scoff in reply.

You can’t help but feel dispirited when the trail eventually loops back around and you see the parking lot in the distance. You can’t help but feel a bit childish; not wanting the day to end just yet.

When you reach the bike you stand awkwardly next to it for a moment, waiting for Simon to retrieve the helmets for the final time today.

Simon comes over, the length of his shadow swallowing yours. While looking down at you his brows crease briefly. You are frozen in place when his free hand comes up to your head, slowly and gingerly, giving you time to flinch away. You don’t.

It’s too easy to imagine him cupping your face. That’s twice now that you’ve imagined that. The lump that forms in your throat following that thought is nigh impossible to swallow.

He pulls his hand back and he flicks his fingers so fast that it barely registers that he plucked an autumn leaf from your hair. You’re too caught up with what just happened to feel even remotely embarrassed over that.

An unknowable feeling dawdles around between you. You’re staring forward, avoiding looking up to meet Simon’s eyes, directionless.

You manage to choke something out to break the silence. “Thanks—“

“Don’t mention it,” Simon’s reply is swift, yet no less understanding for it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You decide to just give Simon the directions to your home to drop you off. You trusted him at this point.

The ride there felt too short despite being a good distance away.

Simon only speaks to confirm he was at the right house, and then he’s pulling over to let you off.

You linger on the bike a second longer than needed. Simon doesn’t say anything or look over his shoulder to wordlessly tell you to get off. He sits there with you.

Your arms are still wrapped around him.

You shake off the urge to give him a final squeeze goodbye. Eventually you do get off the bike, and you take off your helmet. You’re about to give it back to him until he stops you.

“Keep it.” You blink at him, and tuck it under your arm instead.

You stand there aimlessly while you try to think of what to say.

“Thank you. For all of this.” There’s a quiet that settles between the two of you. It isn’t an unwelcome one.

Simon hums in reply after a time.

“I…” Your words slip past your lips and out of your head. Simon stares at you intently, waiting on every syllable.

“I appreciate it.” The words fall flat on your tongue, they barely scratch the surface of how you feel, but you hope he understands how much this day spent meant to you.

“I really enjoyed today.” You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

“Likewise.” He replies. Your lips twitch in a smile that never fully forms.

“Text me when you get home.” You blurt out. Simon simply nods.

And just like how you lingered for a second too long with him on the bike, Simon lingers a second too long with you.

“Talk to you soon.” He says after a moment. You wonder if he was going to say something else. You make yourself nod in agreement.

“Bye, Simon.”

You watch him leave, your eyes stay on him until he’s out of view.

You’re already laying in bed about to drift off to sleep for the night when you hear a high-pitched sound from your phone on the nightstand.

You swipe at the screen, your half-asleep eyes burning uncomfortably with the light that floods your vision when you open your phone. When you read Simon’s name you’re rubbing your eyes to help them focus on what he texted you.

‘Sleep well.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Looks like this will be more than 2 chapters after all!

I also wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, the positive response really motivated me to finish this. It really means a lot!! 🫶💘

I actually read an article and watched a video on how to use kickstands on bikes, there’s always a possibility I described something wrong, but I hope that can be overlooked!

The plan is to ramp up the romantic intensity a lot in the next chapter. (This story will still shift to an explicit rating once we get there.)

Thank you so much for any and all likes and reblogs! Please feel free to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader #x reader #reader insert #⤜stories #⤜suggestive #⤜Call of Duty #⤜Simon Ghost Riley/Reader

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lambergeier · 11 hours ago

Text

wip whursday here's another 4.6k. initially kept writing bc i needed a good fic to pick at to keep my game up while i read enough batcomics to get started on fic for THAT fandom, and then i downloaded genshin again yesterday bc who gives a fuck anymore lol. so now here's another 4.6k! this is basically like posting a serial. like charles dickens

---

They don’t leave exactly on time. But it’s pretty close.

The caravan with whom Alhaitham bought himself (and now Kaveh) (they were very understanding) a ride departs Sumeru City just after noon, with the sun at its dizzying peak, and Alhaitham and Kaveh crammed onto a single sumpter beast’s swaying back. The drivers’ understanding about Alhaitham’s surprise guest had not extended to giving that surprise guest a separate mount. Kaveh digs his hands into the sumpter’s rank fur and holds on tight.

It’s a long afternoon’s ride to Paradisea, then a significantly longer ride to Aaru the next day. They stay the night between in a lodging house just down the hill from the Akademiya’s palatial greenhouses. At dusk the wind changes and fills their rented room with the smells of flowers, as thick in their mouths as honey. They fuck each other senseless in a haze of perfume and nearly miss their ride the next morning.

“There have been strange reports back from the desert, in the wake of the Traveller’s passing,” Alhaitham says, long legs crammed tight against Kaveh’s in the the shade of their cart’s small awning. He plays with Kaveh’s hand in his lap like it's a puzzle to crack, pressing at each callus and bone with the limitless fidgeting energy of his teenage self. Kaveh sweats beside him, unwilling to withdraw.

“The great red storm has ended,” Alhaitham says. “The skies above Hypostyle are clear for the first time in two thousand years.”

Kaveh nods, lips against Alhaitham’s shoulder. He's not really listening, mind on houses and fireworks and the depthless unknown of the future. He tucks his toes beneath Alhaitham’s thigh as they exit the hot shade of the Wall and rattle into the desert. “That much is verified,” Alhaitham continues. “By every man, woman, and child of the lower desert. A scholar was with the Traveller and Paimon—his reports, what they saw—tombs unseen since the Archon war.” Alhaitham pauses, eyes on something far distant. “But there's more, from even deeper in the sands.”

Even Kaveh had heard about the end of the storm, in his blinkered way. He freely admits to the thinness in his news diet, but the architectural digest had reported on it, and the merchants and tradesmen in Lambad’s, and the tourists from Liyue at the docks. “What else?” Kaveh asks. “How did you find out?”

“The Traveller writes to Nahida,” Alhaitham says, always on a first name-basis with his god. “Others do, as well. Scholar-cults supposedly dead for centuries find a way to write to Nahida, who leaves all of her papers in a pile on my desk.”

“You snooped?” Kaveh smiles.

“It’s my desk,” Alhaitham says. “Something happened in Hadramaveth that no one can describe the same way twice. Giants wake and the eternal storm walks with them. The tribes who do no business with scholars are on the move. At the edge of the inland sea the ghost of a tree rises to the height of the moon.”

“How much did that correspondent have to drink?” Kaveh asks, thinking mostly of the pile of his hair pins growing ever larger beside Alhaitham’s bed.

“They see it in Fontaine,” Alhaitham says. “The sailors brought the first news last week, plus a letter for Nahida from their Duke under the water.”

“I suppose it's real, then,” Kaveh says.

“Two months,” Alhaitham murmurs. “It’s only been two months since they left the forest.”

Alhaitham presses his thumb into the lines of Kaveh’s palm. Kaveh puts his mouth to Alhaitham's red neck. It’s only them in the back of the cart, with the bags of rice and the linen. They have an exhausting amount of sex again that night in their guesthouse in Aaru. Kaveh wakes early, in the grey light before dawn, to an empty bed.

Bleary, he pushes himself up on his elbows, frowning at the rumpled sheets where Alhaitham used to be. It is, for now, the perfect temperature, with sweat neither beading nor cooling on Kaveh’s back and a slow breeze from the windows pulling at the mess of his hair. He really should have taken all his hairpins out before Alhaitham got his pants off. That was a rookie mistake.

There's voices speaking outside, from the flat adobe roof of the house’s first storey. Kaveh shuffles toward the little curtained door that opens onto it, a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders, and sees Alhaitham, in his sleeping clothes, speaking to—of all people, Hat Guy.

Kaveh blinks, realizing he should be listening to this but not really awake enough to do so. The waterfalls beneath the village are thunderous in the morning, nearly as loud as the birds, and Hat Guy says, “—you understand? This isn’t just history anymore. This isn’t a game.”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says.

“I don’t know how that could possibly be the case.”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says again. His hair is the same becalmed color as the sky.

Hat Guy’s comically large headgear bobs. Could be a nod, could be the wind. “Then keep your head on straight. Be careful. And don’t fuck it up. And don’t fucking say—”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says, with a mean, handsome, perfect smile.

Kaveh’s hand slips on the beaded edge of the curtain. Both men turn at the noise and Hat Guy sees him there, naked but for a blanket and the hickeys down his neck—Kaveh ducks back inside the house, red with shame, before Hat Guy can finish laughing. He scrambles and is back in bed with the blankets over his burning ears by the time Alhaitham returns to the room. He thinks Alhaitham will say something, make some comment about Kaveh looking like his kept man, his little pet, for all to see, but no such comment comes. When Kaveh peeks between the folds of his cocoon, Alhaitham is sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling his vision in his hands. Kaveh can tell it’s his vision because it’s not Kaveh’s, which is much a piece of Kaveh as his sight or pulse. Alhaitham weighs his gift from the gods in one loose fist and looks at the wall.

Kaveh won’t look this particular horse in the mouth. He shuts his eyes and wills himself back to sleep. If one more person knows about their relationship, then, whatever. Whatever! Not like anyone likes talking to Hat Guy, anyways.

–

“Okay, so it’s like, really gone,” Kaveh says, staring up at the sapphire blue skies above the mausoleum of King Deshret. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I was not,” Alhaitham says, not even breathing hard from the last dirty slide down the road to the dune field. Bastard. “Why would I?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Kaveh blinks again, eyes watering in the undiluted brilliance of the sun above the sand. “Well, okay. Okay. It’s so blue.”

“The sky usually is.”

Kaveh maintains his dignity and doesn’t kick any sand at Alhaitham’s stupid pedantic boots. He’s an adult with several different ongoing debt repayment plans and a semi-sentient briefcase. Also, they’re absolutely surrounded and someone might see.

He’s really never seen this many people in the sands at once. The packed dirt trail to the steps of Deshret’s mausoleum is as busy as any city street, crammed with not just scholars and merchants and the mercenaries who usually accompany them, if not always at this density—but families, too. Children, parents, elderly residents of Aaru being helped down the rocks and into the dunes by their neighbors and spouses. The whole village emptied out this morning and accompanied Kaveh and Alhaitham into the desert, happy and chattering. They led the way.

“How was it opened? How did she manage this?” Kaveh asks.

“The Traveler? With a robot, a stone slate, two Tanit mercenaries, and a middling amount of violence. Tirzad was with them.”

“Tirzad the fifteenth-year Vahumana student?”

“He may finally graduate, once he finishes writing this up,” Alhaitham says, with a sweep of his hand. “Though he was hardly there for all of it. She kept opening doors, once he returned to the city.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tirzad gave an oral report to Nahida upon his return, at her request. I sat in. He described only the opening of the mausoleum and the towers of Khaj-Nisut in his journey with the Traveler.” Kaveh boggles. The fact that the throne of Khaj-Nisut is real, found, and open to visitors is all news to him. Alhaitham describes it like he would a spot of river traffic at the docks. “Letters trickled in afterwards, from scholars and matra across Hypostyle, which I obtained copies of. They had all begun to find the same thing. Doors were open, everywhere, in every structure under study and some we’d had no idea existed at all, because the structures themselves had been locked in sections of the cave systems never before seen.”

“But that’s—” Kaveh struggles to fit this into his understanding of the world. He looks at the people surrounding them, the kids and grandfathers and shepherds and bricklayers of Aaru, the dogs capering between them, just happy to be included on this day away from home, and then looks up. Shadow flashes over them in magisterial bands—the columns that mark the edges of the great paved plazas beneath the pyramid. “That can’t be right. The desert is huge. The underground caves are—It can’t have just been her and Paimon, and, what, a robot?”

“It wasn’t. The Tanit woman took the robot.”

Kaveh doesn’t know what any of this means. But they’re in the pyramid, and a door that Kaveh touched himself once, as a student, running careful fingers through centuries of unmoved dust, is open wide. The crowd moves through it, more feet than these halls have seen in a thousand years. The corridors beyond are lit brightly by complex mirrors and a system of flowing power Kaveh has never seen before. The air changes. They enter the pyramid’s great hall.

It’s blue. It’s so beautiful. Kaveh, without much control over the situation, sits down in the middle of the carved stone floor and puts his hands to his mouth.

Some time later—tricky to say how much, doesn’t really seem relevant to the day’s events—Kaveh looks up to a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he says, then, “Oh! Collei! Hello! Are you—what are you doing here?”

“Hello, Senior Kaveh!” Collei says with that sweet smile of hers as Kaveh stumbles up, papers raining from his lap. He’d just been making a few sketches, several dozen sketches, of the vast interior of the hall, the thunderous repetition of its forms, which he thinks he might dream about, every night, for the rest of his life. Each torch, each carved relief—all of it rising, pulling the hall up with itself, toward the great mechanism, toward something far above. Like a summons—the culminating urgency, thousands of years of history all striving to meet some incomparable, celestial unknown—

“I came with Master Tighnari and General Cyno,” Collei says. She’s in traveling clothes, like Kaveh himself, a long robe tied loosely at the neck and red with sand. Her freckles are just barely darker than her sunny cheeks. “We got here a few hours ago, have you been here long?”

“Uh, maybe!” Kaveh says. “How are you doing, how are your classes going? You started learning about herbalism, recently, right? With the, with the plants?”

“Yes, Senior Kaveh,” she says with a laugh she tries just a bit to hide.

“No, come on, don’t call me Senior, you make me sound so old,” Kaveh says, which makes her laugh again. Oh, she’s so sweet. He’s known Collei since Tighnari decided he and Kaveh were going to be friends, of course, for years by now, and still he wants her to like him so bad it makes his knees shake. She’s just so lovely! “We should have checked if you were coming out, though, we could have traveled together! Tighnari didn’t mind leaving the forest for all this heat?”

“Oh, well, you know Master Tighnari,” Collei says, which means Tighnari was a crabby old hag from the moment they left Ribat, “but General Cyno was going, and Master Tighnari didn’t think he should go alone, and so, you know, we came, too!”

“He shouldn’t go alone?” Kaveh says. “Why not? The road’s hardly dangerous these days.”

“Oh, no, of course it is! And of course General Cyno could defeat anyone he came across,” Collei says, with perfect, reverent faith. “Master Tighnari just thought someone should be with him. When he saw all this, for the first time.”

“Oh,” Kaveh says, and feels like an entire bundle of idiot. “Of course. Duh.”

“Yeah,” Collei says, and smiles again, with more grace than a teenager should ever be capable of. Tighnari and Cyno are so lucky to have this kid. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“It really is,” Kaveh says. The crowds have only grown since Kaveh last paid attention to anything except architecture. Not far from him and Collei, two women hold up their young children to one of the reliefs of Deshret and his kingdom, the King carved as tall as any building in Sumeru City. The women are from deep in the desert, dressed in the colors of a tribe Kaveh isn’t familiar with—they speak rapidly to their children, bounding over each other in their eagerness, like they have to retell every story of Al Ahmar now, at this second, here, while their children stand where he stood and smack their small hands to the stone of his knees.

“Who would have thought that we’d see this place in our lifetimes?” Kaveh says, craning his neck back to the monumental peak of the ceiling. “It’s unbelievable.”

“There’ve been a lot of unbelievable things this year!” Collei says.

“That’s too well-adjusted, Collei, I need you to be more freaked out,” Kaveh says, and is rewarded with the infinite riches of her laugh. It’s much bigger when she’s surprised. “Well, where’s Haitham gone? I assume he tasked you with finding me. Sorry, on his behalf.”

“It’s okay, you weren’t hard to find. You were sitting right where he said he’d left you!”

“Of course. He knew where I was, but couldn’t be bothered to come back himself. How long ago did he wander off?”

“I’m not sure, I was only back by the wall for about fifteen minutes before I tapped you on the shoulder.”

“Fifteen minutes!” He rounds on her, hands on hips, but she’s still smiling. “Collei! You should have said something! You didn’t have to wait for me!”

“It was nice!” she protests. “It’s okay, really! I liked watching you draw. Do you know you chew your hair when you draw? I couldn’t tell if you knew.”

“I do. It’s a terrible habit. The split ends never go away,” he says, and bends to gather up his many scattered pencils and socks (in which the pencils had been carefully stored within his traveling bag). “So, where did he go?”

She shrugs, hair bouncing upon her shoulders. “He said he was going to look at the mechanism but—”

“God forbid he specify which mechanism, in the enormous hall full of interesting ancient mechanisms.”

“Yeah, that,” she says. “But he said that when he was done he’d meet us where Master Tighnari and General Cyno are.”

“It’s fine, Collei, you're not his runner, I can just go find him. He’s pretty predictable, luckily.”

“Sure, I bet you could,” she says, in a casual knowing tone that makes Kaveh narrow his eyes suspiciously. Do five people now know about his and Alhaitham’s relationship? “But he said you’d probably want to see where Master Tighnari and General Cyno are right now.”

“...And where is that?”

She points. “Over that way, in the rooms outside the hall. Senior Alhaitham said they looked liked quarters for the priests who tended the mausoleum before it was abandoned?”

Kaveh inhales sharply. Domestic architecture? From the age of Deshret? Damn the man!!

Collei is smiling again. Like perhaps Haitham informed her how Kaveh might react to such an indescribable temptation. “Well, if that’s where everyone’s going to be meeting,” Kaveh says, with what little dignity he can muster, and lets Collei lead him away.

He does get to find out about her herbalism classes as they make their slow way through the hundred little knots of people gazing in wonder at the work of their ancestors’ lives. She is doing very well and had only mixed up a potion and poultice once. And it hadn’t even been that big a deal, because Gülsha (another apprentice, Kaveh understands) had mixed up a potion and a poultice the other way around and had had to vomit behind the classroom for ages before the ranger in charge would let her stop! Collei had just stained her arm red for a day or two, which Master Tighnari thought was funny. And Gülsha’s boyfriend was really sweet during the whole thing, Collei assures him as they reach the far door of the hall.

“Oh, yeah?” Kaveh says. The corridor beyond is much emptier than the hall, the sand thicker upon the tiles. He likes letting Collei chatter. It feels like such an accomplishment that she chatters at him.

“Yeah, he kept running down to the river to get her water even thought she couldn’t, you know, keep it down! He was kinda stressed out, but she thought it was funny after. They’re so cute together.”

“They sound like it.”

Collei’s big doe eyes go, as best they can, conspiratorial. She isn’t very good at it. It’s like a kitten trying to slip you a few extra mora for that bottle of cream on the high shelf. “She told me she wants to go talk to Hassan’s parents soon. To introduce them to her parents!”

“Whoa, getting pretty serious!”

“Right?” Collei says, with an eager nod. “They’ve only been together for a year, but she really likes him, I think!”

They pause outside one of the neat sloped doors in the eastern wall. Kaveh can hear familiar voices beyond, tucked somewhere close and safe. Collei has her hands tight over her chest and is looking like she wants to ask him something.

“Everything okay?” Kaveh asks, as Collei, in total silence, does honorable battle with whatever it is that she will or will not say. Her eyes are very big.

“You—” she starts, but that’s as far as her recent bloom of confidence will take her. “Nevermind-Senior-Kaveh-I’ll-go-get-Senior-Alhaitham-bye!” she continues at the approximate speed of a hunting tiger and then, face flushed and huge with panic, she vanishes.

“Ah, so close,” Kaveh says to the emptied hallway. He gets it. He’s been there.

“Collei?” Cyno calls from inside.

“Gone to get Haitham,” Kaveh replies, and steps past the ancient shelves by the door (God, shelves!! Whoever lived here lived a life that included shelves!!) to find Cyno in a tailor’s seat upon the stone. The room is small and easily warmed by the torches on the wall, more of an clearing room for the cells beyond it (for sleeping? Arranged around a common eating/study area? The implications!) than a grand space itself, but with plenty of room for two grown men to sit on the floor together. Kaveh does so, folding his overlong legs to match. “She said Tighnari was with you?”

“Yes,” Cyno says, then, “I think so. Tighnari?” he shouts, to which there is no reply. He’s holding a hand-written note in one hand and a few pieces of decorative stone in another, which he sets down carefully. Kaveh, not a child, resists the impulse to lean over Cyno’s shoulder and sneak a peek. “I think he went to go get water. There’s an exit south of here that leads to one of the underground rivers. He was making that face like when he’s pretending he doesn’t want to wash his ears immediately.”

“He’s really not a fan of the desert, huh.”

“Fool,” Cyno says, with a big, creased grin. Kaveh laughs. “How’s Collei? There are more people here than we were expecting.”

“Great, actually. She’s so cool. How’d you get such a cool kid?”

“She’s not my kid.”

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs? Can I have her?”

“You couldn’t handle her,” Cyno says, in the confident tones of someone who is very proud of their cool kid.

“Well, you don’t have to be so truthful about it!” Kaveh laughs. “Surely I could at least make an attempt! We were having a pretty nice conversation, up until—well, she wanted to ask me something right before we walked in but I have no idea what, she immediately got tongue-tied and ran off, so…”

“She wants to know when Alhaitham’s going to make an honest man of you,” Cyno said.

Kaveh, who had been pretty nice time in the thousand-year divine tomb until now, goes tense all the way down to toes. His face feels suddenly like a war banner: big, easy to read, and scarlet red. “What?” he says. “She—she knows we’re dating?”

“Yes, somehow,” Cyno says. “Though strenuous detective work.”

“That��s not—you didn’t tell her, did you?”

“That wasn’t necessary, no,” Cyno replies. He sounds so casual. But Kaveh really hadn’t—they didn’t even sit next to each other when they had dinner with Tighnari and Collei in Gandharva! Kaveh had wanted to, to keep it between them! Just for now, just for the start. But Cyno is still talking: “Does it bother you so much that she knows?”

It shouldn’t. Collei is Cyno and Tighnari’s family. She’s a wonderful kid. But still, Kaveh can’t bring himself to answer.

“She quite likes it,” Cyno goes on. “You two being together. She thinks you’re cute.”

“That’s…wonderful. But—Cyno, we’ve only been together three months. There’s no need for her—for anyone!—to be thinking about marriage!”

“By one reckoning.”

“What?”

“Three months by—don’t worry about it. She won’t mention any of it to anyone else. She’s barely mentioned it to us.”

“No, I know she wouldn’t, she’s not—” Kaveh stumbles over himself, fingers knotting painfully in his lap. “It’s not like—look, you guys aren’t even married! Right?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant. Tighnari doesn’t believe in marriage.”

“Wait—really?”

“It’s not a thing for Valuka Shuna,” Cyno shrugs. “Or most of the desert, outside Aaru.”

“So you don’t mind? Even though you guys are…” The two most married people Kaveh had met since his father died?

“No,” Cyno says, with a noise almost like a scoff. “Why would I? I could have no greater piece of his heart.”

“Sure,” Kaveh says, as if that’s not the most romantic line he’s ever heard in his life.

“But you believe in marriage,” Cyno says.

“Sure,” Kaveh says again.

Cyno considers him. His jackal-head sits in his lap, showing off the shocking intensity of his eyes. “You seem uncomfortable. Do you want me to change the subject?”

“Please,” Kaveh says.

“Okay,” Cyno says, and laughs at him. It’s not unkind, because very rarely can Cyno ever be unkind. “Do you like the architecture?”

“I love the architecture,” Kaveh says, and seizes the opportunity Cyno presents him, to talk for several minutes uninterrupted about the beauty of Deshret’s great halls.

“I don’t know, it just seems so impossible to believe,” Kaveh says. There are people outside in the hallway, their footsteps soft over the sandy stone. Candace passed by earlier, nodding to Cyno, and he’s learned that the note in Cyno’s hand was left by Sethos—days ago, when Sethos, before almost anyone else, discovered the depths to which the Traveler had opened her doors. He came in the back way, through the caves and the river, and wrote something he knew Cyno would find. “All of this, miles of it, sleeping for century upon century and we, of all people—”

He brought this up before, or almost did, with Collei, but he can’t stop thinking about. His mind circles it like water around a drain. Why this? Why now? Why them? “Look, just—” he’s not going to be able to stop himself for asking again. “Did you ever expect to see any of this? To be here? Was this, like, part of your five year plan?”

To his credit, Cyno takes his time to consider this. It’s an insane question, driven by insane impulses, Kaveh’s fingers once again pressing Kaveh’s knuckles to a pulp in his lap, but Cyno gives it its due. “No,” he says at last. “But many things have happened recently that weren’t part of my five year plan.”

“You know, that’s almost exactly what Collei said.”

“Yes. I’m trying to learn from her.”

“Learn what?”

“How to live within change. To roll with the punches, as Dehya might say. Collei’s very good at it.”

Kaveh almost protests, thinking of Collei’s nerves, the fears she works so carefully and notably to set aside and walk away from—but that’s not quite the same is it? They’re distinct. “...I suppose you’re right,” he says.

“I am,” Cyno says, with surety. No wonder him and Alhaitham get along. “I think some days she even forgets what her childhood was like. I can hardly do that. But she spent a long time being certain of her future, in a very unpleasant way.”

“Yeah…God, I mean, she must have been.”

Cyno nods, as much to himself as to Kaveh. “Right. But then it wasn’t what she thought at all. All of our lives—who knows what’s to come? Oh, Candance,” he says, as Kaveh blinks and grasps for a response. Candace is entering the room, something in her hand, and behind her, making Cyno’s face shine like the sun in the cloudless sky, Tighnari. “You found him? It?”

“I believe I found it,” she confirms with a gentle smile. “Its presence was tangible in the far western hall. Tighnari required no finding.”

“Hello, love,” Tighnari says, leaning down to envelop Cyno’s face in his hands. “Doing okay?”

“Just fine. How are the ears?”

“I don’t think that’s any business of yours,” Tighnari says smiling, then leans to the side. “Here.” Candace hands Cyno something crumbling and beautiful. Cyno takes it with a sudden, electric smile and Kaveh realizes that it’s of a set—it matches the pieces of stone Cyno had held earlier with the note.

“Gifts from Sethos,” Cyno explains, as he lays out the pieces of an ancient painted relief upon the floor. “He found most of it, but couldn’t find the last before he had to leave. He trusted we would be able to dig up the rest.”

There’s more soft noise, Collei and Alhaitham at the door. They hesitate to enter, Collei out of unsurety, Alhaitham out of his usual distaste for sentiment, but Kaveh can see that he’s feeling it too—the thing radiating out of Cyno’s careful adjustment of stone against stone like a beacon over the dunes.

The relief is small but masterful. Assembled, if not whole, it shows Al Ahmar, in his familiar representation, as he is portrayed with Lesser Lord Kusanali and the Goddess of Flowers, his equals and lovers. Beside him is the jackal-priest commonly identified as Hermanubis. Cyno strokes his finger down Al Ahmar’s edge and Kaveh realizes he’s crying.

Tighnari does too, and Collei, but Cyno smiles and shakes his head, waving them off. “It’s alright,” he says. “It’s alright. It’s just my friend.” That’s how he refers to the spirit within him, when he’s amongst company that won’t require an explanation. His friend. Kaveh feels Alhaitham’s eyes upon him. Tighnari takes Cyno’s hand. “He’s just—very happy to be home.”

behold: opening 3k of current haikaveh wip. feeling ambivalent about ever finishing this just bc i have so fully dipped from genshin since all the natlan racism lol, so just in case this doesn't get finished.... starts with porn, so watch out for that!

---

The first thing that happens that day is that Kaveh gets a letter from the Akademiya’s Desk of Graduate Recordings and Happenstance on the subject of future mailings to his address. Well, sort of. Well, it’s almost the first thing. The first first thing that happens that day, Kaveh supposes, is that Kaveh wakes up in Alhaitham’s arms.

“Not yet,” Alhaitham says, sleepy and firm, his hands pressing around Kaveh’s stomach and sweating chest as the midmorning birds sing from the eaves.

“Mmm, Haitham,” Kaveh says, then, “Haitham, let me up, Haitham, I’m—”

Alhaitham presses his mouth to the back of Kaveh’s bare neck, his chest to Kaveh’s hot shoulders. “You have time,” he says. “Not yet.”

Does Kaveh have time? He has no way of knowing. He’s still so asleep, hot and slow-moving as glass, blinking against the brightness in Alhaitham’s bedroom like some kind of newborn housepet. He has a meeting today, right? With a client? Perhaps a vendor?? Unhelpfully, Alhaitham shapes his body to Kaveh’s like skin over muscle. Kaveh feels the desire to purr.

It’s as bad now as it’s ever been. There’s no respite. He’s never been this disorientingly horny in his life. Not just this morning, when the prospect of orgasm is immediate and obvious, but for days now. Weeks? They’ve been sleeping together for—his breath hitches abruptly as Alhaitham’s hand on his hip becomes Alhaitham’s fingers petting down his fattening cock, stroking his sac with focused care—oh, God, it’s been at least three months. Three months in what must finally, formally, be called a relationship, and Kaveh feels now as he did that very first afternoon: insane. With lust, with need, with panic, with flagrant desire. Has he ever thought this much about sex, this regularly, in his entire life? Alhaitham’s bush is scraping his ass raw, Alhaitham’s cock hard enough that Kaveh can feel the hot tip of it against his skin, and that makes him twice as insane as all the rest of it.

“Haitham,” he pants, “I have to get up.”

“Not yet,” Alhaitham says again. He’s like creeping vines this morning. He doesn’t intend to be removed.

Three months Kaveh has been thinking about sex with Alhaitham, morning to night. Unbearable, and yet still better than thinking about the other thing—how much he wants to be with Alhaitham, morning to night. How much he wants to be pulled into him, like sunlight into sprawling leaves. A fish into an ocean. A man into a relationship he wanted profoundly and understands minimally. Compared to that, an obsessive contemplation of a quarter-year’s unbridled libido isn’t bad at all.

“Fuck me,” he pants. Screw the client and the vendor. Give him this. “Haitham, your cock, fuck me.”

Alhaitham, nearly on top of him, is urgent and threatening to roll Kaveh face-first into the sheets. “If you think,” he says, “I’m going to go get the damn harness when you,” he’s not managing the scornful tone particularly well, “look like this—”

“Not your cock!” Kaveh says. “Your cock!”

Praise God, he gets the picture. Alhaitham rolls Kaveh over, pins him to the sheets, and starts to thrust.

Face down, panting like a dog into Alhaitham’s overpriced pillow, Kaveh struggles briefly to spread himself before Alhaitham realizes what he’s doing and deigns to help. He shoves Kaveh’s thigh up and toward his side and Kaveh grabs it, pulling his own hips wide and eager. This is good. This is great. The more he has to be in his body the less he has to be in his head. Alhaitham has an arm across his shoulders and his pelvis to Kaveh’s ass as he thrusts the tip of his short cock against Kaveh’s hole. It’s not quite firm enough to penetrate and drives Kaveh thoroughly insane. He pants for it like an animal.

“Good” Alhaitham says, “good,” his greatest of praises. What’s Kaveh good at? Being limber and getting fucked? That’s not so bad!

“Yes,” Kaveh says (it’s outside of his control), “yes, yes, yes, yes,” with a rising intensity as Alhaitham’s thrust threaten to bash them both into the headboard. “Yes!”

“You’re,” Alhaitham pants, “repeating yourself.”

Kaveh shouldn’t let this example of Alhaitham’s worst behavior go unpunished. Unfortunately, right now he’s so powerfully turned on he thinks he might shatter, might vanish, might rocket into the air like a firework. And it’s always like this. Puberty was less intense than this! Kaveh barely survived puberty!

“C’mon, give it to me, give it to me,” he says. The heat of the sun inflames his neck, his back, his chest. He doesn’t know what he wants. He wants so desperately it’s going to rip him apart. He bruises his own thigh. Alhaitham bruises his hips. He fucks his cock against Kaveh, using Kaveh for all the pleasure he can get.

“Desperate,” Alhaitham says, which makes Kaveh gasp a little, red and brainless. How could Alhaitham tell? How did he know? Can he see that it’s more than the sex? Does he suspect like Kaveh suspects that he’s desperate, actually, for all of it? Desperate to sit beside Alhaitham in the morning and drink their coffee together? To rearrange the bookshelves together? To debate the world’s philosophies together? To spend all the years of their life in the pleasure of—

Can everyone see it? What is Kaveh supposed to do?

Alhaitham pulls him back, fishing Kaveh from the sudden plunge of panic with all the gentleness of a tiger upon its prey. “Up,” he gasps into Kaveh’s ear, sweaty chest sliding across Kaveh’s sweaty back, “get your hips up, you perennial imbecile—”

He gets so punchy when he’s turned on. Maybe Kaveh could just rub himself to completion on Alhaitham’s sheets as Alhaitham rubbed himself to completion on Kaveh. Maybe he’s dizzy with the idea of it, actually. But he shuffles up, obedient, movable as clay, and at Alhaitham’s prompting gives his own cock three quick strokes that end—predictably. With fantastic, enervating clarity. Kaveh gasps wetly as he falls back on the sheets, Alhaitham coming down with him, getting in a few last hot thrusts against Kaveh’s ass and quivering thigh.

It’s not quite enough for him—he rolls over, on his back beside Kaveh, eyes screwed shut as he rubs himself with an almost furious impatience. Kaveh watches him with one eye, sweat pooling between his shoulders. He likes Alhaitham’s tense, closed face, the shuddering ridge of his shoulder as he works himself like an unruly machine. He reaches out a hand, tracing the gray hair around Alhaitham’s nipple and down his abdomen. Kaveh fingers meet Alhaitham’s at the base of his hot cock. That’ll do it. Alhaitham gasps, tenses, and opens his eyes wide. When he closes them again, relief flows off him like cool water.

“Good morning,” Kaveh says.

Alhaitham hums, low and rocky. Kaveh keeps stroking the whorls of his chest hair. It’s always so soft. He never expects how soft it is. “Good morning,” Alhaitham says. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

“Ass,” Kaveh says, unable to help a smile, and then the hour-horn calls from the market and Alhaitham raises an eyebrow and Kaveh realizes he is quite seriously late.

“Ass!” Kaveh shouts from the bath as he scrubs come off himself then leaps damply toward the other bedroom. His bedroom. The bedroom that is still officially his, because it has his drafting table and wardrobe and jewelry (despite how much of that jewelry and wardrobe and even the drafts have begun to emigrate into Alhaitham’s bedroom with no hope of return) but they’ve only been dating for three months, and it would be crazy for Kaveh not to keep his own bedroom, so he does. It’s this one. He can’t remember the last time he slept in it. But it is 100% his own bedroom!!

Kaveh emerges from the bedroom (his) with most of his clothing on the right way around. Alhaitham sits in the living room, sipping his morning coffee.

“Aren’t you late?” Kaveh says.

“Nope.” Alhaitham takes another sip of his coffee. He’s wearing loose trousers, sweat still shining on his bare chest. Bastard.

“Don’t tell me you—oh. Wait.” Kaveh frowns. “The trip? Is that today?”

“Yep,” Alhaitham says.

“Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”

Kaveh frowns harder, though of course they’ve both been away from home longer than that. Just not recently. “And this is for—have you told me what this is for?”

“I haven’t.”

“Haitham, come on.” He’s reading a book flat on the table, flipping through the pages at a speed that indicates he’s not so much reading the book as using it as a means to avoid eye contact. Haitham, having grown since their teenage years, now only does this when he’s upset about something—or being a massive bitch.

“Oh, sorry, was the mind-blowing morning sex not enough for you?” Kaveh snaps.

Alhaitham jerks his head up. “What? The sex was extremely enjoyable.”

“Oh, yes, it—” Abort, abort. Kaveh backpedals wildly. “---Was for me, too. Actually. Forget that. Where are you going?”

“The desert,” Alhaitham replies, flicking the book closed as he rises for more coffee. “I’m undertaking a survey of recent changes to the environment following the Traveller’s journey to the north coast.”

“Huh,” Kaveh says. “For Lesser Lord Kusanali? Like, at her request?”

Alhaitham makes an unintelligible noise into his mug.

“Well, alright,” Kaveh says. “Two weeks isn’t that long. Right? It’s not that long. And you’re leaving in the afternoon, you said.” Kaveh really should go. He’s not getting less late. “So you’ll be here when I come back.”

“I will,” Alhaitham says.

“So I can say goodbye then.”

“That would appear to be the case.”

“Right, okay. Well—”

Alhaitham catches his sleeve as he makes to leave. As if unable to himself, as if by the biddings of his soul, Kaveh turns towards him. Alhaitham kisses him with the care and dedication of a craftsman, humbling himself to his art.

It doesn’t mean anything, how intensely he feels about Alhaitham. They’re just dating. They’re just trying all this out. If they’re moving a bit fast, if the high isn’t wearing off—if Kaveh has the suspicion, hot in his heart as molten brass, that he has entered into the last relationship he will ever have, that what he is doing with Alhaitham is a flare in the sky that everyone on the continent can see—it’s not. He isn’t. It’s only as serious as he wants it to be. He still has time to figure things out.

For God’s sake, only like four people even know he’s living with Alhaitham!

“I have to go,” Kaveh pants, mouth against Alhaitham’s.

“So go.”

“Ass.”

“See you later,” Alhaitham says, pressing a last firm kiss to Kaveh’s lips (he’s insatiable this morning! Kaveh wants to climb him like a tree!). Kaveh stumbles away, snatching his cape, shoes, and non-Mehrak briefcase as he goes. His keys are on top of the pile of mail that Alhaitham always leaves unopened by the door because he doesn’t believe people should have the ability to contact him at this home address. Kaveh, red up to his ears, just takes the whole mess with him. He can check for bills on the way. He’s feeling really normal. He’s fine, actually. It’s only as serious as he wants it to be. And if he doesn’t yet know exactly how serious he wants things to be—that’s fine, too!

Outside, proceeding at a brisk walk, feeling refreshed by the morning air and the scents of the Tree’s great flowering vines, Kaveh opens the first of the letters from the pile. It’s addressed to him—great. It’s from the Desk of Graduate Recordings and Happenstance. Perfect. They probably just want him to participate in another guest lecture. He feels capable and confident that he can accomplish this task.

It’s not that. They’re updating their mailing records. His mailing address is currently listed as the Puspa Cafe (where Kaveh has been sending his mail for years as he bounced between the dorms, his childhood home, the couches of various acquaintances, etc.). Is this address still correct? Is this address still preferred? If neither correct nor preferred, could Kaveh please return the included form with his new address at the earliest convenience, postage prepaid?

Kaveh stops in the middle of the ramp-street, sun beating down his neck. “Ha,” he says. “Ha ha. Ha?”

—

Okay, this is absolutely not a problem. Kaveh totally, 100%, without a doubt knows the address at which he’d like to receive mail. It’d be crazy if he didn’t!

This is what he tells himself, very reasonably and in a normal tone of voice, as he careens through his morning.

Because obviously it would be odd if Kaveh kept getting his mail at Pupsa’s with all the sailors and mercenaries and students too recently landed in Sumeru City to have a fixed address. He has a fixed address. He’s been living in Alhaitham’s spare room for almost two years. Recently, to be frank, he has been living in Alhaitham’s room. He’s been—

“Sir?” asks the carpenter whose bid he’s reviewing over a meze lunch at a nice little restaurant in the roots of the market. “Sir, are you alright?”

He’s thinking about the carpet in Alhaitham’s room, taking the skin off his knees, burying his head between Alhaitham’s heavy thighs until the breath runs out and his chest pounds and they both can’t—

“I’m fine!” Kaveh laughs. “Ha ha!”

Because it’s not like changing his address, telling the Akademiya and all their subsidiary organizations that actually he is living Alhaitham, and even has been living with Alhaitham, and presumably will be living with Alhaitham until some indeterminate future—Kaveh narrowly avoids walking into a pole, half a mile from the market and with another mile to the docks—that wouldn’t be great, either. Like, it just doesn’t seem that nice! The system he has now is fine, right? It’s not like Alhaitham likes telling people things about himself, god knows. Especially the Akademiya!

It would just be so final. So definitive. A commitment, in blue ink on white paper. Is that necessary? Like is it really necessary?

He imagines writing the Akademiya and telling them he has no fixed address. He imagines writing the Akademiya and telling them that he does. He imagines spending another five years picking up his mail alongside snotty homesick students and drovers reeking of sumpter beast. He imagines telling the Akademiya that for the next five years he, Kaveh, will be available to be reached at—

“Haitham!” Kaveh says, throwing open the door to their—Alhaitham’s—the house. “I’m coming with you.”

Alhaitham, dressed for travel in woolen pants and both shoulders actually contained within his cloak, for once, looks up. His mouth forms several silent shapes before he says, “You are?”

“I just think it’s been ages since I’ve left the city!” Kaveh says, blowing past Alhaitham and his assembled bags to start packing his own. His briefcase and the pile of this morning’s letters (contained therein) he leaves by the door. He won’t need those where he’s going! “I need some inspiration. My work is growing stagnant!”

“...Did you forget a loan payment?” Alhaitham calls from the living room as Kaveh empties his wardrobe onto his bed. “Is this a collections issue?”

Kaveh laughs airily—even casually! “I’m all paid up, Haitham, don’t worry!”

“Are you avoiding a deadline? Or a client?”

“My diary’s in order!” This is mostly true. This is true enough. “I just need some time off!”

“I’m going to be gone for two weeks,” Alhaitham says, standing with an uncomfortable look in Kaveh’s bedroom door. “At a minimum.”

Kaveh strips out of his clothing, reaching for his nearest traveling shirt, a nice airy linen he picked up in Bayda last year. “Yeah!” he says, from within it.

“It’s not going to be safe. I’m leaving the caravan roads in Hadramaveth.”

“All the better to have a partner, right?”

Alhaitham shifts again, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Is this a panic attack?”

Kaveh pauses. The expression on Alhaitham’s face is, to Kaveh, in this moment, indecipherable. Like the workings of Dahri machines. “It’s—does it matter? Do you not want me with you?”

Alhaitham shifts and changes, tensing and humming like a struck stone. Kaveh has no bead on him. He can’t tell what’s happening and can’t try to—his own body feels like a plucked string, like a note held so long it’s about to break the instrument. He stares at Alhaitham, cloak in his hands, with no idea what Alhaitham will do.

“Of course I want you with me,” Alhaitham says.

“Oh!” Kaveh says. “Oh, great.” He smiles, huge and breathless. “It’ll be nice. Won’t it? A little time away. When do you—we leave?”

“Five minutes ago,” Alhaitham says. He looks down at the pile of clothing on Kaveh’s bed. And floor. Kaveh looks, too.

“Great,” Kaveh says. “Great. Just one second.”

#genshin impact #usually posting chaptered works sucks all the enthusiasm right out of my bones and i never finish what i start #but it's different. this is different. i'm claiming this. i CAN do wip whursday in whatever fashion i like

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coralloid · 4 months ago

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Some parallels I've noticed between Paris, Texas (1984) and Disco Elysium (2019)

#paris texas #wim wenders #disco elysium #nastassja kinski #harry dean stanton #dora ingerlund #harry du bois #obviously spoiler warning for both #image description in alt #since it's so text-heavy #come talk to me about either paris texas or DE in my askbox btw :D #long post #Should I have put everything or at least part of it under a read more? maybe. oh well.

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moongothic · 8 months ago

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This is gonna turn into some Crocodad Propaganda eventually but putting the man aside for a little bit

Let's be real for a moment. Regardless of who Luffy's other biological parent is, regardless of if they're relevant to the story or not, no matter what has become of that person, if they're dead or somewhere out there alive, etc-- I believe Oda "knows the truth".

Although it took One Piece until post-Enies Lobby to reveal some of Luffy's blood relatives to us, Oda had technically introduced both Garp and Dragon to us all the way back in the East Blue saga. And Ace was introduced not too long after in the Baroque Works saga, along with his tattoo which held that secret tribute to Sabo all along. (Also he was introduced as "Portgaz D. Ace" meaning Oda must've intended to make the two non-blood brothers from the get-go.) All this means that Luffy's family, both adopted and blood relatives, have been in Oda's mind from the very begining of the story. And so if Oda had figured out Luffy's grandfather, father and at least one brother (if not both) from the begining, then why would he not have decided what became of the person who gave birth to the idiot as well? Like considdering how detail-oriented and meticulous Oda can be, would it not be unusual for him to essentially forget about a character that important (in the sense that Luffy literally would not exist without them) and just handwave them away without much thought? Would that not be out of character for Oda? As such, I don't think it is not unreasonable for us to believe that Oda would know what happened to Luffy's other bio-parent. Mind you, it really could be just something like "Luffy's mother died of The Disease when Luffy was a baby", or "the mom fell down the stairs" or "was eaten by a bear in the woods" or something, anything, whatever. Even if it truly does not matter to the story one bit, I'm sure Oda knows the truth of what happened and why that character wasn't a part of Luffy's life.

But at the same time, if the identity and the fate of Luffy's birthing parent truly did not matter to the story at all, then why wouldn't Oda just tell us who that was and what happened to them? In an SBS or an interview? It's not like people haven't been asking about it, because fans and staff alike have been asking about it for years. If the information really would not change anything, be it the direction the story will take or how we view the characters, if it really is just worthless trivia, then why keep it away from us?

Now of course, I'm sure you'd want to point out that one time Oda told Mayumi Tanaka that "A young boy's adventure begins after he leaves his mother's arms. I want to tell this young boy's adventure story, so his mom is not part of it." And Oda isn't known for lying, we do kind of want to take what he told Mayumi Tanaka at face value. At the same time though. If Luffy's other parent did become a plot relevant character in like the final 200 chapters of the story, after a 1100 chapters, they and their potential connection to Luffy would not have mattered to the story for 90% of its run. For an overwhealming majority of Luffy's adventure, that person would not have been a part of it. So if that character did become relevant, and Oda was lying, then it'd be a white lie at worst. But also, if Oda did intend to reveal that other parent eventually, when the time was right, then surely he wouldn't want to get people hyped up about it way ahead of time. If it did turn out to be a big plot twist or an otherwise important plot point, Oda would want to keep it under the wraps and a secret until the right time, you don't want to spoil something like that. Not to mention it could end up working like a distraction and make people not focus on the more important things happening in the story currently. So really, I think we'd all forgive him for a white lie there. Not to mention, technically speaking, if Luffy doesn't even have a mom but two dads, then Oda wouldn't really be lying either.

But that does bring up an important thing to considder.

If Crocodile does turn out to be Luffy's other dad, when did Oda get that idea, and when would he have committed to it?

Because, keep in mind, One Piece began back in 1997. Twenty seven whole years ago. Which means there's two things to considder; the evolution of queer rights over the past near three decades, as well as the fact that One Piece has more than surpassed Oda's original plans for the series. We must not forget how for a manga to remain serialized in Weekly Shounen JUMP, you need to perform well in the popularity polls consistently; if your manga starts dropping in popularity, JUMP can cancel it and force you end it prematurely. Of course, Oda arguably does not have to worry about those polls anymore after all these decades, there's no way in hell JUMP would ever cancel fucking One Piece in this day and age. But that might not have been the case 15 years ago, that was not the case 20 years ago, and that was absolutely not the fucking case 25 years ago. Like we all famously know that Oda originally planned One Piece to maybe run for like a year, then five years, then ten etc etc. That really is because at the begining of his career he had no quarantee he'd be able to tell the full story he was slow cooking at the back of his mind. Back in the early days, One Piece could've been canceled and ended prematurely, so Oda smartly chose to write it focusing very specifically on what mattered to the story at that moment, in the short term. Yes, he did start laying out the groundwork for things to come, but he did it so subtly that had OP been forced to end early, the series wouldn't have been left with too many massive, gaping plotholes or unresolved sidestories. Another thing to keep in mind is how comic artists for JUMP do have editors etc who can have a say in what goes into the manga (famously, Sasuke only existed because Matashi Kishimoto's editor suggested it). So again, while Oda might be able to do whatever the hell he pleases in One Piece at this point, that wouldn't have been the case 20+ years ago. He would have been more or less at the whims of his editors back in the day.

So would Oda have thought about giving Luffy, the main character of the series, a transgender father back in the year 2000? Could that really have been the secret plan from the start? And would Oda's editor(s) at JUMP have allowed that? Or, did Oda maybe come up with the idea later?

Now just so we're clear, I am NOT suggesting Crocodad was Oda's original intent and that his editors didn't let him do it or anything like that, my tinfoil hat isn't on that fucking tight. What I do want to suggest, is that it is plausible Crocodile being Luffy's other dad was an idea Oda was playing around with at the back of his mind from the begining, but wasn't sure he'd ever get to, mainly due to the uncertainty of series' future and partially because he could've been unsure if his editors would even allow him to write that story. And IF this was the case, Oda may not have even started committing to to the idea until around the CP9 saga. Or, it's possible Oda only got the idea sometime after the completion of the Alabasta arc/during Skypiea saga, and started laying down the groundwork for during Summit War so that, if he ever got around to it, he'd be able to commit and tell that story.

Regardless, let's be real.

It is interesting and kind of suspicious how Crocodile does just happen to be introduced around the same time the rest of Luffy's family was first shown to us, even if we didn't know Garp and Dragon were Luffy's family yet (this was also the same time the first canon queer character was introduced; Oda was playing around with queer characters during Crocodile's introduction, possibly testing the waters to see what he could get away with?) During the CP9 Saga we got the Miss Goldenweek cover story, where we see what's become of Crocodile after the fall of Baroque Works. This is of course adding to the world building of the CP9 Saga (where we're told the criminals who go through Enies Lobby are either sent to Impel Down or to Marineford; so us finding out Crocodile's gone to ID is playing off of what we knew would become of Robin and Franky and the Strawhats not come to rescue them. AND it's foreshadowing for the Summit War Saga), but also, soon after we were reminded of Crocodile and told where he's been sent off to, we were finally formally introduced to Garp and Dragon (Garp having already been mentioned by Aokiji at the begining of the Saga). And we close off the Saga watching Ace and Blackbeard have their fateful match. So again, Crocodile was on Oda's mind around the same time the rest of Luffy's family was. And indeed, after Thriller Bark we then move onto Summit War proper, where Oda does all The Things we would considder The Groundwork for Crocodad, most important being the introduction of Ivankov and their Devil Fruit. But again, just like before, Crocodile just happens to be there at the same time as this saga, which really heavily focuses on Luffy's family, plays out. While we learn about Dragon's secretive nature and connection to Iva-chan, Garp's feelings for the boys, Ace's struggle with his heritage and Luffy's love for him, Sabo and Garp... Yeah, Crocodile's just... Also there.

Whenever Oda starts dwelling into Luffy's family, Crocodile is always there. It's a bizarre coincidence if nothing else.

(And oh won't you look at that, Crocodile has once again become a plot relevant character, just in time for The Final Saga where Dragon has also started becoming actually plot relevant as well)

All of this to say, again.

The fact that Oda has refused to tell us anything about Luffy's other parent is sus, and to me indicates that either although unusual for him Oda genuinely just doesn't give a damn about Luffy's other parent, or he's been trying to play it safe for years so that if he ever got the opportunity, he could give Luffy two dads. (Or maybe there's some other twist that has nothing to do with Crocodile, that is possible too, I just feel like if that was the case then why hide it for 27 years?)

Whatever the case, I'm sure Oda knows the truth.

And I'm sure we will find out the truth eventually, be it on the pages of the comic or in the SBS.

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Crocodad #This got so fucking long. Under the Read More you go #Hey Anon. Funny you should send that ask about those interviews from Oda when I was literally in the middle of writing this #What're the fucking odds lmao #Anyway Anon I hope you see this because I'm not going to answer to your ask *separately* since this post goes over the same stuff #Like it's not exactly what this post is REALLY about but since I go over it. Yeah discussing it once should be enough lol #The funny thing is that this post really was supposed to be more about how Croc's appearances in the story match the rest of Luffy's family #But I had too many things to say and I figured I might as well put all this shit into one post (for better or for worse)

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somerandomcockroach · 4 months ago

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@keferon OKAY BUT LISTEN YEAH I would loved if it was just fun ehehehe and sassy flirting with the demon no one sees pfffht, literally summoned a demon just to flirt with, and I guess it could have been going for a long time, just little strips with their funny adventures and then plot can go to the fact that he wants to give him a body and Shockwave would agree or that they just stay the way they are and just hang out like this together (Alo I remember that you wanted to put Ratchet (I keep writing Ratched instead of Ratchet buuuh) and Drift in it as another demon and their summoner thing whghweghgwe but I like how you made two separate stories for them that happen at the same time, okay I am actually PRETTY MUCH invested in this story, I like a lot how it goes and gets tangled and how mixes up with idw ideas and other stuff a lot)

BUT NOW that you changed it that way, you made a few more things that reader might be interested a lot in, like that promise he made and you mentioning that he will regret it, how their relationship progressively develops, plus the fact that Blurr was a frivolous slob gifted with dark magic AND how the tables turn upside dow and he get consequences for what he did in the most unpredictable way for him and how he surely changes in his behaviour, getting more and more concerned about his promise and maybe truly loving someone for the first time in his life and wanting to change something. And then figuring out that that same demon actually was a person before, someone he knew, someone respectable, kind, shiny, absolut sun of a person, who died (I am still on my knees waiting to know how exactly he died...) miserably to the point that he absolutely can't stand his life as a demon and NOT EVEN being able to kill himself!!! And Blurr was a pupil in his school, he saw him, he gifted him an ability to make his magic work for him, gave the freedom to live among everyone to all who was poisoned with this dark magic. OH WAITA HGSDHAG the thing that beastformers can't walk among transformers and the fact that dark spellers also could not, and how these events happen at a close times, OKAY so dark spellers got their kind of freedom thanks to Senator Shockwave (OH MY GOD what if Orion can see Shockwave and will recognise him right away COUGH) BUT I am wondering if beastformers will get some kind of an official declaration or some kind of school to be educated in and I wonder if Deadlock/Drift (I think after leaving he will change his name from the last episode...) will volunteer to be a teacher t be something more, or he will just end up with Ratchet wandering around the world, or maybe there will be a whole damn revolution where all monoformers and beastformers leaded by Drift go against the system, and maybe these events happen at the same time as a Senator Shockwave fighting for the rights of gifted... Okay I'm getting carried a little bit ahsghag excuse me... OH I GOT carried away A LOT I wanted to get back to the point that Blurr, now figuring out the past of Shocwave, dealing with all the events, dealing with what he has done and find a way to free them, at the same time STILL having adventures and fun since I'm sure he can be a good mood lifter to moody Shockwave and even see him in a really good mood since he is... well, not just a demon made of hatred but the wonderful kind of person in his previous life... (okay being carried away but what if Orion might declare the freedom to beastformers (AJHGAJHSDJAH OH MY GOD I IMAGINED JAZZ AS A PANDA HAVING A ROMAN WITH PROWL AND PROWL NOT KNOWING ABOUT IT OKAY SORRY) after seeing what it lead to after Senator Shockwave. And maybe Ratchet will be able to get his sign back freely after revolution will be successful or he will be forever blind just to be free and safe with his husband OKAY LISTEN I think it is obvious that I really like the thing you do....

#I mean I will repeat one hundred more time that fanfics are really hard for me to read... I just can't concentrate on that for a long time #if they are not VERY good.. usually it is much easier for me to read real books #So I know little about characters slowly reading idw and I can't just jump on plenty of fics and just look at them from afar #But such little comic... yeah #the characters in them are understandable for me you put emotion in them and growth that I can easily read on and just observing things #also it is much easier for me to see a ready pictures to jump on something to animate and it goes so smoothly that I still wonder how you d #it and I am absolutely not okay about this fact pfffht #Aaaaah why am I saying all that... where from I started and where I was leading to...#I THINK I JUST WILL SAY AGAIN THAT I LIKE THIS AU WHEEEEEEEZE #Also rewatched your tags under First Aid and... I forgot the name *cough* you can see how good I am with names VORTEZ! Fixed ehfghasghagfe #And yeah ahsghdgahg... I can't read such fics. I like when I see that characters can stand for themselves and it isn't an abuse....#I mean it is okay to show the hell they go through BUT only if from both sides #I didn't read ShockBlurr fics but from what I've been hearing from you both... I wouldn't like it #So I'm happy I come across your version of them and I LIKE IT #And I LIKE the First Aid pair with Vortex if I see a good version of them #I mean in idw he is *muah* put him in a blender but I don't see a good way of using his perks and First Aid's perks good together #They both are maniacs PFFFFHT so yeah... fics disappoint me and I barely read them even if to get better at understanding characters #So I'm happy about what you do since I am very slow at getting into stories like transformers even if I like it

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antianakin · 2 days ago

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You are ABSOLUTELY not alone in that sentiment! At the very least you've got me, too! It definitely makes the most sense for the clones to look around as they are learning what it means to even BE a person and tend to lean towards the only person willing to speak to them and guide them and answer their questions (and there isn't a single Mandalorian who would ever do the same). I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut since it's getting long.

I've read plenty of posts about what attachment actually means in Star Wars (I've made a few myself, or at least addressed it in plenty of posts about the Jedi over the years), and I totally agree that the clones do also seem to hold similar values to the Jedi in terms of attachment, even if it comes from a very different (and arguably somewhat less healthy) place. It's not even really that they move on quickly, because part of the reason that seems to happen is more a matter of how the TV show is structured (TCW does not allow for anything to have any long-term impact on any of the characters, major events aren't discussed again once the episode/arc ends). For me, it's more seen in how clear-headed they seem to be about their situation, how aware they are of how much their situation sucks but they also recognize that if they DON'T fight, then they'll still suffer the consequences and helping protect innocent people is still the right thing to do. This is basically exactly what Rex tells Cut during that episode The Deserter. He also says something similar to Ahsoka in season 7 about how complicated the clones' relationship is to the war since they wouldn't exist without it, but none of them LIKE it, either. That recognition that they can't change the universe to suit them but that it doesn't mean they can't do ANYTHING is very Jedi-like to me.

I do think that the clones probably have a very different relationship with death than many other species simply because they'd have been raised to expect that they'd all die young and once the war starts, so many of them DO die that it would likely impact how they approach relationships. They don't seem to steer clear of relationships ENTIRELY (or at least, Cody and Rex don't seem to do so), despite how likely it is that those relationships might not last very long. It clearly does impact them when people they care about die, since Cody and Rex have that conversation in season 7's Bad Batch arc about all the people they've lost and how hard it is to be the one that survives in a war. It DOES impact them to see their own killed, it has a long-term effect on them as the war drags on, but Rex himself has said that his beliefs mean that he can't just walk away from the war, either. The only way his loved ones and his people stop dying is to do everything in his power to END the war. And that, again, is an extremely Jedi-like approach to this kind of situation and to the war itself. It's entirely possible that the Jedi helped them be able to reach this conclusion, that their guidance and openness about their OWN values and philosophies could've helped Rex learn what HIS values are. We do see Anakin helping guide Rex in an emotional moment during the same Bad Batch arc in season 7 of TCW, although I'd be willing to bet that Rex probably benefited more from Obi-Wan's guidance than Anakin's in the early days.

Obviously there is the fact that the clones seem to practice non-attachment in part because they've had no choice in entering this war and they'd likely go insane if they didn't learn how to let go to some degree, so the circumstances that led to the clones doing this isn't ideal, but that doesn't mean that the connection between their values and the Jedi's values isn't there and wouldn't help make that bond even deeper.

With the "found family/adopted family" thing for Mandos, my experience of it in the higher canon seems to indicate that it still follows VERY nuclear family guidelines (one Mando adopts their specific foundling and now they are considered parent and child, much like with Din Djarin and Grogu). This isn't really something the clones can emulate very well. There obviously are different generations of clones, but they aren't the ones choosing to produce more clones, and they likely aren't encouraged to create familial bonds with each other that way. We do also see older clones helping take care of younger ones sometimes (99 obviously has some sort of relationship with the Domino squad, there's a red-uniform clone leading a group of younglings to safety on Kamino once, and an older clone taking care of the group of younglings brought to see Mace and Anakin's ship), but even 99 tends to think of himself as a "brother" to the other clones, no matter how much older he might actually be. He is NOT their father nor do any of them really seem to see him as one.

And this, to me, might also be another way the clones and the JEDI can connect. The Jedi also don't really emulate nuclear family bonds. Jedi appear to be raised in groups when they're very young and are raised by several different adult Jedi. Then at some point when they reach teenagerhood, they presumably get chosen by a Master and become a Padawan. A lot of people see Master/Padawan relationships as very close to parent/child, but as we see with several of our canon Master/Padawan pairs, it's not always quite that clear. Anakin refers to Obi-Wan as "like a father" to him, but Obi-Wan calls Anakin his "brother" later. It's possible the relationship developed from one to the other over time, it's also possible that the two of them simply see their relationship differently. They're only 14 years apart, so it's not QUITE enough of an age difference to be obviously parent/child, but it's much larger than most sibling relationships. And also of course Anakin has already HAD a parent in his life that he still remembers as his parent (and he had the beginnings of a more parental relationship with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan was Qui-Gon's student, which muddies the waters even more). And there's Ahsoka and Anakin who are only 6 years apart or so and thus WAY too close in age to ever really be in a parent/child dynamic and they tend to be written with a more sibling-like relationship in mind (and I believe Ahsoka refers to him as her older brother to Trace in season 7). There's a comic where Obi-Wan is asked if Anakin is his son and Obi-Wan's response is "He's my Padawan," indicating that it is a DIFFERENT relationship to a typical parent/child relationship. It is something wholly unique.

And that's kind-of how I tend to see clone relationships with each other, too. They call each other brothers ("same heart, same blood" as Fives says), but it does seem to encompass something closer to "brothers in arms" than a more literal definition. But of course, they ARE clones and they DO share the same genetics for the most part, and that clearly does impact their relationships with each other, too. Their relationships with each other MIGHT have some familial aspects to them, but they also might end up feeling pretty distant since there are millions of them and they obviously don't all know everybody. Maybe some of them feel closer to other clones than anybody else, maybe some of them try to create more distance so as to better express their individuality. It's never going to fit into your basic nuclear family formulas. Maybe sometimes it gets close, maybe some of those labels can feel appropriate enough, but they'd also be something entirely and wholly unique to them, DIFFERENT from the way anyone else understands those same labels.

I like taking those "artificial" elements to the clones that could be viewed as similar to the Mandos and making them super unimportant to the clones. Specifically the armor, because the Mandos are basically defined by it. I love making headcanons that the clones barely care about their armor. They would never swap armor as a declaration of affection (romantic or otherwise). Their armor isn't SHIT, but it does get damaged and lost, so it seems a little silly to use it that way. They can't get attached to their armor any more than they can get attached to anything else. It's a practical thing to them, not a sentimental one. It also isn't something passed down through hundreds of years and multiple generations of their family the way it is for the Mandalorians. It was likely made new just a few years ago at most and they're likely the first one to ever use it and the chances that anyone would end up using THEIR armor after they died seem pretty minimal. The armor is also representative of the war they all feel such complicated things about and I like thinking that, in a happy fix-it AU, VERY VERY FEW OF THEM would keep it and plenty of them would actually destroy the armor as a symbol of their freedom.

And like with the language, there's never any indication they know it or care about speaking it, but we DO see a couple of them asking Obi-Wan about a TWI'LEK word once. We know they travel a lot and probably do have some level of interaction with locals sometime, so maybe instead of using Mando'a words, they start picking up fun words from other languages around the galaxy. Maybe they end up using a mishmash of different words from different languages and each battalion ends up with their own "dialect" almost depending on the words they learned from their various missions. They obviously are trained enough not to use them in formal situations, but it's something that comes out in their downtime maybe.

I love both the ideas about clone food, either that they have the worst creations known to man that only they could enjoy OR that they intentionally always make the blandest food possible because it's what they're used to and it's almost like comfort food to them.

One of my clone food headcanons was that the clones actually really lean towards FUSION food options. For the Jedi, we know that they obviously have a culture full of different species, but their food options might end up just full of different options of dishes from the cultures in the Order. It's not a FUSION of cultures so much as it is just a lot of variety. But the clones don't have access to all of the ingredients or equipment to manage that, so they have to make do what little they DO get. Much like with the language, I also like to think that they sometimes are able to pick up a few random food items from the places they visit and then try to figure out how to incorporate them into dishes with whatever else they've got. They're likely not trying to replicate an entire dish they've had (if they've even had the opportunity to try a whole dish), but just trying to figure out how to cook maybe one specific fruit they found or seeing if this thing that looks like a nut might make for a good garnish of sorts. And some of them could end up coming out really bad because they don't always know what they're doing, but they slowly start to learn and some of the food they create is actually REALLY GOOD, it's just... not from any one specific culture because they had to combine like flour from Ryloth and some fruit from Rodia and some of their own protein rations to try to create it. It's different, it's not BAD, but it could range from best thing you've ever eaten even though you couldn't explain what it tasted like if your life depended on it... all the way to just being a straight up acquired taste kind of dish.

And that's what clone cuisine ends up being known for because they refuse to be relegated to only one kind of food, they want to try EVERYTHING and see how it works but they have to make do with the ingredients and knowledge that they have. And in happy fix-it AUs, they would just continue to do that even after they DO have access to tons of ingredients and equipment and recipes. They COULD replicate specific dishes if they wanted, and maybe to do that sometimes too, but they also just love experimenting with different ingredients and flavors and seeing what happens.

I've decided that Rex is the one who paints Kanan's eye mask with his bird of prey design.

Kanan's feeling pretty low still just after Malachor, he's still distancing himself from everybody, and Rex decides to go try to talk to him at one point and the first thing he comes up with to say is to point out that his new mask is pretty plain. It's awkward, he regrets it immediately, but then Kanan says that it gets the job done and Rex is abruptly reminded of himself so so long ago back at the beginning of the war.

He sits Kanan down and tells him a story about how, at the beginning of the war, only a few of the clones had paint on their armor, to designate things like rank and battalion in order to make it easier for officers to find them in the middle of a busy battlefield. The paint was practical and it was limited to a very select few. But the Jedi almost immediately started trying to encourage the clones to utilize the paint less sparingly, suggesting that maybe everybody could wear at least a LITTLE paint and use more individualized designs so that it was still easy to tell the commanders and captains apart from the others when needed.

Some of the clones had taken to it with gusto, but others had been more hesitant, and Rex remembers having been one of them. He remembers telling Obi-Wan that there was no real REASON to paint everyone's armor and especially not to come up with personal designs. The armor was practical and it served its purpose with or without the paint and special designs. But the Jedi had insisted on at least TRYING to come up with his own design and if he didn't like it, he could always take it off, so Rex had given in and chosen something to paint on the armor. And, somehow, it felt a little lighter the next time he put it on. It didn't erase the horrors of war or the pain of loss or anything like that, but it helped.

He tells Kanan that the mask right now is just a reminder of the pain of the injury and whatever other feelings he's still got all caught up in the Malachor mission (guilt over what happened with Ezra, grief over Ahsoka's loss). But if he puts his own design on it, it might turn the mask into something other than a constant reminder of something bad. Instead, it's a reminder of who he is, the combination of the person he once was and who he's become. He is more than just his injury or this mission and he can use the mask to declare that if he wants to.

Kanan says he never realized Rex and the other clones had cared so deeply about their armor and Rex says that the armor itself was meaningless. It's better than what's being handed out to stormtroopers, but not but a LOT. It was the design on it that had meant something and, more than that, it was what the design REPRESENTED: having a choice about how you were perceived by others.

Kanan asks why Rex had chosen his particular designs, the bird of prey eyes on his helmet in particular. Rex explains that he chose it because he liked birds and thought it looked cool, but he's kept the helmet for as long as he has because it's come to mean something ELSE now. It's not just a cool-looking design, it's a reminder of a better time in his life. It's a reminder of when he'd been a part of something greater than himself, with the other clones and the Jedi. It's a reminder of a time when he'd had hope that he and his people could one day come out the other side of this war towards a brighter future.

Kanan looks at the mask he'd grabbed from storage somewhere or something just to keep light from hurting his eyes as they recovered and to cover up the injury from other people's stares (even if he couldn't see them staring), then hands it to Rex and asks if Rex minds sharing that symbol because he'd like a reminder of that, too. Rex remembers the 332nd and their helmets that they'd painted to look like their chosen Jedi, almost blindly giving away their individuality in favor of that loyalty that had been stripped from them anyway. And then he looks at Kanan, choosing to make himself look LIKE REX, someone who had shared his face with millions once, because he wants to honor both the connections he'd lost as well as this new connection the two of them have built together now. And Rex says he'd be happy to share.

#long post #clones #clone culture #anti mandoclone #mandoclone critical

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