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lovelessdagger · 1 year ago

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Starlight - Chapter 37: Where it Began

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Explicit Sexual Content. Talk of Mental Illness.

Words: 10.7k

Summary: If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

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Tatooine is hotter than Din remembers, the automatic cooling system of his suit on overdrive. Twin suns beam down at high noon, the public of Mos Espa flocking to shade. His footsteps mark in the sand and Grogu grows restless off the transit in a satchel across his body. Together they make way in the city center, towards a building of scandal and bustling populous. The option had been displayed to meet at a more reasonable and less horrific time of heat. He could never be so kind to himself as to accept.

His company sits at a back table, soiled boots on polished wood, nursing a cup of Maker knows what. “You’re late,” she says. “I was beginning think you bailed.”

“Fennec,” he greets. “You don’t sound too upset by the prospect.”

“I would have chalked it up to divine intervention.”

He glances behind to the entrance. “The Force?”

A pair of Twi’leks approach, offering to clean his helmet. Fennec waves them away and orders another drink. Her stomach, she says, makes alcohol more like a juice. She lives to indulge.

“Why did you agree to come?” She asks.

He chooses not to answer, taking internal inventory of the room. Once deciding it safe, he allows the Child to roam free. He runs to the band, cheering for the attention of the Ortolan. “What is this place?”

“The Sanctuary. I thought it fitting.” She tosses a bag of credits. “I’m hiring you on for a job.”

“A job?”

“Call it a favor if it makes you feel better.”

“Since when do I owe you a favor?”

“Since you left me shot for dead a year ago.”

“It’s been that long?”

She shrugs. “And some change. Say yes, it’s easy money.”

“I thought Fett called the shots. He know you’re here?”

“He does.” Feeling Din’s surprise she adds, “Mostly. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He responds, “Not always.”

“In this case it is. Do you remember the Marshal who used Boba’s armor?”

“Course. Cobb Vanth.”

“Are you friendly?”

“I killed a krayt dragon for his people. Planned on leaving the kid in his care if something were to happen so—” his head bobs “—you could say that.”

“How’d you like to pay him a visit?”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing tragic, don’t worry.” She takes a swig, briefly offering the drink to Din. “All I need is for you to talk to him, do some of that convincing you’re so good at.”

“For?”

“There’s a treaty we need signed with Mos Pelgo—Freetown. Unification is important to Fett. All we ask is they recognize Boba as Daimyo and agree to follow a new constitution of laws.”

“Marshal Vanth’s a smart man,” Din says. “He’s fought hard to keep his people free. Won’t give into city say-so’s.”

“Believe me there are far more benefits than cons. Fett is shockingly well versed in politics. The treaty is brilliant.”

“If it’s so great why do you need me?”

“Because we need this signed, you’re our best shot at getting a yes. This is more than giving Boba more power or tribute. He wants to ensure underworld business stays in the underworld.”

“You’re cleaning up Tatooine?”

“Trying to.”

“How’s that worked out?”

“Well, we killed the Mos Espa mayor a couple months ago. Drove out some Pykes. Stopped a spice trade line. Established land agreements between some Tusken clans. And given the people a fair water tax and management system that is beyond me. We’re getting there.”

“I hate to say I’m impressed.”

“Then say you agree to speak to the Marshal. If he’s as decent of a man as you say, there should be no problem.” Din lends no response, crossing his arms. Fennec leans on her elbows. “What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

A smile plays on Fennec’s lips, disguised by another drink. “Here I am thinking you aren’t smart,” she says. “If you agree, you would have to be accompanied by a member of the Fett Gotra.”

Foolishly, Din asks, “Who?” An answer given by Fennec’s wryly smile. “No,” he says. “No, forget it.”

“I wouldn’t have come to you if I had another choice.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

“Yes. I’m asking you to do a job. Take it as just that.”

He grasps for a new excuse. “She’d never agree.”

“She already has,” Fennec says. “Granted I haven’t asked her yet, but she’s on board.” He gives a look. “If you agree, she will be. I know you want to so let’s skip the back and forth.” He swallows thickness, leg bouncing. Fennec stands, shoving the flask in the calf of her boot. She takes her helmet, unnoticed by Din on the ground, pulling it on. “You’re saying yes,” she tells him. “Come to the palace before nightfall. We’ll officialize details and get you briefed.”

‘Fennec…” His words are lost when she looks, though meaning still perpetrates.

“She’s fine. But don’t make me regret this.”

---

Contrary to popular belief, the Mandalorian known as Din Djarin is also fine. He isn’t doing particularly great, but he is fine. He’s okay, and that’s enough. Frankly, okay is the best he’s ever been in these past months. Okay is what lets him sleep at night for a full six hours and okay is what reminds him to eat. Okay means he doesn’t need a sip of alcohol at least twice a day, and maybe he should watch his temper.

So yes, he’s okay.

Frankly he thinks okay is the best he’ll be.

At least for a long while.

Nevarro isn’t shitty anymore, he’s as surprised as anyone else. Din isn’t exactly sure how the money came in or from where, but Karga—now deeming himself High Magistrate—saw to Nevarro’s settlement as a trade anchor and hyper lane port of the Hydian Way. The schools were proper, roads paved, water clean. The town bustles, new homes and land being established every day.

Din is the only one to still find it all insufferable.

He stays off world as much as possible. He never planned on returning at all until word came through about Cara. Greef said he reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who eventually got to Din.

Neither she, Moff Gideon, or the New Republic vessel arrived to Coruscant for deliverance. Three and half months after what Din has only referred to as The Incident, they were found. Stagnant in space, exterior hull destroyed, bodies… A vigil was held with candlelight and Din left when Karga asked if he wanted to say any words.

He didn’t.

Cara was his friend. Now she is dead.

Gideon was his enemy. Now he is dead.

That’s all there is.

Din thought himself changed, arguably for the better. Emotion became too difficult to ignore, compassion bit at his ankles, all he wanted to do was give. Now caring is the least of his worries. Nothing matters. In an objective sense, nothing matters. Din is determined to go about his every day knowing this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the Empire, the New Republic, the Jedi, or whateverelse there is. He doesn’t care about Nevarro, or Coruscant, or Mandalore. He doesn’t care about his lost ship, he doesn’t care about the stupid sword stuck to his hip. The only thing he can be bothered to give a damn about is the Child.

Din does his best for Grogu. He gets up everyday, he works, he travels, he lives for Grogu. No one else.

He does an okay job at this too.

The parenting thing is… a learning process on his own. The Child, what with his immense powers and inability of speech, makes for an interesting dynamic. Din still isn’t a talker, less now, but he read an article about the importance of enrichment so he tries. He likes to think Grogu appreciates the effort.

They make the best of their nomad life. The kid learns to behave on public transit, Din learns the quickest way to check his weaponry to not hold up a line. Grogu stops fussing when it’s nap time, Din uses the opportunity to have time alone. Grogu uses his magic to eat a frog for lunch, Din builds a fire to camp for the night.

They’re content.

They’re okay.

Sometimes, and only sometimes in the rarest moments of bliss, Din can pretend everything is good and believe it. When he has enough credits to rent a ship for particularly long or dangerous excursion, he can close himself inside the bedchamber and do nothing. He can take off his helmet without paranoia, he can escape to a galaxy where the Razor Crest still exists. Where he doesn’t have a Darksaber or have to worry about an Empire. Where he doesn’t know of the existence of Jedi, or Inquisitors or—

He can pretend nothing changed. He is still who he was at the beginning of the cycle. He’s made no promises, no oaths, he’s not tied to anything or anyone. He’s totally and utterly free.

Din likes the dark. He doesn’t like much at all these days, but he likes the peace of nonexistence. He likes being able to forget, to live without a dragging burden or guilt or shame. He likes not being able to see two inches in front of his face. He likes being able to feel his face. He likes sleeping with his head on a pillow. He likes waking up without a direct stare of himself from the reflection of his helmet. He likes forgetting the helmet exists.

He likes forgetting that he likes forgetting the helmet exists.

The idea complicates things, so he forgets that too.

He is still a Mandalorian. That’s what he tells himself anyways. The helmet is… a technicality, and he convinces himself he never broke Creed to begin with. The Child saw him yes, but Din had also seen the face of his caretaker as a child. Neither of them burst into flames then, they won’t now. Boba Fett is also a Mandalorian whether he admits to such or not. He is born Mandalorian or… created. That alone gives greater credibility than Din has to the people.

He supposes the exposure to Migs Mayfeld was unwarranted. Although, according to New Republic record, Mayfeld is dead. There’s no reason he can’t have died in Din’s recollection either.

All who’s left is…

Din does a remarkable job of moving on. Truth be told, he never thinks of Lumina once. He forgets all about her, every little aspect. The way he should have after the first time. He doesn’t spend nights caught on what ifs or maybes or would’ve could’ve should’ves. He just, forgets. He’s far happier this way, he is. Life is less dramatic, uneventful overall and… a little boring. He blames the unfamiliarity of calm on peace, a stranger to his life for so long.

He isn’t complaining, all it is is a learning curve.

He hadn’t begun to feel anything close to normal until the third month. The first caught him hollow, irritable, angry. He slept and drank and slept and wandered and got into one too many needless fights.

In the second the headaches stopped. He wasn’t angry, he was tired. He felt guilt about everything, about nothing. But all the nothings he shouldn’t feel guilty about and all the everythings he should. He lived in a hole.

On the dawn of the third he decided to live again.

And living is hard.

Living is the most dreadful part of his day.

But it gets easier, somehow.

Easier when he’s occupied, when he’s with the kid, easier as he stops thinking about her.

Forgetting isn’t easy, until it is.

Though, he isn’t sure he likes it.

Within the Sanctuary on Tatooine, the lights of the fresher refuse to work. But every now and then one will flicker and reflect off a piece of armor.

He thinks it is symbolic after all.

---

Peli Motto’s 3-5 hangar is virtually unchanged. A few spare parts have disappeared, a few more having spawned. A small ship of some client taken where the Razor Crest should be. Pit droids scurry like rats, astromechs follow along with aimless direction. Din prefers the sight in the day, illusions remain uncommon.

He’s selfish to expect what he does and too proud to admit it. Everything has been a cyclical repetition so far, how dare it stop now after so much has happened.

He should be greeted with what he expects. It should all play out exactly the same. It has happened once it should happen again.

It does not.

For a moment, Din considers the possibility that he has finally learned.

But moments pass and he is the same.

Maybe he will always be.

“Thank you,” Peli says, leaned against some wall. For the past five hours they’ve worked in relative silence on what Din would classify as a piece of junk. A halfway skeleton of some starfighter from Naboo.

Of course it’s from Naboo.

Din peeks over the defunct astromech port, wrench in hand. “What?”

“Thank you,” she repeats. “She wanted to tell you that.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that girl that was here way back? The one you kept asking about?”

Yes.

“Not really.”

“She lives here now.” Grogu is the one to react, his play built of nuts and bolts toppling. “Not here, but Mos Espa.”

“Can you hand over a circulator? Uh… three inch circumference.”

“You know, I like her. Comes in to help every now and then, works hard, doesn’t take payment. Used to ask about you.”

“That’s… kind of her. I think the parts are over there if you could just—”

“Lumina Fett. That’s her name. Remember that refugee story? No family, no nothing? Turns out she found em. Her old man came back here and took over Jabba’s place, runs the joint now. Guy with your reputation I’m sure could just… walk right in. Introduce yourself.”

“Why would I do that?”

Peli snorts. “Because you’re as obvious as a rancor. You need an excuse to see her.” She holds out a set of shiny shock absorbers. “And I need this delivered to the palace, they’re for her. Two porgs one stone. C’mon, take it.”

Reluctantly, he does.

“I’m always right,” Peli says, smug.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her. I told you you’d like her, didn’t I?” She bumps his side. “And you do. I can tell. If you didn’t you wouldn’t keep lookin at my door like you’re expecting someone to walk through.”

If only the sand could swallow him whole.

“It’s okay, she likes you too.”

---

Boba Fett is not a man of faith, on the contrary he is far from it. He submits to no man, no god. He has not once fallen to his knees in prayer and has never cursed a deity or power greater than he. The matter is all trivial. Faith did not spare his father and there is no god to thank for his test tube creation. Kaminoans deserve no such honor.

He is without.

Life is simpler this way.

There is no fate, no prophecy, no one way life is meant to be. Life only is. Destiny is but an excuse to alleviate misery. All that happens is of natural effect, not a greater plan. No ineffable strategy.

The Force exists, sure. Boba is in no position to deny the fact. What he is in position to deny however, is its power. It’s ironclad grip on the galaxy, on the living. Power lays in the hands of the creations not the creator.

Every problem has a solution. A perfectly logical, reasonable, and achievable solution. All that is required is patience.

A patience running rather thin.

“My methods are unorthodox but proven in many studies of my people.” A Rodian speaks to him the floor of his throne room within Jabba’s defunct palace. Changes made in the past months have been both minimal and monumental.

“How unorthodox are we talking?” Fennec asks. She sits on the arm of his seat, wiping the tip of her rifle, a performative action.

“There is a creature I possess which I have named Cxhenc, after the philosopher. It is not unlike a leech. You see, the Cxhenc will attach itself to the base of the patient’s skull and in doing so release a chemical—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Boba says. “You may go.”

“Buzz kill,” Fennec mutters at his exit.

“You’re serious? Absolutely not.”

“Don’t you want to know what it does? Could be useful in other cases.”

He thinks it over, she does have a point. She usually does. “We’ll call him,” he decides. “Who’s next?”

“Doctor Shuez Bhilba,” the 8D8 droid introduces, arm out. From the palace steps walks a human female. “Doctor Bhilba holds many degrees from the esteemed Academy of Medicine located in Coruscant. Including human neurological operations and advanced psychologics.”

“Coruscant?” Boba whispers.

“You said to cast a wider net,” Fennec responds.

“Cast wide, not tell the whole galaxy.”

“She knows as much as the rest. Daimyo Fett of Tatooine requires a royal physician. It can’t get worse than a parasitic lobotomy.”

Doctor Bhilba bows, reaching the pair. She wears glasses which slide down the bridge of her nose and a lab coat with a foreign emblem. “Lord Fett,” she says. “It is an honor to meet you. I’ve heard many stories since your come to power.”

“Flattery will get you no where with his lordship,” Fennec scoffs. “Whores are for confidence, jesters for stories. Not doctors.”

“My apologies, I mean no offense. I understand your hesitancy what with my tutelage, however I want to assure I hold no connection to the New Republic or any form of galactic government. My application comes in no way to betray, I promise you. I believe my skills will be of tremendous use.”

“How do you mean?” Boba asks.

“You are Boba Fett,” Bhilba says. “You are a clone, a man who has survived the unlivable, beaten the unbeatable. A man who despite all odds and in mere months establishes himself as a force matched only by Jabba the Hutt with one drastic difference. I’ve seen articles, met with locals. You are in the midst of accomplishing something truly good, truly great. Forgive my saying, but I am shocked you haven’t sought professional psychological aide sooner. It shows your resilience and your keen awareness to be unafraid to ask for help.”

“Hold on,” Fennec says. “Lord Fett does not seek psychological aide. He seeks a physician.”

“Which I too am qualified for, however it does not take even a single doctorate to deduce the true reason for your request of applicants. Great physicians can be found on Tatooine or any world. The reason there has been no hire is a lack of trust in psychology. Bacta heals the body not the brain.”

“She’s good,” Boba mumbles.

“Too good,” Fennec responds. “Doctor Bhilba, do you question Lord Fett’s sanity?”

“Certainly not,” she says. “In fact… I would need clearer consultation, but I classify Lord Fett as being entirely sane. Stressed, anxious slightly, and exhausted, but sane. Am I wrong then in thinking there is perhaps another in need?”

“She is good,” Fennec admits. “Your observations impress the Daimyo.”

“Thank you.”

“This is not to say the imaginary patient does indeed exist.”

“Of course not.”

“Should you however come across a patient with… deep psychological distress, how would you treat them?”

“Deep psychological distress?” She repeats.

“Anxiety, attacks of panic, insomnia, general detachment, paranoia, hallucinations, and being a risk of harm to oneself and others.”

“My,” Doctor Bhilba says. ”And, there is no way for me to meet this… Imaginary patient?”

“Of course not,” Fennec says. “They do not exist.”

“Of course. In any case I would treat them as I would any client. The first few sessions would be spent in simply building trust. Then after assessment I would start medications and general therapy. My goal would be to ensure the patient feel safe above all else. Psychosis can be terrifying, but I’ve treated it many times. There may not always be a cure, but there is always a better.”

“I like you,” Boba says. “I do not like many people.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Should we take you on as the royal physician you will need to relocate permanently,” Fennec says. “And you will be bound to never speak of your work to any being under any circumstance.”

“I understand. I established a very successful practice on my homeworld of Naboo. Leaving would be difficult, but I have an excellent team whom I know will continue to do great things.”

“Naboo?” Boba repeats.

“Yes. I’ve been aide to our queens, common folk, and members of aristocracy since completing my studies.”

“No.”

Doctor Bhilba blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir I—I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“Lord Fett has dismissed you,” Fennec says. “Quite kindly might I add. I will not be. Leave.”

Boba slumps against the throne when the doctor is out of sight. “From now on we stick to calls in the Outer Rim.”

“Perhaps we should take a break, just for a short while. She said so herself, the call has been out for some time now, it’s suspicious you’ve found no one.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m mad.”

“You should. Mad kings rarely go down in splendor. Should the people get even an inkling that you are unfit to rule they will revolt. We’ll stop now and revisit later.”

“After last night I don’t know how much longer we can wait.” He sighs. “Gods help us.”

“Lord Fett,” the 8D8 speaks. “There is still one visitor awaiting your audience. Shall I dismiss them?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I’ll see no one else today. Preparations must be made for Freetown.”

“What are the chances I get an exception?” Down the winding steps comes the Mandalorian Din Djarin, beskar shining as bright as a knights. His head bows, fist to his chest.

To note Boba Fett as being a particular fan of Din Djarin may be a gross exaggeration. He does not like the Mandalorian. He does not like his unpainted beskar and how it shifts in the light. Boba does not like his stubbornness or arrogance. For the past few months Boba has been bound to specifically not like Din. It is his duty as caretaker to not like Din, and he does not.

He does however, like the Mandalorian’s dedication. His oath for a Creed Boba could not care for. His gall in ever showing his beskar helm to any of them again. And how absolutely pitiful he looks right now.

That Boba enjoys very much.

“You’re here,” Fennec says. Boba knows her too well now, and so he knows her attempt to mask surprise.

“Not without reason.”

“And…” Boba says. “What would that be?”

The Mandalorian presents open palms, a shock absorber in each. “I have a delivery.”

---

The palace hangar is a large and desolate thing. Fuel canisters litter half empty and half full, the flooring untiled, windows unheard of. What lighting the room has is limited and dimmed, more so casted in shadow than life.

Really it looks more like Peli’s than Peli’s ever did.

A rather unfortunate guarantee in this exact situation.

“You’re just in time. Thanks for coming so last minute.” Comes as he enters, the owner bent over a speeder bike. A girl crouches at the bike, running her hands over the exposed power cell. She whispers, “Let’s see…” The speeder struggles, wheezing for life. It rumbles on the ground, repulser lifters desperately wanting to ignite. Instead, the light above Din flashes.

“Fuck.” She stands, back muscles stretching under a black shirt. “Whatever. Listen, I did everything you said and I’m telling you the shock absorbers the speeder came with can’t handle the new engine. If I don’t have that double padded K2-R, the second I hit top speeds I’m gonna fly right off this thing.”

For the second time in his life, and the first with discontent, the Mandalorian’s heart flutters.

What. The. Fuck.

“I’m not Peli,” he says, an echo of the past.

The other turns quick, nearly breaking their neck in the process. Suspicions confirmed. They’re more than a girl. They’re the reason Din’s brain malfunctions and now the both of them are staring like they’d just seen a ghost.

Ironic.

She has speeder oil smeared across her cheek, her clothing is worn and stained. Her hair loosely tied back, but too short to stay. Curled bangs escape to the front. Her eyes are wide and bright grey under the light. They sit with overwhelming grief and unending exhaustion.

If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

That’s the problem with only being okay. Din lies to himself more than anyone else. Because while he can say he’s moved on, life catches up and shows him a mirror. It can bring back every memory he locks away, every feeling he convinced himself didn’t matter and it will only mock his reaction.

Because while Din has forgotten everything and never thinks of Lumina once, he’s also builds exceptions. He’s perfectly fine and okay without her until it rains. He’s okay until he walks through trees. He doesn’t care until he reaches for his knife. Until he gets in bed with all his anger and frustrations. He’s doesn’t think of Lumina once unless he sees a flower. He forgets she exists until he looks at the moon and watches the sunrise and is faced with stars.

Those stupid fucking stars.

Din would give anything to never see one again.

And now there’s one right in front of him. Her. Lumina. His flower. His sun. His star. Looking… utterly terrified.

No one moves. No one speaks.

So Din does the only reasonable thing he can think of.

He says, “Hi.”

And Lumina responds with the only reasonable thing she can think of.

“Hi.”

And so they both find that neither of them are very reasonable people and the mutual action does very little to suppress any panic at all. They continue to stare thinking one may simply disappear or the galaxy will self correct and vanish the other itself.

The galaxy does no such thing.

By this point they should have each learned that the galaxy is as kind as a god. That is to say, not at all.

As it turns out Din is still moronic when it comes to planning. The space between their words are longer than he would prefer but he can’t necessarily blame her.

Not this time.

The light above flickers, and neither flinches.

“What brings you?” She asks.

Nothing. Everything.

“I was in the area… Thought I’d pop by. You’re a mechanic now?” His feet feel heavier than normal, trudging. He places the absorbers on the nearest table, their fall sounding like wrenches.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I help Peli in Mos Eisley where I can, take more off days than I do on.” She slides off thick padded gloves. A bandage wraps her right wrist, ending at her knuckles. Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her pants. “Gives me something to do.”

“Do you like it?”

She shrugs. “Beats calculating water tax.” Her weight shifts, sinking an inch deeper. “Where’s your kid?”

“With Peli,” Din answers, ignoring the pang of it all. “I didn’t know if it’d be good for him. Coming down here. He’s good, really good actually, but—”

“I get it. I wouldn’t bring him either.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did. It’s okay.” A fluttered chime sounds, echoing against the walls. “That’s dinner.” Lumina wipes oil off her face with a red rag, staining the fabric. “Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he says, sudden and eager. “Dinner.”

“Yes,” she repeats laughing, though the smile is never full. “Dinner.”

---

Din can’t help but wonder whether the circumstances of dinner is a direct dictation of Boba, or rather a natural fall of events. The dining hall is large and undecorated, a long table in the center. One chair sits at the head, another to its right, two to its left. Servant droids deliver the banquet from the kitchen, but Lumina—now cleaned from earlier—sets the table. Glassware, plates, spoons, forks. Fennec places the knives when she enters. Passing Lumina she says, “I’ll take care of clean up tonight,” and doesn’t accept argument.

Boba enters last, helmet removed and held against his hip. His skin is cleared from last they’ve seen of another. Scaring relatively gone, tan returned. He pays Din no mind, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Instead, the newest Daimyo hugs Lumina by the side and kisses the top of her head. Their hushed conversation is one Din can’t make out. The bulk comes from Boba, Lumina nodding along. She speaks thrice, the second after she looks at Din, the third a simple confirmation of whatever it is Boba says.

Lumina sits first then Boba. Him at the head, her the single chair. Fennec takes the left closest to. Din is stiff taking place next to her, the empty seat given with no setting.

Food is passed between the three, Lumina taking the smallest of servings, Boba the largest, Fennec in the middle. The scene feels too intimate for Din’s intrusion. Too nuclear.

“Adi,” Boba says. “Have you finished your bike?”

“Not yet.” She cuts the same piece of meat over and over, pushing it around. “I will tonight.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I know.”

“You go to Freetown in the morning.”

“I know, Boba. I’ll be there. Are the documents ready?”

“The majordomo approved them this afternoon,” Fennec says. “He compliments your skill.”

“Does he still oppose my proposal for an election?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care for his compliments.” Fennec snorts, Boba shoots her a behave look only a father could master. “I don’t,” she reiterates. “The people need representation and fair council.”

“I agree,” Boba says.

“A new mayor must be selected by those they will run, not us.”

“Adi, I said I agree.”

She slows. “You do?”

“Yes. I do. Fennec has read through your proposal, it’s excellent. The initiative will take time to implement, but your strategy is good.”

Fennec nods, mid bite of a fried porg. “Good job,” she says, mouth full.

Lumina says, “Thank you.”

The table falls into silence again, forks and knives scraping plates, wine pouring into Boba and Fennec’s glasses.

Boba clears his throat. “Din Djarin,” he says. No one misses Lumina’s fork dropping, a loud clink clink clink. “Tell me, how goes the life of the Mand’alor? Fulfilling I hope.”

“I am not Mand’alor,” Din says in his chest. “And I do not plan on becoming.”

“Yet you still carry the Darksaber? Seems counter productive.” He pushes his plate aside, dabbing the corner of his mouth. “Have you given the position any thought before dismissal?”

Din does not answer. He thinks it a growing habit, comfort in the unknown.

“Ad,” Boba says. “I should like the Mand’alor accompany you to Freetown in the morning. It will serve as his first taste of diplomacy. What say you to that?”

She sounds like a child, a quiet, “What?”

“I think it an excellent idea,” Boba continues. “Don’t you agree Mand’alor? Your first taste of politics coming from an expert?”

He wishes he could hesitate. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Ad?” She gives no answer, he tries again. “Lumina?”

Her body startles first, then her mind. She sits up impossibly straight. “Yes, yes of course,” she says at once. In her momentary silence, she looks in a daze.

“Lumina,” Fennec says.

She jumps again, standing her chair knocks over. Watching the floor her hands turn to fists. She mumbles, “Excuse me,” and hurries out.

Din’s motion to stand is waved down by Fennec.

“I do hate when you’re right,” Boba says, sipping wine.

“I always am,” she says.

“You may take a plate to the kitchen to eat in privacy,” Boba says to him. “I will have a room prepared for you when you are finished.”

“You said she was fine,” Din tells Fennec.

“You said you were done with her,” she counters. “I guess we both lied.”

“I should talk to her.”

“You will not,” she snorts. “You’ll go to the kitchen and eat your food like a good little Mandalorian. Then you’ll go to bed, get up, go to Freetown, get that treaty signed, and leave. I will talk to Lumina, and you,” she says to Boba, “will reconsider Doctor Bhilba.”

“The answer is no.”

Fennec stands, grabbing a leg of nuna. She takes a bite, juices drip. “Then find your sister.”

---

Lumina resides in the second largest room of the palace. Her walls are circular, the floor a white marble tile. Her door is atypical, a thick curtain on a steel rod, a carried theme to both her closet and fresher. Her bed is larger than necessary and softer than she knows what to do with. The sheets are perfectly steamed to conform to the shape. She thinks it was meant to be Boba’s but bacta does little to heal bones sore with age.

She can’t open her windows, though there are plenty. A desk is littered with paperwork and ink, a small computer terminal, books on books, open, torn, written in. A potted plant, yet to bloom. A map of the known galaxy, pinned to the wall.

She sits in the center of her room on the floor, legs crossed, one bedside lamp dimmed. She stretches out, breathes, and retracts. The motion repeats several times over until the pain of the pull subsides.

Three knocks come at the limestone outside, one right after another. She’s slow to rise, slower to approach. The curtain retreats to the image of the Mandalorian, tall and not so proud.

He says, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.” Groggy, like he’d just woken up.

She moves aside, an open invitation to which he accepts.

He ends standing where she sat, turning. “It’s nice.” Pointing to a seven-stringed hallikset in the corner. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I didn’t. Boba gave it to me. He says it’s important I have hobbies. I get too caught in my work here, it worries him.” Unsure how to move, Din begins to pace. Looking anywhere feels like an invasion of privacy. “Listen,” Lumina says, sensing the unease. “I want to apologize for earlier. I got overwhelmed, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Fennec talked it over with me, you coming along… and I agree, I—it would be very beneficial for you to come. I can—” she stops short, a deep exhale passing her lips.

Stepping forward is a guttural response from him.

So is her step back.

Lumina takes the moment to recompose, blinking away the oncoming panic. “You’re welcomed to come along if you wish,” she says. A true diplomat in ways, she passes Din in favor of her desk. “I thought it best if you read over the treaty yourself and then posed questions afterwards rather than my explaining it to you. I write better than I speak.” Instead of handing the datapad to Din directly, she places the tablet on the trunk at the edge of her bed between them. “I’ve met with Marshal Vanth twice before, he is kind, mostly agreeable. With luck the deal will be simple. Now, I know taxes and tributes will be an issue but I’ve commodified some numbers and with the elimination of spice our annual capital growth is already going to shrink horribly and we need to make up losses… What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Din asks. “You’re standing here talking about economics like any of this is normal and all I can think about is why didn’t you tell me? I deserve an answer.”

She whispers, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I said I—”

“I know what you said, I’m asking why. What did I do to make you think you couldn’t tell me? That I would see you any less? I already knew so much about you, or I thought I did. I knew how you grew up, I knew your connections, I knew you could get sick and act differently. I knew you weren’t normal. I knew that and I never held any of it against you. Everyone else called you something, everyone else hated you. I didn’t. So why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t,” she replies. “I tried. I tried so many times. Do you think I wanted to betray you? Do you think it was easy for me to lie to you every single day? It was hell. You were so wonderful, even when you were a dick you were a million times better than me. I know that you’re hurt, you have every right to be. But all this anger you’ve had for me for what… four, five months?” She points to herself, jabbing her own chest. “I have had to sit with every day of my life. You always give me shit for leaving but you left! You left! You get to leave, you get to run away and forget. I don’t. So I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to kill Jedi when I was teenager. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t want to ruin the one good thing I’ve had in years.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything—”

She laughs, palms pressed to her eyes groaning. “Gods just shut up! Are you kidding? Grogu scared the shit out of you and he’s a baby. You called him dangerous. You wanted to send him away because you couldn’t handle it. Where does that leave me?”

He hesitates. “We would’ve figured it out.”

“Din, I didn’t think you were actually here until Boba said something. Do you know how many doctors they’ve brought for me? There is no figuring this out, this is just who I am.”

Din is too quiet for either of their comforts. He takes the tablet from the bunk, gives it a once over glance. “You wrote this?”

“I did.”

“I think you need to give yourself more credit. Cause you’re a lot more than you think.”

“Maybe.”

“You used to freak out when you thought someone wasn’t real,” Din says. “Why talk to me?”

She shrugs.

“I missed you. A lot has happened. I wanted someone to talk to. Take your pick. Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

He repeats. “Take your pick.”

---

Tatooine is significantly colder at night, moons high in the sky. Lumina and Din exit the palace with relative ease, Gamorrean guards asleep at their post. She wears a cape with a large hood drooped at her neck. They keep a simple distance, sabers on their hips swinging in tandem.

“You once asked if I knew of the Force,” she says. “Do you remember this?”

He does, so he nods. “I do.”

“What do you know of it?”

Within the helmet he frowns. “It’s…” He searches for the words because in truth he does not know. Not really. The definition given to him by Ahsoka feels too textbook and manufactured. Like it were to be given to hundreds so that no further questions may be asked. “It’s… energy, of life.”

She nods once. “Do you know what that means?”

He does not, and admits such. “No.”

“For as long as sentients have existed,” Lumina says. “The Force has been studied. No one knows what it is, not really. It’s everything, and nothing, and it’s everywhere, but also no where. All at once, all of the time.”

“Right,” Din responds curt. “How does that work?”

“Think of it like the air. You can’t see it, but you know its there and sometimes you can feel it. The Force is like that, except it never ceases to exist. Not in space or water or dirt… really it is all of that, except it’s never tangible either. It just is. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“There are two sides, like a moon. Light and dark. The dark is cold, lonely. It’s an infection that feels like it can never be cured. It’s being trapped in a frozen lake wishing for anything to pull yourself out with but nothing is ever within reach. So you get angry, and you hurt. My father—” she says with far greater ease than ever before. “He held so much hurt for all I knew him. He passed his hurt to me, encouraged I grow my own. I am in the dark, I always have been. A Jedi would call me a Sith. I’m not given a choice to disagree.”

“And the light?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it’s beautiful.”

“So… Moonlight is good?”

“Yeah,” Lumina whispers. “Moonlight is good.”

Lumina takes her lightsaber in her hands, twisting at parts. “This weapon belonged to Ahsoka Tano when she was young. My father trained her before he got sick, and gifted it to me when I came of age. There is a crystal inside which…” She struggles, pulling said crystal out. It’s presented to Din between her thumb and forefinger, a dull red. “Gives the sword its power. We call it kyber. The crystal connects to the Force, we connect to the crystal.”

“Why red?”

“They were blue once, when I got it. My people we… conduct a process called bleeding. This crystal is bled.”

“Ahsoka’s were white.”

“They were,” Lumina confirms. “I don’t know why. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or yours.”

“That’s reassuring,” Din mutters.

“Could mean nothing. The Darksaber is older than the Republic, maybe there were different methods of building back then. Have you tried using it at all?”

“Very little, nothing to count. It’s heavy.”

Lumina reassembles her saber. “Let me see?”

Vertical, the Darksaber ignites, black blade shining. His elbows drop.

“Are you trying to hold it up?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. You focus on its weight, it will only be heavier. Close your eyes… are they closed?”

Truthfully he answers, “Yes.”

“I want you to breathe, slowly like you’re learning. Pay attention to everything else. The temperature, the smell, the sand, the sky. Relax into all of it.”

Din can’t all together describe the sensation. Not with any hint of accuracy anyways. He worries he does it wrong at first, focused too closely on the ‘other’. His feet, his hands, the weight of his helmet. Her. Gradually the oddness settles and all becomes natural. A wind or a flame, a particle of sand in a greater world. Light.

“What do you call this?”

“Meditation. Technically a Jedi practice but… well I find it helpful. How’s the sword feel?”

“Better.”

Sounds crackle again, he sees a red hue flashing from behind his eyelids and visor. Pressure comes from the sword. He pushes back.

“I want you to remember that when you use this sword, you are using energy. It’s your job to direct with intention. Understand that the currents are a part of you. The kyber wants to connect and you should want to allow it. Think of it as liberation, not a hinderance.”

The pressure vanishes, as does the weight.

Din asks about her wrist, Lumina too caught up in rubbing the wrapped bone to pursue conversation. She blames the sprain on an accidental fall the day prior.

He isn’t sure why he still lets her lie, but it becomes a comfort to them both.

“You’ll like Krrasantan,” Lumina tells him. “Even for a Wookie he’s huge. Scary too, but secretly sensitive. When he found out I used to live with Trandoshans he wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”

“Have you heard from any of them since?” Din asks. “The Trandoshans.”

“I’m not allowed to use the comms,” she says, head shaking. “Fennec monitors my calls. I’m can only call her or Boba when they’re not home. She says it’s a security issue, but I know better. I do miss Sully though… Don’t tell BK. His dad and Boba were friends. Went bounty hunting together a lot actually. ”

“Speaking of, I hear you’re officially a Fett.”

Her head ducks. “Who told?”

“Peli.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s true?”

“It is.” She kicks sand, watching the clump blow into the air. “Fennec introduced me as it once before to the old mayor. I had a meeting with him to discuss the spice trade, he said he’d only talk to Fett. Fennec told him I was his kid and since then it stuck. People talk a lot around here, word spreads. I still can’t tell how Boba feels about it.”

“I’d think he’d be welcoming to you claiming his name.”

“Oh he is. You should see how he lights up when he hears Lady Fett get thrown around the palace.” A smile grows on her the same, the first real one he’s seen since arriving. “I think it suits me well. Lumina Fett. It’s my favorite name I’ve ever had.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“He never claims me as his.” Her brightness dims, pace slowing. “He explicitly says he isn’t my father whenever someone says otherwise. Doesn’t explain why either. Fennec says it makes him feel guilty, whatever that means.”

“So… you guys are what exactly?”

“Family,” Lumina says. “We’re family.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Lumina says, their walk to the palace gate cautious in step. “Marshal Dune.”

“How’d you hear?”

To Din’s knowledge word had only been sent to Nevarro by way of Adelphi Ranger, Capitan Carson Teva. The coming and going of Moff Gideon still unknown to the Core, a ‘nonissue’ so to say.

“Boba has access to New Republic channels, not that they know. Remnants from Jabba’s rule, the tech is old but it works. I like to listen when he’s not looking. It’s harder to stay in the loop now that I don’t live in the Core. Boba offered to send something to her family when I told him but…”

“Alderaanian.”

“Yeah. Alderaanaian. I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

They come down the steps into the throne room, empty, unlit. “It is, actually,” Lumina says. “It’s entirely my fault. I failed in killing Ghost, in turn she killed Gideon. She killed your friend. That is my fault, and I am sorry.”

“You’re certain it was her?”

“Who else would have done it? If Gideon were to successfully arrive to the New Republic, who knows what he would have said. What they would have made him say. I’ve already ruined the secret of Inquisitors. The New Republic is a beast in disguise. They wouldn’t rest until he said more. He failed his duty to the Empire, proving himself no longer useful. Killing him was a security measure. I would’ve authorized it myself honestly.”

Din continues to follow Lumina back to her room. He realizes he shouldn’t. Their farewells and goodnights should end now. The night has been long, the morning will be longer.

He does not think himself a man of sound mind.

Lumina pulls back her curtain, leaning in the entryway. “She loved him,” she says, suddenly. “She loved Gideon and she killed him. We grew up together, she spent years looking for me and the moment I turn out to be different, I’m no one.” She takes a breath, leaning her head back. “Gideon was the first person to show her any kind of love, empathy, desire. Whatever you want to call it, that is what he provided her. And she wanted him just the same, and now he is dead, she is missing, I am here. I worry I may have underestimated her.”

“You think she’ll come back?”

“Oh I know she will,” Lumina chuckles, soulless. “The question is when. How. That I’m still working out.”

“I would argue it’s not your problem anymore.”

She walks inside, casually imploring a use of the Force to hang her cloak. “I was the first to come back from the dead. I am still the rightful heir, and I’ve yet to abdicate. I should like to dissolve my inheritance before others are reborn as well. When rooms are crowded, navigation becomes trickier. If the downfall of my father’s empire is not my problem, it is no one’s.”

---

Lumina sits at the top of her bed, Din across on the edge of the mattress. With the Force, she closes her curtain door, hooking it’s fabric latch. “They took out my door a couple days ago.” She calls it a ‘safety issue’, and doesn’t elaborate.

She falls onto her back, he looks up. Unnoticed until now, her painted ceiling. A dark galactic blue, hand drawn thin white lines connecting various dots. Nothing is labeled or really makes logical sense. The image isn’t one Din would recognize.

“Finding a hobby meant I had to try everything at least once,” Lumina says.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Descriptive.”

“Shut up. It’s a map.”

“To?”

“No clue. I would see it in my dreams a lot, visions I guess. Could be nothing.”

It’s too obvious he struggles with the words. “Do your visions… usually mean nothing?”

She snorts. “My visions usually don’t happen. Not on their own anyways. I’m more of a historian than a psychic.” She sits up, preemptive to his declaration of confusion. “Psychics see the future, I see the past. I touch an object, I see it’s history. Some things more vivid than others. Sight, touch, smell, sound, everything. It’s why hotel beds make me uncomfortable. I’m good at controlling it, but some things just set me off.”

“Your gloves…” he says, a sudden realization.

“Like you said, dirt talks to me,” she chuckles. “And everything else.”

“The clones, on Nevarro. They’re what made you sick.”

“The last time something that bad happened was when I grabbed my dad’s lightsaber as a kid. I was out for a week straight. When memories are sourced from the dark side I go into shock. On Nevarro it was the clones, in Arkanis it was the school. I can’t handle it, so I drop.”

“Shit,” Din swears. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

She ignores this. “I can access memory too,” she says, like the notion has only just to come to her. “In sentients. I can go inside anyones mind and do whatever I want to their consciousness. With Doctor Pershing I… I let him relive memories of his mother. I used to do it with Grogu all the time, let him remember his life before.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not when the other agrees.” He can tell she isn’t totally there, mind wandering. “ It’s totally painless, I’ve been told euphoric.”

“And when they don’t agree?”

“Unbearable. It’s how I would information out of Rebels, Senators. I just—go in. It’s what I did to Gideon…”

“What?”

“It’s what I did to Gideon,” she says again, growing confidence. “I went inside his mind. I took out every memory he had of me. Everything just—I made it all disappear so he couldn’t turn me in. Din, I—I have an idea. And you can say no but… I think I can help you.”

“Help me?” He repeats.

“I can feel your emotions. I know you’re not totally comfortable right now, with me. I understand. You’d rather not be here, you’d rather not see me. I’ve done… irreparable damage to you, your friends, your kid. You never wanted to see me again and now you’re here because Boba and Fennec made you think that’s what you want, right? What if… What if I—What if I made you forget me?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I can access your memories,” Lumina says. “I can alter your memories. The topic is specific enough, I can go in and make it so you’re totally free from me. You’ll never have to think about me again because I won’t exist. Every single thing, as far back as you want to go, can be gone. Everything. You won’t even remember you showed me your face.”

That gets his attention.

“You’d still remember,” he says.

She rubs her wrist. “That can be remedied.”

“What about everything else? I wouldn’t know any of it?”

“If it didn’t involve me, you would. If it did… you have two options. Total erasure, or your memory just gets spotted. You go to Trask, not Arkanis. You lose your ship, the kid, but I’m not there. I’m not saved. You might feel like you’re forgetting something but you’ll never know what. You can leave all of this behind you. Forever.”

Before his conscious can command otherwise, the Mandalorian removes his helmet, dropping the beskar onto the marble floor. Were it a simpler material, it would shatter.

In some ways he’d be better off if it did.

Her shock is the same as the first time, if not greater.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says. “I need you to look at me when I say this. I am never letting you do anything to control my mind again. Never. Because out of every single thing you’ve done to me, that is the worst. I thought I was going insane. You made me hate you. You made me say a million things I don’t believe, things I still don’t believe.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought—”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You don’t think. If you did you would know better. Why the hell would I be here? Why do you think I’m still here? I know you’re not familiar with free will, but I am capable of making my own choices. This is my choice. You are my choice. You have been for a very long time and you’re the only one who can’t see it.”

“I don’t understand. You said—you said we were done before I did anything to you. You said that. You acted on that. I’ve respected that, I always have. I’m trying to help you and—and you’re mad at me.”

“How can I not be mad?”

“How can you? Every good thing I’ve done has been for you. This is a good thing. This is good. I’m letting you let me go. I need you to let me go so I can let you go. I waited for so long for you to change your mind. All I wanted was for you to change your mind and come back. You didn’t. You stayed away and I never blamed you. I’m never going to have a good life. I’m never going to escape this. You can. You have. I want to. If you let me go, if you say you’re finished, I can be too. I want to let you go. I want to know you’re doing good. I can if I know that I’m not hurting you anymore. So stop telling me I’m wrong. I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m asking.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”

“Because it is impossible, Lumina,” Din snaps, whispered. “You would have to erase every memory I’ve ever had. You would have to kill me. There is not a point of this galaxy that I can go to be free of you. I see you everywhere I am. Every dream. Every sun. Every star. I see you. I want you. I have spent months trying to do nothing but forget you and I cannot. You have put a hunger in me that I cannot feed in your absence. I starve without you. I’ve broken my Creed for you. I’ve yet to face my people due to my own fear. You have made my life a hell worse than any sin I could commit on my own. But that is a hell I would walk a million times over if it meant having you for just a moment. You have never insulted me more than to say I would want otherwise when I want you. I have always wanted you.”

Lumina says nothing at first, until she says everything.

“Do you still love me?”

He does not respond, bringing their lips together.

---

“You’re so handsome,” Lumina whispers. She cradles the side of his face, he keeps her steady on his lap. It’s all hands and mouth, attempts at closeness. His armor is off, placed delicately on the ground. Her shirt hrown somewhere unknown, so is his. He unbuttons her pants but they’ve yet to be removed. “I wanted to tell you then. I couldn’t believe it. I always had an idea, hard not to. But… Stars you’re beautiful Din.”

He tells her to shut up, mumbled into her neck and in-between kisses. He buries himself there, nose pressed to her shoulder at the start of her scar.

“You are,” she says. “I was right. The galaxy wouldn’t know what to do with itself if it got to see you like this all the time.”

He bites her. “Quit.” His chest is too tight, too full. He’d be better off if she killed him now, save the embarrassment.

“How do you say that? Gar mesh’la?”

Din shoves his hand down the front of Lumina’s pants, two fingers going directly inside. Her gasp is silenced, his mouth swallowing the sound, his tongue pushing inside. His fingers hook in a practiced way, pumping in and out.

“I said shut up,” he whispers. “Boba walks in I’m dead.”

“Don’t—Do not talk about Boba right—now.”

There’s pride in Din, knowing she’s just as responsive as she was. Knowing he’s the cause.

He pulls out, the sound making his head spin. Selfishly, he takes time to inspect the mess, a long quiet groan. “Go turn off the lights.”

Her left hand raises above their heads, with a twirl of her wrist the power cuts.

“Gods,” Din mutters. He takes a hold of Lumina’s waist, turning to lay her down. He yanks her pants over the swell of her ass. “This whole fucking time…”

“Lights are new,” she tells him, moving up to assist in the removal. “Can’t control it. Better at turning off. Not good at turning anything on worth shit.”

He grabs her hand, placing it over the warm swell between his legs. He squeezes rough over the fabric saying, “You are.”

She squeaks, “Oh.”

“There she is,” Din whispers. He guides her palm, rubbing slow strokes. “There’s my shy girl.” His other hand unbuttons his pants, shoving them down, pulling himself out. “Used to think it was the other way. Only pretended to be all sweet. ’S the other way isn’t it? You just act scary. Don’t know better.”

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I am scary.”

“Mm yeah…. terrifying.”

“Fuck you.”

He cups her jaw. “I’m trying.” He guides her mouth to his cock, which she accepts graciously. “My pretty girl,” he says, breathless. “Oh my Sarad.”

That gets her, a high whine around Din. Her hand snakes between her legs, rubbing at her clit. Din pulls her off as soon as he notices, which isn’t for some time in his current state.

“No,” he says. “I take care of you. Me.”

She lets him.

Like there was ever an argument not to.

Din lays her down again, mouth following to kiss. He’s never been one to like the taste of himself, but from her mouth it’s all so sweet. His fingers find their way inside again.

“Have you…” he tries to ask, brushing their noses together.

“No,” she answers. “No one. Tried once. Got drunk. Sad. Punched him. Threw up.”

“How far—”

“He kissed me. That’s it. Hated it. Called me a bitch.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Please,” she moans. Though it could just be so he’d hurry along.

“Hold on baby. Hold on almost.”

“You?” She asks. “Did you?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Tried.”

“Tried?”

“Went to Canto. Moon. She looked like you, wanted… needed someone like you.”

She pulls away, holding his jaw. “What happened?”

“A lot. Accent was wrong,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Called me Mando. Wasn’t you. She got naked, I got pissed, left.”

“You left her naked?” Lumina asks.

“Yeah.”

“Did you pay?”

Now he moves back. “What?”

“Did you pay her? You know… for her services? She got naked, she deserves to be paid.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m very funny.”

“You’re not—” He does laugh though, quiet. “Fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” she mimics. “Hurry up.”

Din kisses her once. “Brat.”

She laughs. “Can’t change everything.”

They don’t take long, after Din enters. She’s sweet as ever, taking without issue. Things slow to a crawl, pressed to the hilt, they become acutely aware of what exactly it is they’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Din asks, whispered. He moves at a snail’s pace, gentle. Focused more on grinding and getting her comfortable than any real fucking.

If this can be called something as simple as fucking.

He thinks not.

“Yeah… Yeah just, thinking.”

“I know. Me too.” Lumina rubs at his stubble, thumb circling the one spot hair never seems to grow. He turns, kissing her palm. “I missed you,” he whispers. “Feels like I shouldn’t.”

“We’re fucked up,” she tells him. “’S why we work.”

Din thrusts after that, slow and cautious movements soon turning fast, needy. He fucks into her like its his dying day. She takes it all and begs for more.

Lumina releases first, without warning. He feels her tightening, her squirms, hears his name pass from her lips.

“Din.”

He comes after, her sound the key to nirvana. His mind fogs, muscles weaken, filling her. Pulling out, he collapses besides her, panting.

She looks over.

“I still love you,” she says, catching her breath. “That part was never a lie.”

Fuck.

---

The air is sweet, comforting when Lumina wakes. She faces the Mandalorian’s bare back, running her fingers over every scar. She could stare at him for the rest of eternity and at last know peace.

The suns have yet to rise, the room is dark. She is the most herself she has felt in ages.

This is halcyon remembered.

Gods she could die now and find no bitterness in what awaits.

Lumina smiles, she can’t believe she remembers how to do that, leaning her head on him. Whatever this is, it is real. He is real. It is good. It is just, it is right.

Daybreak cannot come soon enough. The stars have been fun but she aches for the suns warmth.

Lumina kisses his shoulder, settling into her pillow. She’ll try to sleep again, fluttering nerves aside. The sooner to sleep the sooner she’ll wake again. He will be here, they will go to the Marshal together and he will see how she’s grown. He will see her maturity, her politics, her good will.

He’ll be so impressed he’ll retrieve the Child from Peli Motto. They’ll all be together again.

She runs her hands through her hair, the shortened length still not familiar. She should clean it up before departure, Fennec would do it for her.

Lumina decides she is being silly, those are plans for later, this is now. She should enjoy right now. And she does.

Until that is, Din begins to stir.

She doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wait for him. She’s been too forward in every regard, the calls will be his for now. She assumes that is the correct choice to make.

So Lumina continues to lay, just as she has been. She does not move, she does not speak. She only watches.

She watches Din’s shoulders move, she watches him sigh. He does not sound particularly pleased, but he never has enjoyed waking in the middle of the night.

He sits up, moving his feet off the bed. Then, he stands. He dresses. Undergarments, pants, top. Piece by piece his armor reattaches, each a subtle click.

He hasn’t looked at her once.

Lumina isn’t smiling, she doesn’t know what to do.

So she does nothing.

Din sits again, the bed caving in. He pulls out his boots from under the bed, shoving them on. He picks up his helmet and rubs at a scuff.

He puts it on.

Hiss. Click.

He leaves.

Lumina sits up, pulling the sheets to cover her exposure.

Maybe he’s gone to the kitchen, thirsty. He’ll come back, she’s sure of it.

He will.

She’ll wait until he does.

An hour passes, then half the next.

Her room is still dark, her stomach sick. Sunlight may have been too hasty a request. She would settle for the moon and silver hues.

She wants nothing but moonlight.

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CHAPTER 38: Losing Dogs

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Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @hello-th3r3

#din djarin x original character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin fanfiction #Din Djarin fanfic #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x oc #din djarin x original female character #Mandalorian fanfic #mando x oc #mando x ofc #starlight

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duckybarnes1917 · 2 years ago

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Your Eyes Outshine The Town...Chapter 6

Bucky Barnes x Black Female Reader

18+ ONLY

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

Summary: You and Bucky are back in a happy place. Just when you think things are calming down some surprise guests show up at Bucky's apartment.

Warnings: SMUT. Dom Bucky.

10 Days Before Christmas

You had been sure the Tracksuit Mafia would come after you again. But nothing happened. As you lay in bed, half-asleep and lazily kissing Bucky, you thought you might make it through Christmas without incident after all.

You pushed yourself closer to his warm body, the spicy scent of his body wash increasing your neediness. “Why are you up so early?” You mumbled sleepily.

Bucky grabbed your thigh and lifted your leg over his hip. “Needed you,” he breathed against your lips.

“I’m yours.”

Bucky’s hand gently caressed your breast, his thumb slowly rolling over your hardened nipple. His thrusts were slow and lazy and precisely what you both needed. Your quiet gasps and moans filled the room.

“So perfect, sweetheart.” Bucky moved his hand quickly down your waist, gripping your ass tightly as his thrusts sped up. “Was dreaming about you, tried not to wake you up but—” Bucky lost his breath as you fluttered around him. “—you’re so damn soft and warm.”

You slipped your hand between your bodies and circled your clit until you squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure.

“Fuck, why don’t you wake me up like this every morning?” You sighed happily, snuggling deeper under the comforter and closer to Bucky’s side.

“Can we just stay like this all day?” Bucky wrapped his arm tightly around you.

Before you could reply, there was a knock on the front door and Sam’s unmistakable voice calling out.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bucky groaned, pulling the comforter up over your heads.

“What is happening?” You tried to squirm free from Bucky’s hold, but he tightened his arms around you.

“He thinks he’s staying here; I told him no. Ignore him—I don’t wanna get up.”

“Bucky—come on, we can lay in bed anytime. Let me up.” You pushed his shoulder playfully until he relented.

“Fuck–” Bucky huffed as you left his side, and the pounding on the front door continued. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“What part of no you can not stay here did you not understand?” Bucky grumbled, his head already pounding as Yelena and Sam excitedly entered the apartment.

“It’s only for a couple nights, just until after the musical. Come on, man, please?” Sam sat his bags down and went to hug you.

“Yeah, Buck, let them stay.” You pouted at him as you hugged Yelena.

“Fine,” Bucky mumbled. “But I don’t know where you’re going to sleep.”

“No worries, I brought an air mattress. We got it all figured out.”

“Sam, you can’t sleep on an air mattress; you’re our guest! You can sleep in the bedroom. Bucky and I can sleep on the air mattress. Right, Buck?”

Sam and you chuckled as Bucky rolled his eyes and mumbled his complaints under his breath.

7 Days Before Christmas

Bucky had enjoyed Sam’s and Yelena’s company in his own way. Laughing along with them until he was drained and had to sneak away for some peace. Eventually, you would come find him, nestled in the bedroom with a book in his hands, and drag him back to the living room. At first, he didn’t quite understand why he had to be there; he rarely participated in the conversation—but then he realized you just wanted his presence. You wanted to sit in his lap and play with his hair and watch him smile. And how could he possibly deny you that?

But now–as he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you dressing for the day–he wanted them gone.

“Bucky, I can feel you staring at my ass. We can’t.”

“Can we just kick them out then?”

“You know I want to as much as you, but no. We can last a few more days without sex, right?”

Bucky scoffed, and you giggled.

You stopped getting ready, dressed in just your robe as you went to sit next to him. “So, if you and Sam are going out today, don’t you think I should give you my Christmas list now?”

Bucky pulled you onto his lap and looked at you sternly. “Have you been nice, doll?”

You bit back a laugh and played along, looking up at him through your thick lashes. “Oh no, I’ve been very, very naughty.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky ran his fingertips lightly over your thigh, moving your thin robe out of the way. “How naughty?”

You licked your lips as he looked down on you, his eyes smoldering. “Well, my boyfriend likes to get me into trouble.”

“Oh, he does?”

You nodded, watching Bucky’s jaw clench just slightly.

I should stop this, but—

You shifted your hips, chills shooting up your spine when you felt how hard Bucky was already.

It’s too late.

Bucky gripped your hips, holding you still. “What were you saying about that boyfriend, sweetheart?” Bucky teased.

You swallowed hard as his hand slipped under your robe. His fingers toyed with the thin string around your hips, pulling it up, down, rubbing it between his fingers, but never attempting to pull the fabric down your thighs like you wanted.

“I can’t resist him,” you whispered, moving one hand up to play with his hair. “He has the sweetest puppy dog eyes, and he makes me want to cuddle with him on a cold day, but then he takes his shirt off, and he has all these big muscles, and I just want to drop to my knees and swallow his big fat co—"

You giggled as Bucky kissed you needily. “I wasn’t done.”

“I got the picture,” Bucky huffed against your lips as he frantically undid his belt with one hand while his other blindly searched for the condoms.

“Lucky for you,” Bucky pushed your robe apart and roughly shoved his throbbing cock into you. “Naughty girls get the best presents.” His gravelly whisper was both a promise and a threat in your ear.

“Fuck!” You yelped at the sudden pain of him stretching you out. “Fucking hell—Bucky move,” you begged, your eyes wide with lust.

Bucky covered your mouth with his hand, flipped you onto your back, pulled out, and slammed back in; his only focus was on getting you off.

“Be quiet for me, okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded and whimpered as he took his hand off your mouth. He lifted your hips and drilled the blunt tip of his cock into your sweet spot over and over again until you couldn’t contain the shout of his name.

Bucky slapped your thigh and shushed you; you looked like you were on the verge of tears. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut as he tried not to come; he wanted to give you as many as possible first—but as you let out a particularly pornographic moan and begged him to fill you up, he settled on just giving you one for the moment.

“Sweetheart—’m not—not gonna last. Need ya to come for me,” Bucky groaned and quickly circled your clit with his thumb.

He was barely holding himself back as your thighs started to shake around his waist and your pussy clenched him like a vice as you came.

“Fuck—so tight, can’t even move, sweetheart—" Bucky buried his face in your neck as you rode out your high on his throbbing dick.

As you came down and found your voice, you grabbed Bucky’s hair and lifted him up to meet your eyes. “Wanna feel you fill me up, baby,” you whispered hoarsely.

Bucky almost came right then—it wasn’t going to take him long. He pulled out of you and flipped you over. He left the condom on, knowing you were speaking figuratively. You arched your back for him, and he groaned as he started to slide back into your tight heat.

“Hey!” Yelena’s voice yelled from behind your closed bedroom door as she banged her fist on the wood. “Are you done?! We’re trying to eat breakfast out here!”

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered as you quickly sat up and made yourself somewhat decent.

“Go away! We’re busy!” Bucky pulled you back toward him as you tried to slide off the bed. “No, no, I’m not done with you,” he whispered to you.

“Buck—" you looked toward the door again as Yelena banged on it. “She’s not gonna go away.”

“Sam won’t let me go back to the kitchen until you stop. Plus, we’ve got to go anyway. We’re late. If you don’t open the door, I’ll just let myself in.”

Bucky growled in annoyance as you slid off the bed and went to the door. You opened it just enough for Yelena to see your face.

“I’m very close to kicking you both out, so please go away, and I’ll get dressed.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Hurry up.”

You closed the door and, to Bucky’s disappointment, went to the closet instead of back to the bed.

“Doll, just real quick—" Bucky pressed up against you as you pulled a pair of pants on. “I’ll be fast—I was so close anyway.”

You pulled a shirt over your head and turned around in his arms. “I’m sorry, Buck. But she’s right; if we don’t get to the salon on time—I had to pull a lot of strings to get us appointments so last minute.” You pecked him on the lips and went to the bathroom to put your hair up.

“Doll,” Bucky whined.

“I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay?”

Bucky sighed as he pulled his boxers back on. “Yeah, okay,” he said grumpily, joining you in the bathroom. “I’ll take care of this on my own for now.”

“No.” You quickly turned and slipped your hand into his boxers, stroking him tight and fast.

Bucky groaned and backed you up against the sink, his hands gripping the counter tightly. It’s not what he wanted, but in his current state, he would take anything he could get.

“No, you leave this for me,” you lifted his chin to make him look at you. “I’ll take care of it later.” You kissed his cheek and pulled your hand away.

All Bucky could do was whine and pout at you; his cock absolutely ached; he had almost come in your hand just then—you were being cruel.

“You gonna be a good boy?” You cooed.

“God—ye—yes,” Bucky stuttered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the counter even tighter.

You kissed him with a pleased smile on your face. “See you later, baby.”

Bucky watched you leave, his cock throbbing in frustration. As soon as you were out of the room, he stuffed his hand down his pants and pumped himself quickly—he could still smell your pussy, taste your lips—he was so close to coming over his fist. He groaned as he pulled his hand away at the last second, his cock throbbing uselessly in the confines of his boxers.

He took a cold shower, but his super-soldier dick still stood stiff and proud, leaking precum everywhere. He felt a little calmer, though, and got dressed before finding his phone and texting you.

“When will you be back?”

You sent a laughing emoji. “I left 15 mins ago.”

Bucky sent back a sad face. “Miss u, love u. Have fun.”

“Love you. Behave.”

Bucky sighed and left the room before he started touching himself again; he had to find a distraction.

Sam was on his way out when Bucky came into the kitchen.

“Hey man, sorry to ditch you, but Torres called, and I’m gonna go meet him. I’ll be back tonight.”

“Oh, what’s going on? Should I go with you?”

“Nah, your girl would kill me. I know you’re supposed to be on vacation right now. See ya.”

Bucky groaned after Sam shut the door–he could have used that distraction.

“What do you think–should I go with extra long or extra-extra long?”

“First option,” you answered without looking in Yelena’s direction.

“Great, very helpful.” Yelena pointed to the shortest nail tip available, smiling quickly at her nail tech before turning back to you. “Who are you looking for?”

“Who says I’m looking for anyone?” You turned away from the window with a shrug.

“Fine, I’ll go ask the guy in the tacky tracksuit across the street you’ve been staring at since we got here. You’re not cheating, are you? Because, him? Really?”

“Shut up,” you hissed. “It’s nothing.”

“So they’re not following you then? You did notice the other five, right?”

“Of course, I noticed the other five.” You glanced out the window again.

Shit, how didn’t I catch them before?

Yelena laughed, endlessly amused at your attempts to lie to her. “This better not mess up my manicure. Look, she’s painting little snowmen on them. It’s cute, right?”

“Adorable,” you sighed, glancing down at the plain black polish your tech was applying. “Listen, you can’t say a word to Bucky or Sam. Okay?”

“Oh good, I was worried I was the only one you were lying to.”

You rolled your eyes, swallowing your annoyance. “What do you know about the Tracksuit Mafia?” You asked Yelena in Russian.

“Not you too,” Yelena scoffed. “I don’t know much–I spoke to Barton.”

“Wait, what? When?”

“The night before we showed up at your place. We stayed with him.”

“How was that?”

Yelena let out a long, frustrated breath. “Too much to get into now. I just know he’s after them too. A faction of them seem to be working for some woman he’s never heard of–no name, but she’s German. Blonde. Deep pockets. Barton says she seems like an amateur.”

“Zemo called me,” you held your hand up to stop Yelena from interrupting. “The Power Broker is behind this, but I can’t think of any German women that want me dead. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“So, they’re trying to kill you, and you’re not telling your super-soldier boyfriend because…?”

“He deserves to have a nice Christmas–he deserves the fucking world, and I’m not going to put this on his shoulders!” You whisper-shouted, switching back to English. “Now, are you gonna help me fight these assholes or not?”

“I wanted to get my toes done,” Yelena grumbled, reluctantly following you to the register.

Don't forget to reblog! 😉

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

Taglist: @delaber @mannien @raindrcpsangel @cjand10

#bucky barnes smut #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #sub!bucky #dom!bucky #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x black female reader #tfatws #sam wilson #yelena boleva #bucky barnes fluff

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mlobsters · 11 months ago

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supernatural s13e12 devil's bargain (w. eugenie ross-leming, brad buckner)

laughing that the recap shows asmodeus impersonating cas on the phone, i have such a blind spot for this plotline because i aggressively don't care - i had forgotten they did that too (i was just guessing when i mentioned it prev ep), and sometimes i think about the process for picking clips to include in the recap. like, these dumbasses forgot about the asmo!cas phone call, better remind them (it's me hi i'm the dumbass it's me)

CAS Yes. And the archangel, Michael, again the Apocalypse World version, wants to use the spell to invade and conquer our world. That’s why I met with Lucifer. DEAN So…You met … Cas, I specifically told you not to do anything stupid. CAS Well, he was weak and given the context of our imminent annihilation it didn’t seem stupid. Lucifer wanted to help fight Michael.

what's stupid is dean telling cas not to do anything stupid. i would snap at my kids for that and tell them they're being rude and mean. so i'm glad cas snapped at him, slightly, and sounded mad

SAM Oh yeah, Lucifer wanted to help, sure. CAS If he were lying I’d have known it. He was, he was scared. But Asmodeus showed up before we could finish our conversation and when we finally managed to escape Lucifer did try to kill me. DEAN Oh so much for helping.

feel like they're trying to reestablish lucifer being scary. something about being sarcastic but like, he tortured our sam for an unknown but probably very long time, they have every right to be bitchy and sarcastic at the least towards cas on news of him sorta working with lucifer for a minute

ketch and asmodeus shenanigans *eyes glaze over* ditto for lucifer having to be human

DEAN Cas, I’m sorry. All that time you were with Asmodeus, I should have known it wasn’t you. CAS No, he’s a shapeshifter. Besides, I was the one who got myself captured. DEAN Yeah, but if Sam and I knew you know we would have– CAS Yeah, I know you would have tried another long shot. I’m fine, Dean. DEAN You sure about that?

my dig at the soulless plotline, but how long did dean (AND BOBBY) go with soulless!sam before realizing something was seriously fucked up with him (i would say an UNREALISTICALLY FAR TOO LONG TIME) but if we're accepting that to be in-character, then surely brief phone calls you can't expect dean to have realized it wasn't cas -_- so apologize for making the don't do anything stupid comment instead.

ah so this is the episode with danneel in it (oh, just looked it up, didn't realize it was more than one) i knew she was an angel but didn't know when. haven't seen anything she's in, only know of her vaguely due to jackles. was very much not expecting a ... very young sounding voice. her smile reminds me a bit of kate siegel

SISTER JO Don’t be afraid. You’re whole again.

oh lord the ableism. how do you think that feels to people that have facial differences? ugh. i know that's super common and pervasive but ugh.

girlboss angel, okay, why not

mmmk. little distorted demon growl in the mix of that whole scene

DEAN Alright, I say we take dickbag back to the bunker and find out what he knows, put a bullet in him and burn his bones and flush his ashes. CAS I like that plan.

how about since you know 100% this guy isn't going to break under torture, and that torture info is bad and useless anyway - just kill him and be done with it. i know, shows gotta do this, but i'm so over everything.

SISTER JO We don’t have to rush. We can do this slowly.

really wasn't expecting the kinky angel action a la sam and ruby. i feel the logistics of the angel grace recharge that's supposedly happening here don't quite add up :p but weird sex scene with jackles's wife. that just keeps going. i get it.

KETCH I know you think I’m a monster. DEAN Because you are. KETCH But even I must draw the line somewhere. And letting Lucifer free upon the earth? Well, as it turns out, that’s my line. Not to mention the whole Michael situation. I know you want to kill me. I know you can’t forgive me but if you think about it I’m the lesser of, well, at least three evils. All I ask is that you wait to murder me until after I prove useful. Hmm?

lesser of at least three evils was funny, i'll give them that. still heavy sigh over all this

DONATELLO (screaming) It's like pulling friggin' teeth!! (calmly) I’m working my way through the ingredients. SAM Right. Okay. At least we know the spell we need is in there and we have a plan.

so does that mean sam is all hunkydory now that they have a plan? no more "in a dark place" sam? insert eyeroll

speaking of eyerolls. did they get a proof of concept from him showing he can actually make angels?

LUCIFER Hail to the king, baby.

mhm. preferred when ash said it :p

it's on the damned tip of my tongue who he's reminding of and driving me up the wall. but the cackle i cackled. ARCHANGEL BLADE. okay. why not. couldn't even come up with some random cool sounding backstory having thing like the first blade. nah. just like the angel blade, but upgraded.

gabriel? sure, why not. not like i can keep track if was supposed to be still dead or whatever. s13-15 like one long reunion tour?

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 13x13 #eugenie ross-leming #brad buckner

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sanddusted-wisteria · 1 year ago

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A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 14: Hypnagogia

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Also on AO3

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As soon as the builder got to the roof, blanket and rubber sheet in tow, they could already see that Qi was looking pretty rough. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, almost looking like a second pair of glasses. He was slouched over his legs, arms crossed on his knees, the only support keeping him from wobbling and collapsing where he sat. His lips were drawn into a thin line, face taut from his sheer determination to stay awake. The dullness in his eyes betrayed his true bleariness.

“Are you…feeling okay?” the builder asked, afraid that forcing him to answer would finally drain the last of his body’s energy.

“I’ll be fine. I calculated that the effects of the caffeine from my last cup of tea should last for another 2 hours or so.”

The builder put their free hand on their hip. “…When was the last time you slept?”

“Approximately 50 hours ago.”

“What.”

“I was busy finishing the diagram you requested at the expedited rate we agreed on,” he said nonchalantly. “The extra data disks helped immensely, but I needed to forego some sleep in order for my mind to make breakthroughs at a faster rate. It’s ready, by the way. Should be in your mailbox in the morning.”

The builder felt a stone sink to their stomach. “W-When you said you could get it done two days faster…this was what you meant?!”

“Of course. How else did you think I could logically get a diagram done faster?”

They glanced away. “I…I didn’t think you’d be killing yourself to do it…”

“Well, I’m happy to report that I am still very much alive. You needn’t worry about me.”

“I should!” they shouted. “Pulling this many all-nighters isn’t good, Qi!”

They suddenly remembered the large roll under their arm. With a flick of their wrists, they unfurled both layers at once right next to Qi, causing him to flinch. With the blanket spread out, they flopped down. “Come on, lie down,” they said.

“Is this some underhanded tactic to make me sleep?” he grumbled, but laid down regardless.

“Mostly to prevent you from rolling off the roof, but if you sleep, you sleep, I guess.”

Qi only let out an indistinct mumble, and took his glasses off to rub at his puffy eyes.

“Y’know, if you’re all done with my diagram…why the hell are you here? You can sleep now, right?”

“I only got the diagram done a few hours ago. If I went to sleep, there would be no way for me to inform you that I’d be missing tonight. You would make the considerable walk over here and be confounded, then forced to make the walk back. That’s at least a 50-minute effort. Better that I be here to avoid the confusion.”

The builder let out a loud sigh. “Not this again… Why do you always do this to yourself?” they said, hoping the sharpness in their voice came off more pleading than accusatory. “You skip eating, you skip sleeping, you drink so much caffeine that it’s honestly a miracle that you’re still alive…and all just to stargaze or add even more work to your load or something. And why—” Their breath hitched as they felt a twist in their heart. “—why do you only do it when I’m involved somehow…?”

The instant the words left their mouth, the twist in their heart turned to ice, and they clamped their lips shut. Light, what a terrible thing for them to say. Were they really selfish enough to pretend like Qi was doing all of this just for their sake? Like they were the sole reason he would willingly put his well-being on the line? Were the ridiculous feelings building inside them for the past several weeks finally starting to rot their rationality away?

Qi sighed, somehow sounding even more exhausted than he looked. “Time.”

They frowned. “Huh?”

Qi lazily turned his eyes upward. “Think about it. Both of us are professionals that are critical to the well-being of society and work at the highest level. Time is our most precious resource. It determines how much we’re able to get done. How productive we can be. And yet…I take time away from you for all sorts of…frivolous matters.”

The builder’s brow only furrowed deeper. “You think…you’re wasting my time?”

“Yes,” Qi muttered. “Not only these nights, but also the food and the tea…and everything else. You invest so much of your time into these…trivialities. The least I can do in exchange is invest my own time for your sake.”

The builder felt their stomach sink. “‘Trivialities…’ Qi, I wanted to do those things for you. We don’t need to make it so…transactional.” They swallowed. “I…I care about you, you know? I don’t need you to ‘pay’ me every time I do something nice.”

Qi’s gaze flickered behind them. “But the—”

“It’s not like the telescope anymore,” they sighed. “That was months ago. I’ve already forgiven you for that. We’re in a different place now. Metaphorically.”

Qi was silent. His tired eyes cast downward.

The builder huffed. “Qi. Look at me. Listen.”

His gaze—dark within and without—met theirs again. They ignored the flutter in their chest and pressed on.

“You are not wasting my time. You never have. You never will.”

Qi’s gaze intensified as much as he could make it through the weariness. “You mean it?”

The builder nodded, a faint smile on their lips. “Of course.”

Qi kept steady for a moment, scrutinizing them. Then he relaxed, everything from eyes to shoulders to arms releasing their tension all at once. “That…is reassuring,” he murmured. Using what was definitely the last of his energy, he turned back to the stars. “I wish I could convey…just how much.” His voice trailed off into nothingness.

A minute passed. Or maybe twenty. The builder stared blankly up at the sky.

After some time soaking in the silence, they turned their head over towards Qi, only to be met with closed eyes. His head was tilted slack. Slow, steady breaths passed his slightly-parted lips.

They couldn’t help but smile softly at the peaceful look on his face. Finally.

They got up and gently folded their half of the blanket over Qi, making sure he’d be nice and cozy. They could go without it tonight.

Their gaze lingered a little longer, running over Qi’s sleeping form, illuminated by the soft moonlight. Their heart beat harder and faster, thudding in their eardrums. A part of them desperately urged them to move, growing more insistent by the second. But it wasn’t pushing them towards home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last bastion of resistance in their mind keeping them rooted in place crumbled away.

They leaned down, careful not to jostle him, and gently pressed their lips to his forehead.

“Good night, Qi,” they whispered as they pulled away. And then they left, heart racing and cheeks warm.

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Another day of hard work, as usual.

Qi was at his workbench, carefully sketching out the diagram for his latest design: a retractable set of treaded wheels for the in-progress Gungam Mobile Suit Mark III. If his calculations were correct (and they were), the Suit would be able to gain 200% extra mobility on more fluid sand surfaces without compromising the Suit’s iconic, stylish look.

As he finished writing down the materials list, the front door of the research center opened. Looking over, he saw the builder enter, bright and energetic as always. Qi felt his mood lighten. Excellent! The builder would be able to flawlessly construct the parts in a timely manner.

He thought he would move to pick up the diagram to show them, but his body simply turned towards them, his arms relaxed and slightly open.

The builder didn’t say a word, the smile on their face never faltering. They drew towards him and wrapped their arms tight around his waist. He instinctively pulled them in, savoring the warmth and the closeness. They laughed as he leaned deeper into their touch, the lovely sound reverberating through his entire being. He felt his face pull into a smile. It was always so easy to smile around the builder, wasn’t it? His talented, wonderful, and—

Wait, what?!

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Qi woke up to the sun beating down on his face. It was uncomfortably warm. At any other time, Qi would be asking himself how on earth he ended up falling asleep on the roof, wrapped up in the builder’s blanket, but right now he was still trying to parse what he’d seen just a moment ago. Or rather “seen,” he supposed. Dreams only simulate visual stimuli.

He unrolled himself from the blanket and slipped his glasses back on, relieved to feel the fresh air hit his body. He made no move to sit up, staring flat on his back up at the now bright blue sky. His mind was whirring. Never before had he had a dream quite like that. He could dream pretty vividly sometimes, but they all had fairly consistent elements. He ran through the list of significant ones from this dream in his head, determined to pick it apart.

The part where he was working: A given.

He was always working, after all.

Drawing up a diagram that he hasn’t thought up yet: Fairly frequent.

In fact, this was how he got a lot of his diagram ideas.

People showing up: Rare.

He hardly interacted with most people, and that was reflected in his dreams. Usually people who appear in his dreams have recently bothered him for one reason or another.

The builder showing up: Very rare.

Occasionally they appear, asking questions about a diagram or one of the many scientific concepts they have yet to understand. Perhaps a product of his mind attempting to work through a complex problem.

The builder…embracing him: ???

The builder never did anything so physically intimate with him before. They respected his personal space, which he appreciated.

Qi reciprocating the embrace: ???????

What on Earth would have driven him to do such a thing? Surely he would have protested, at least. But why…why did he enjoy it so much in the dream? Why did the builder elicit such a euphoric response in his dream-self? And for Science’s sake, why was his heart rate speeding up now that he was thinking about it?!

Qi smacked his forehead. Ugh. What the hell was happening to him? This was just the latest in the series of weird bodily sensations that started about a month or two ago, but somehow exponentially more severe than the rest. His heart rate was up without any obvious stress or physical effort, his mind was spinning faster than a centrifuge, and he wasn’t sure if the heat in his cheeks was coming from the sun or within. A new research idea: Figure out the cause behind these unusual physiological effects. Priority 1, since he could already tell that this was going to interfere with his other work.

He dropped his arm back onto the blanket. Oh, right. Their blanket. He should probably give it back. But seeing the builder now was…a bad idea. Why? Because it would interfere with his…newly found research topic. Of course.

He rolled the blanket and the rubber sheet up into a bundle. He could leave it near the door, so they could pick it up the next time they came over. And they would come over again. He knew that for a fact. The thought sent a shock through somewhere deep in his torso. He placed a hand over where it appeared to be.

Hm. He really needed to get to the bottom of this.

Qi went downstairs and opened his door. He quickly pulled out a spare chair, set the rolled-up blanket down on top, then turned around and headed back out.

Time to pay Dr. Fang a visit. If he was coming down with some kind of novel disease, he would know.

As he made his way down the street, a tiny part of him couldn't help but wonder: would it be better if this was a disease, or if it wasn’t?

His stomach churned at the thought. Because if it wasn’t…he was a little afraid of what it could truly be.

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#my time at sandrock #mtas fanfic #shady's fics #brr #hypnagogia: the state of consciousness in between wakefulness and sleep

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antonia-gergely · 1 year ago

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Current artist research - Katy Moran (b. 1975, England)

When I first saw Katy Moran's work, I got excited. I wanted to experience the physicality of working with paint that is so evident in her many pieces. Mixing abstraction and figuration is currently a big source of interest for me, and Moran's erring on the side of abstraction is something I really enjoy, every time I look at her work.

It's spacious, open and interpretable, but it is also enjoyable as a simple object for those who prefer not to read too heavily into abstract artworks.

More Me I, 2022

FB Beverly, 2023

A short bio:

Katy Moran lives and works in Hertfordshire. She was born in Manchester in 1975 and completed an MA Fine Art in painting at the Royal College of Art, London in 2005. Moran’s work has been the subject of solo exhibitions at Parasol Unit for Contemporary Art, London (2015); the Douglas Hyde Gallery, Dublin (2013); Wexner Center for the Arts, Columbus (2010); Tate St. Ives (2009); and Middlesbrough Institute of Modern Art, UK (2008). [source: https://www.speronewestwater.com/artists/katy-moran#tab:slideshow]

Interview: Katy Moran in Conversation with Ziba Ardalan, Parasol Unit Foundation for Contemporary Art. 2015. Video, 15'04, Youtube.

'It's really useful for me to see the works together'

'To see the journey and progression' - after ten years of her work. I like the idea of seeing art practice as a journey, not as something that develops more than before, just changes over time. I do hope to be more fulfilled with my work as time goes on, but it's nice to see all work as one journey, rather than 'old' and 'new' simply.

'Once I had done the work in one sitting, and I saw a representational image in the work.. I felt that it was almost there but not completely, I found it hard to go back into the work and add paint marks because to me, then, those paint marks felt very conscious and very contrived, and very much a different energy to the energy of the rest of the painting.' Combatted this by signing her work, adding something to the work without changing the energy. Also added collage, to add a different element, again without adding contrived painted marks. (as in Primal Cat) Attaches collage with blue-tack to be able to remove pieces of collage when it gets too far away from her intended energy.

Primal Cat, 2011.

'This fact that you just don't have allegiance to anything.' (interviewer) 'Where does this kind of feeling come from? ... "Here I am, I do what I want", and that's what makes your work so ... memorable'.

This is something I'd like to achieve more of. Painting with intention, but without overthought. The uncertainty, the subconscious, all playing together visually, while having some themes to jump off from. (currently, pomegranate - see prev. post)

The idea of not restricting paint. A constant process of rejecting, turning the canvas, forgetting whatever representational image is seen. 'What interested me in the last painting may the same as the next, but equally it might have moved on and become different.' A freedom and allowing the self to explore, shift, change.

Not getting hung up on wanting to bring one single figurative element to completion, the will and intention to do so can 'kill the potential for other opportunities, further ideas, things that the conscious mind couldn't plan for.'

Ripping things up, cutting them, turning them around, the figurative image that consumes you can be removed, freeing the artist to the world of abstraction and mark-making. This is a midpoint I want to find - not letting the representation overtake the effectiveness of the marks, but still exploring themes and subjects of interest.

#art research #painting #katy moran #abstraction #paint as object

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 133

Whew. I finally get a chance two queue chapters and add to my buffer! Yayyy me! Kind of long author’s note, feel free to skip to the readmore.

Seriously, though, I managed to only work 5ish hours of OT this week instead of the 25/wk I’ve been clocking the last several weeks. It’s been a ride, for sure. Thank you for bearing with me through this frankly-insane time.

@baelpenrose and I have had more chances to write together in real-time, which considering both our schedules and living 3 timezones apart has been a delightful miracle and I will never take it for granted ever again.

@anotherusrname and @the-raven-fae have been very encouraging of my efforts to work less, which - it turns out - has been a huge concern for oh, my entire family... Sorry I worried you all. :( I’m trying to do better! Swear I have vacations coming up!

@charlylimph-blog has just been... such a support. She literally texts me every night at 10pm my time to tell me to take my most important medications. Sainted Eldritch Fae cannot be appreciated enough, and somehow I have two.

Final shout outs go to @snickerfritz, @just-a-pastel-bunny, and @eldritchmoths for love-bombing my inbox recently. Seeing anyone speed-run through this story lets me know that I’m not wasting my time.

Don’t forget to check out the podcast!! AhhhhH! I want to scream in delight each time a new episode is released!

Focus, I told myself, breath coming in short pants. It was easier said than done, with sweat dripping into my eyes while I constantly tried to pay attention to where I was safe to move to without putting myself in the line of fire. Seeing the incoming hit, I ducked and pivoted to my left -

“Oof,” I grunted as I took a blow to the ribs. I managed not to be winded or fall, but I was pretty sure something just broke.

A voice taunted me. “You have got to get better at keeping your guard up.”

“I am,” I panted. “My ribs are a lot tougher than my face.” Refusing to be distracted, I jumped back from the next hit and started circling wide.

“And I hit harder than your sister.”

Yeah, well broken ribs are for bitches, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a broken rib before. I was fine. Out of reflex more than forethought, I pivoted my leg and bent my knee to absorb the shock of the next hit - this one to the thigh. Grabbing the offending leg, I held tight around the calf with one arm before shoving upwards on the heel with the other, dropping him onto his back.

Unfortunately, the kick to the chin I got as a result also landed me on my back.

Like an exceedingly annoying ninja, Arthur sprang to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up off the floor. “You should have expected that.”

I scowled and rubbed my jaw. “Why am I sparring with you again?”

“Because Tyche’s busy and I’m the only other person willing to actually hit you hard enough to teach you anything.”

Rolling my neck, I tried to relieve some of the tension that was setting in. “It’s not like aliens are going to know Terran hand-to-hand combat,” I pointed out as I took my stance for the next round. This time, his movement was a lot more fluid, which told me he was going for grappling instead of striking.

The kick I almost took to the face told me that his stance was also a lie.

There wasn’t any time for trash-talking, this time around. I could barely find time to breathe as he aggressively attacked, although I barely managed to avoid him actually touching me. I wasn’t an idiot - if he got a hold of me, I would be waking up from a forced nap with a sore throat. However, after what felt like an eternity and was probably only about five minutes, the odds of keeping it up were dwindling. My heart was pounding in my ears, my lungs were searing with the effort of trying to keep up with it, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I had enough stamina to outlast him. The man ran a 5k a day as a warm up. Even more humiliating, I had spent the entire time running and dodging without even a chance to mount a counter to any of it.

Finally, I was spent. Every time I tried to raise my hands, they shook so badly that there was no chance of landing a hit, even if I had the opportunity. My legs were trembling, my knees burned, and the broken rib felt like someone was twisting a hot blade into my side. Feeling defeated, I dropped my hands and squared my feet up. The blow to the solar plexus was unsurprising, as was the chokehold he put me in as soon as I doubled over. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time this had happened while sparring with him - or even with Tyche.

I was so frustrated. No matter how much I sparred with either of them, I felt like I hadn’t gained any ground. The whole point to training so hard was to prove that I actually could defend myself. Councilor or not, the thought that I was going to be shoved in the back of the Archives in the event of an attack was insulting. Not only that, it was even more insulting than the time I had round-the-clock guards. No one else had to put up with this, why did I?

“Tap out, Sophia,” he warned me. He wasn’t squeezing yet, but he had his arm locked tightly enough that I couldn’t get my head out. When I silently refused, he sighed and applied pressure, pissing me off even more.

I’m not helpless, I growled at myself. The anger at myself and the frustration with the situation flooded my mind, and I started pulling against the hold with my legs.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grunted as he leaned the opposite direction. I may not have had his stamina, but I could also leg-press nearly five-hundred pounds. He could let go, or lean back, no other options.

Spots were floating in front of my eyes when I felt his posture change, and as soon as I felt it, both my arms swung up. Assuming I was going to hit his face, he leaned back even further…

Right into the path of my cupped hands, which hit his ears hard enough to bruise both my hands.

“Ow, FUCK!” he shouted, the pain of his ruptured ear drums distracting him just enough that I was able to pull my head free.

As soon as I stood, he reached up to one of his ears, only to pull his hand away and see blood. “Son of a - “ he stopped when he realized what happened. “Huh. That… that is a pretty neat trick.”

Oh, just you wait, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, as soon as he tried to shift his weight for another assault, he stumbled. Trying to compensate, he made it even worse and ended up falling flat on his back. Dropping his head to the mat in defeat, he splayed his limbs out to try to gain some sense of equilibrium. “Oh that is cool,” he muttered, obviously for my benefit since he couldn’t exactly hear himself.

I managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the corridor as the medical transport arrived - there was no way I was going to try to walk him to a medbay.�� Once his eardrums were restored - along with his internal balance - Arthur stood and stared me down. “That was a dirty trick, Sophia.” Without warning, I was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. “I am so proud of you. Do that, a lot of it.”

“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

He released me, stepping back. “Right. The rib.”

I tried to wave him off. “It’s just a broken rib. I’ll be fine.”

“Medbay.” He gestured around the room. “Stop being stubborn.”

“You’re overreacting - “

“If you trip and fall, which you will, you can puncture a lung.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“It’s been broken all of ten minutes. Medbay. Now.”

I glared at him. “If you think this is the first broken rib I’ve had, you’re insane. It’s not even the fiftieth.”

“Stop reminding me that I can’t go back to Earth and kill someone who is hopefully dead anyway. You made me go to the medbay for some broken teeth after the fight with Jokul. Also, with your luck it’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself by breathing, and I am not going to be the one who’s next up on Tyche’s shit list. Go. Medbay. Now.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but was cut off by swearing and Arthur literally just picking me up and dropping me in the closest berth. With exactly zero shame, he pinned me down by my shoulders and hips while one of Noah’s avatars held me down from the other side and scanned, then healed, my broken rib - both of them, it turns out. Finally, they both let go of me. “Can I leave now?” I asked petulantly.

“Only if you tell me the eardrum trick so I can figure out how to use it on other species.”

Sliding off the berth and to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair. “Easy. You just cup your hands so there aren’t any cracks between your fingers, like this.” I demonstrated. “And then try to clap your hands through someone’s head, right over the ears. Force of the air ruptures the ear drums, and the trauma reaction kills their spatial sense and balance.” When he tilted his head at the simplicity of it, I shrugged. “Women’s self-defense classes.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Speaking of women and self-defense, we have got to get you more in the habit of striking and blocking with your legs. Pretty sure you’d kick like a horse if you tried.”

“If I kick you, I’ll break something.”

“Your legs are a lot tougher than you think - “

“I meant something on you,” I clarified, staring at the ground.

I didn’t look up, but I could hear the savage grin in his voice at what he said next. “Oh, we have got to try this.” When my head snapped up, sure enough, he was smiling. “If you can land a kick on me, I won’t even be mad if you break something. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You want me to test it on someone else?” That wasn’t exactly a better option.

He rolled his eyes. “Maverick literally does calibrations for a living. Pretty sure he’s got something that measures impact force. Then we do the math from there.”

“I feel like I’m on an episode of MythBusters,” I grumbled as we headed out of the Medbay and back towards my office.

“I know!” he agreed enthusiastically.

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#the miys #found family #aliens #apocalypse #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #hfy #self defense #science fiction #sci fi #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

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reddogcollar · 3 years ago

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Gretchen

And a distinct, helpless feeling.

First/Prev/Next

Gretchen rode into Brackenholme, a couple days ahead of schedule. She'd managed to free herself of her duties in Hedgemoor early, and decided to travel ahead of the real heat.

In a half circle behind her, were the Harriers. A fraction of them, at least.

Most of the Harriers who'd fought for her during the war had returned to the lives they'd had before, farmers and blacksmiths, and the like. Nearly none of them wanted to pursue the life of a soldier after being thrust into it.

The name stuck, though.

Of those few who'd remained, Trent was among them. He'd insisted on coming along to Brackenholme.

They both knew he'd be better spent in Hedgemoor, and that he'd be expected to stay. And traveling with him, even with companions, felt daunting, after everything.

Though, it'd be cruel of her to deny him the chance to see his brother after so long, and downright insulting to insinuate he wouldn't be able to make the trip because of his condition.

Despite said condition, he'd seemed to fair well.

Everyone pretended not to notice his obvious discomfort, getting off his horse as they arrived in Brackenholme. She paid special attention to her cane, needlessly inspecting it of any damage that may have happened on the ride.

If was well made, and entirely too sturdy to sustain any notable damage. She scrutinized it thoroughly though, until Trent came up beside her.

It was probably hard on his knees, if she had to guess, which he'd commented on before.

The war and everything Lucas and his Wyldwolves, may they all rot, did to him had put tremendous strain on his joints. It frustrated her to no end that everything that could be done for him already had been.

His health was as good as it was going to get.

Putting the matter aside, as there truly wasn't anything she could do, especially now, she handed off her horse to one of the Harriers and walked to one of the lifts, as quickly as she could without dropping her cane and breaking into a run.

Trent followed, not bothering to try and squash down his obvious excitement. It was clear to anyone who looked at him he was there for a visit, and barely considered himself to be on duty.

She stepped into one of the Great Oaks lifts, Trent just a step behind her, and ran her hand through her hair as it lurched upwards. She knew there was no reason to, but she felt apprehensive.

As if the letters she'd received had been false, and there were strangers waiting at the top to tell her her loved ones were already dead.

After everything, it was hard to believe they'd survived.

She sighed, gripping her hair in a fist and putting most of her weight on her cane, and got a reassuring look from Trent. Before he could say anything, the lift came to a stop and she had to straighten and smooth out her hair before stepping out.

Forcing herself to keep to a brisk walk, she went through the halls with Trent beside her, just a half step behind, nodding at those she passed until she entered the main hall, where all the apprehension dissipated instantly.

There was Drew, looking troubled and staring out a window. Farther back in the room, Bergan stood talking with an advisor about something she could not hear.

Lady Rainer was elsewhere.

They came up behind Drew and Gretchen tapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts and causing him to flinch and turn around.

A grin split his face the second he laid eyes on them.

"Gretchen, Trent!" He briefly hugged each of them in turn, "You're here ahead of schedule, aren't you?"

"After freeing myself up, I could think of no reason to delay." She smiled, "Staying in Brackenholme has always been quite relaxing. How've you been?"

"Troubled, truth be told." He said, dropping his smile and glancing out the window, as if he were about to be lost in thought again, before waving it away, "But lets not worry about such things for now, its great to see you two. How've you been?"

She nodded, respecting his privacy no matter how she'd like to pry. It troubled her to think a friend of hers was suffering and there was, yet again, nothing she could do.

"I'm glad to see you too. I've honestly been feeling better than I have since before everything. Things are finally starting to feel solid again."

It was Drew's turn to nod. He was no stranger to the instability of war, either.

"And you, Trent?" He asked, turning to his brother, "How's Hedgemoor treating you?"

The brothers talked, briefly comparing their living arrangements to what they'd had on the Cold Coast before growing solemn and changing the subject, while she noticed Bergan coming over.

Not wanting Drew and Trent to be interrupted, they'd had very little time to talk face to face, even after the war, she met him halfway.

"Gretchen, my dear!" He pulled her into a bear hug, aptly enough, "Tell me, how've you and Hedgemoor faired since your last letter?"

"Thing's seem to be getting better by the day, Uncle. After Krupha's occupation in Hedgemoor, I feared none of the people would truly be able to rest until they'd all been replaced by a new generation. As for me, I've no troubles that I could burden you with." She smiled at him.

Of course, she had troubles, but that didn't mean she had the need to burden anyone with them but herself.

He nodded, leaving one of his hands on her shoulder.

"I'm glad to know you're finally coming to peace, as well as your city. What of Redmire?" He asked, as most developments had been so recent she hadn't had time to write of them.

"Redmire is being governed by a cousin of Count Fripp's, Brenn rest his soul, now that the bulk of his work in Bray is taken care of. Everyone who'd been displaced has returned, and you can barely tell what happened there. I only need to take care of one city now."

It'd felt like her duty, Hector being her cousin and the only remaining boar. He probably wouldn't want to be a Baron even if he could, anyways.

"Though, of course, that's also not a permanent arrangement. Its merely a favor on behalf of his departed cousin. Between the two of us, though, we'll have to find a suitable replacement before the stress of running two cities becomes too much for him as well." She explained, even now feeling guilty for putting what should be her duty onto an old man.

More so, it pained her that it was her duty in the first place, and not her cousin's to take care of. While being a Baron may not be his ideal, it'd mean he wasn't imprisoned, at least.

"No more of this political talk, though," She rushed on, quickly changing the subject, "How are you, Uncle?"

"I'm afraid how I am would be deeply intertwined with political talk, no matter what," He chuckled, "But I suppose I'm as fine as I can be. Busy, with this new celebration, that may well become annual, but its good to have a change of pace every now and again, eh?"

"And how goes all this preparation?"

"As smoothly as it could. Though I suppose that's helped by there being no strict guideline as to how things should go yet." His smile was barely visible through his beard.

She wasn't sure he'd ever been without it.

"If there's anything I could assist with, you know I will." She offered, then after his thanks, excused herself and left the Great Oak entirely.

She understood the concept behind celebrating their victory, and how it may boost the citizens morale, but she couldn't separate the concept from pointless slaughter.

Everyday that passed brought them nearer to when the war was won, and it made her feel ill. The reason she'd come to Brackenholme wasn't to celebrate, but to surround herself with as many people as possible, fearing what come when she was alone.

The Cats of Bast left an undeniable mark on all in Lyssia, not least on her.

She walked to clear her head, having no designation in mind, simply focusing on the rhythm of her footsteps and cane on cobble paths.

The celebration would mean remembering Whitley's death, sacrificing herself to save Trent, Cape Gala, and Lucas, in all his wretchedness.

To think she'd once looked forward to being married to him...

She walked that bit faster, focusing on the rhythm and nothing else until she found herself at the Garrison Tree.

Looking for anything to break her from her reverie, she went up to see Hector. It'd be nice to finally speak with him, with such scant replies he'd had to any letters she'd sent.

She was stopped dead by the guard stationed outside his room, though.

"I apologize, my lady, but I'm under orders to not let anyone see the Boarlord. He's been classified a danger to himself and others." He explained, tipping his head in a sign of respect.

She glared, finding that to be the most absurd thing she'd ever heard. What was more absurd, was that the orders would have had to have come from Drew.

"If he's a danger to himself, does locking him up alone really make sense?" She argued, crossing her arms and refusing to go back down.

"It does if he's a danger to others."

"Have you SEEN that boy?! There's no way he's a danger!" She said, quickly losing her patience with the guard, though she knew he was just following his orders.

"Tell that to Queen Amelie!" The guard exclaimed, becoming invested in the argument. It became clear he held some sort of resentment toward Hector.

Gretchen rolled her eyes, scoffing.

"She practically fell on his knife, it hardly counts as an example!"

"He raised a city of the dead! Where your cousin died, might I add!" The guard waved one of his hands about, gesturing as he spoke and nearly knocking against the door he stood in front of.

"It was Lucas who killed Whitley, and you'd do well to remember that!" She practically shouted at him, standing up straighter and becoming red in the face with anger. She wouldn't have Lucas's misdeeds attributed to her cousin.

"Besides, Hector was possessed the entire time. He can't be blamed for Icegarden." She added, regaining her composure to the best of her ability.

"He tricked the White Bears out of their city and took it over with the Ugri!"

"Well he didn't kill anyone to do it! He's hardly dangerous, and especially not to me, of all people." She said, to no avail.

The guard wouldn't budge, which was a comfort to a small part of her. At least if no one was allowed in, he'd be safe in there.

But loneliness clearly didn't agree with him, and he hardly needed to be protected from her.

She argued with the guard until her legs grew sore, and she started leaning on her cane more noticeably.

The guard sighed, standing up straighter and putting on a passive look.

"You're not seeing him and that's final, my lady. Those are my orders and I will not go back on them. You'd do well to go enjoy the rest of your day, instead of spending it arguing with me."

She bit the inside of her cheek, glaring at the guard. It was clear he wouldn't be swayed by any amount of arguing, and she didn't fancy trying to bribe him.

Furious, she left the Garrison Tree in search of Drew.

She found him just as he was coming off one of Great Oak's lifts, catching him unawares and grabbing him by the wrist.

"We need to talk, Wolf."

He looked surprised, not only by her tone but what she'd called him. Though it was leagues above "mutt", she'd reserved titles such as that for strangers.

She pulled him aside, where people were less likely to be disturbed by the impending argument, before going off on him.

"What in the world could've gotten into you, Ferran, to not only let Hector be confined to a cell in the first place, but now for me to find you've ordered your soldiers not to let him be seen, calling him a danger that he hardly presents?!" She demanded, keeping her voice low.

If she were to shout at him, everyone outside would hear.

This only made his surprised look appear more dramatic, muddled by confusion and a small amount of offence.

"Gretchen, that order was made by Bergan, just a couple of days ago! There's nothing I can do about it, short of trying to convince him otherwise, which I've been trying to do whenever I get the chance." He explained, quick to redirect her anger.

"Why in Brenn's name would he do that?!" She huffed, twisting her cane and driving it into the dirt.

Drew hesitated, as if conflicted, before clasping his hands.

"It'd be best if Hector told you." He answered, refusing to answer in any useful way.

"Well I can't if I'm not allowed to see him."

He was quiet for a moment, looking at the Garrison tree, craning his head back to see the top.

"Well, I climbed the tree last night." He supplied, looking back at Gretchen.

She turned to look up at the Garrison tree, rubbing her thumb on the smooth wood of her cane.

She could go for periods of time without it, but it was never long before the pain became impossible to ignore. She'd done the injury no favors in Icegarden, and the strain had undone a good portion of the healing it'd gone through prior.

She didn't regret a thing.

"I don't think that'd work for me." She said finally, looking back at Drew. She may be able to walk a distance but she had no desire to test her limits climbing up and down a Great Oak.

"Yeah." He nodded, tapping the White Fist's pointer against its thumb.

The clicking was the only sound between them for a moment, before the White Fist crunched, Drew holding it in a fist with a smile on his face.

"I may be able to help you though, come." He walked off in the direction of the Garrison Tree, not waiting. He stopped at a bench alongside the cobble path, a short ways away from the Tree, and had her sit down and wait.

He went into the Garrison Tree, and she was to wait either for the guard or Drew to come out, depending on if he could be convincing.

A minute passed, then another, and another.

After the fifth, she saw the guard leaving the Garrison Tree, seeming pleased with himself.

She waited another ten minutes before no one was in sight, and got up, walking as if she had nowhere to be and was just enjoying a stroll, before darting into the Garrison Tree the moment she neared it.

Outside Hector's door stood Drew, standing guard.

She smiled, thankful for his help, and slipped into the cell.

Hector sat a table with a book in front of him, looking at her with an owlish expression, as if he hadn't expected her.

"Hello, cousin." She quickly closed the distance, briefly touching his shoulder in greeting instead of hugging him. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Gretchen! Hi!" He smiled awkwardly, slapping the book shut and pushing it away from him. "This is rather unexpected!"

"I apologize for that, but unexpected was the only way I'd get to see you, it seems." She sat down, and asked, "What happened with Bergan?"

He grew as stiff as the covers on his books, and looked uncomfortable.

"Nothing important, really." He said, obviously not wanting to talk about the subject.

"Hector, it absolutely is important! Why have I been barred from seeing you?" She asked, refusing to ignore what was happening. She couldn't do anything if she couldn't understand.

"You really needn't worry about me, I'm fine. I'll get by." He insisted, glancing around the room. After everything, it seemed he still had trouble with eye contact.

"Of course I need to worry about you! You're my cousin and now you're being isolated. What kind of family would I be if I did nothing?"

"You'd be much happier family if you simply didn't concern yourself with it! I've enough books to keep me entertained should I be isolated, it won't kill me." He insisted, wrapping his good arm around his chest in an imitation of crossing them.

"Books do not substitute for a conversation, and if you're smart you'd know isolation isn't good for you no matter how books you've got!" She said, thumping her cane against the floor for emphasis despite being seated.

"I want to help you, but I can't if I don't know the full extent of the problem." She said, losing her argumentative tone for a more concerned one.

Hector stayed quiet, looking solemn.

"I can't tell you." He said quietly, looking down at the table top.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I do!" He quickly looked up, before appearing ashamed of himself. "I simply fear you wouldn't trust me."

They both flinched when they heard Drew knock on the door, softly three times.

That was her cue to leave, lest they run into someone on the way out and get caught.

She sighed, standing.

"I'll be back, cousin. And I expect to find out what happened. I'll help you no matter what." She put her hand on his shoulder again, lingering there while he gave his short goodbye.

With no excuse to stay and risk getting caught, she pulled herself away.

She spent the rest of the evening in Bergan's hall, puzzling out Hector's situation and what she could do. There had to be something, she refused to helplessly stand by.

It was there she finally bumped into Lady Rainer.

"Hello, Gretchen," She greeted her, smiling warmly, "I'm sorry I missed you when I arrived."

"It's no trouble." Gretchen waved it away, lost in thought and only half listening.

"Is something on your mind?" Rainer frowned. "You seem distracted."

She was quiet for a moment, considering whether or not Rainer would be able to help her. The Duchess had always been more reasonable than her husband, surely this matter was no different.

"You know what Bergan is doing to Hector, yes?"

Rainer's expression dropped, becoming saddened as she nodded.

"Aye."

"And it's a horrible thing to do, to isolate him!"

"It is." She nodded again, "I've talked to him about it, but he has the final say when it comes to serious crime. And he can be as stubborn as a goat."

"Hector is barely a criminal." Gretchen straightened, prepared to get into another argument.

"Gretchen," Lady Rainer started slowly, taking time to pick her words carefully, "I care for him too but he did seize Icegarden, nearly starve out your uncle, and kill the queen. These things shouldn't be overlooked."

"He was sick in the head! He shouldn't be vilified for being ill!" Gretchen argued, refusing to see her cousin mistreated.

"Of course he shouldn't. But it doesn't excuse the harm he caused. He can be helped without us disregarding his mistakes, which would do more hard than good." She said, still taking time to choose her words.

Years of debating with Bergan had forced her to hone the skill of convincing people she was right.

Gretchen deflated, becoming tired and sullen instead of angry.

"I have very little family left, and I cannot lose him, neither to death or Bergan disallowing me from speaking to him." She said, her voice coming out flat.

"I know. I haven't stopped trying to make him be more reasonable, and I don't intent to." Lady Rainer assured her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

It made her feel that much less helpless.

"Thank you."

#ajaonxlmlamkwxm this shouldn't have taken so long <3 #I simply. am unmedicated #but then I got fed up w having a wip aksnksnkx #and now I'm exhausted<3 #and nothing makes sense so this! may be senseless #goodnight for 100 years #wereworld

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baekhypnotized · 4 years ago

Text

☆— [four]

summary: Baekhyun is just a man who doesn’t believe in romance as much as Byul, who is trying to give herself to him. But day by day, he will soon realize that her fleeting actions are breaking down his cold-hearted brick wall, no matter if it takes her a million years.

warning(s): -

word count: 4.1k+

author’s note: please let me know what you guys think about this chapter!! if you would want to be tagged for next update, do tell me!! enjoy reading :)

tag list: @iloveagain @xlxbaekhyuneex @catboyseni

<<[prev] || [next]]>>

As promised, I come to the cafe early to pass the keys to Senior Hana. I offer to help her with the opening procedure which includes setting up the coffee machine and displaying desserts, so it would be easier for my other colleagues to start their work in the morning. Ever since last night, Baekhyun hasn’t replied to my text, up until now. I’m just hoping he wouldn’t forget our discussion that we had agreed on last night because I don’t want to screw any of my plans for today.

I make myself a serving of chicken sandwich and a cup of latte for breakfast while waiting for him. At least I can kill time before he arrives. Having done preparing my breakfast, I bring the tray and sit at the table by the window, at his usual spot. I devour the sandwich while watching the customers enter the cafe once Senior Hana opens the cafe for business. They must be the type of people who needs caffeine in order to start their day.

My phone rings, signalling a new notification. I put down my sandwich and grab the device. Finally, it’s a text from Baekhyun.

[Baekhyun]: I just woke up from my sleep. Am I late?

[Byul]: No you’re not. It’s 10:10 in the morning and you still have time.

[Byul]: Don’t rush yourself because I can wait for you though.

[Baekhyun]: Nah, I hate making a woman wait for me so I’ll be there soon.

[Byul]: Drive safe, Baekhyun.

[Byul]: I don’t want to meet you only with one hand.

[Baekhyun]: Haha, funny. Anyway, good morning.

[Byul]: Good morning :)

A wide smile is plastered across my face after replying to his texts. His replies are always so cute to me. I lock my phone and put it on the table before continuing to munch my sandwich and enjoying my hot latte. I love how today’s morning is peaceful with only a few people walking pass by the cafe. I’m also quite grateful that the class is cancelled.

I bet Soomin is still sleeping soundly on her bed as I don’t know any of her plans today. She might go out for shopping with Sehun or prefer to stay at home and watch Netflix. The differences between us are pretty visible. Soomin was born into a wealthy family, whereas I came from a humble background. My parents were divorced and my dad just went missing after the separation. My mom, on the other hand, decided to remarry. Even though Soomin and I came from different backgrounds, I’m still grateful that we are friends, because more often than not, we complete each other with our opposite personalities.

Suddenly, I get startled by a few knocks on the window that I accidentally smudge the sandwich across my cheek, leaving a streak of mayonnaise. I turn my head towards the cause of my surprise and is met with Baekhyun, the man is giggling to himself watching my funny reaction. I roll my eyes and pick up tissue to wipe the smudge off as he enters the cafe and joins me.

"Sorry I’m late,” Baekhyun apologies and I shake my head, telling him it’s fine as my mouth is full with the sandwich. He realises that I’m busy eating my sandwich. It makes him chuckle.

I quickly swallow the food in my mouth and ask him, “Have you had your breakfast?”

"My breakfast is coffee,” he answers and I nod my head. Once I finish eating my sandwich, I grab my cup of latte and sip it slowly, feeling uncomfortable with the sight of Baekhyun watching me.

I pull away from the cup, “Why? Is there any problem?” I ask.

"I want a cup of latte that you make,” he says. I scoff after hearing his request.

"Really, Byun Baekhyun? All the latte tastes the same!”

"But not yours,” Baekhyun grins widely, showing his white teeth. I sigh in surrender and stand up from my seat. He passes the money to me and I roll my eyes at him, causing him to chuckle. Heading back to the counter, I key in his order into the system and prepare his latte only in a few minutes. I use my skills to draw an angry emoji at his latte as a sign of revenge. As I head back to the table, Baekhyun has his legs crossed while he’s busy scrolling his phone.

I place the cup in front of me before settling down in my seat. “Baekhyun, your latte is there,” I inform him but he does not move any inches. I release a scoff while taking out my laptop from my bag. I don’t even know why he seems surprised to see that I’m back from making his latte.

"Yeay!” He beams. “Thank you, Hanbyul,” Baekhyun continues as he displays a sly grin to me before lifting the cup from the saucer plate and sips it.

I ignore him this time, rolling my eyes to the back of my head. Without wasting any time, I turn on my laptop for the discussion, expecting Baekhyun might need some time before he is done with his breakfast.

"Do you bring your laptop? Or any notebook to jot down?” I ask him and he replies with a nod. He finishes up his latte and begins to prepare himself for our first discussion by taking out his laptop.

After we reassure ourselves ready to begin the discussion, both of us starts by reading the statement and question given by our lecturer. Baekhyun looks smart when he shares his opinions regarding this project. I suddenly remember the first time we met at the cafe, he wore a fancy suit to order a coffee and I assume he's someone who already got himself a job. Because right now, Baekhyun looks like a professional, like someone who is a master in this course. Maybe, there is a reason why he decided to further his study in the Master of Business Administration.

Throughout our discussion, Baekhyun contributes more in giving his ideas. At the same time, I list down every point that we need to add or do research before starting the assignment. His hand gestures when explaining the details manages to distract my focus from the topic which causing me to keep on staring at it. Baekhyun’s long and slender fingers, hands with a few visible veins popping out shows his masculine side. His attractive silver wristwatch positioned on his left wrist gives an extra point.

"Hey, missy. Are you lost in your dreams?” Baekhyun snaps his fingers right in front of my face that cause me to jump in surprise in my spot.

"I’m sorry. Where are we again?” I tighten my grip around the pen as I lift my head to look at his face. Baekhyun chuckles at the astonishment on my face.

"Let’s continue this, huh?” He suggests and I reply with a hum. Baekhyun shakes his head, probably remembering my face when I was spacing out while he was talking. I admit, my face looks funny. Biting my lower lip as I try to forget that embarrassing moment, I continue to listen to his explanations diligently.

After spending hours at the table, I realised it’s already passed at 12 o'clock noon. We were too busy up until we didn’t have the time to even hold the discussion for a rest. Baekhyun already looks exhausted when he rests his back by the backrest. I turn off my laptop and keep it back in my bag, gathering all the used cups and saucer plates to bring it back to the kitchen.

"Tired, Baekhyun?” I ask him.

"Kinda, my brain isn't working good now,” he expresses.

I snort softly. “Now, you can go home and rest. I need to get ready for my next shift at 2. Great job for today.” Getting off from my seat, I carry the cups and plates to the kitchen.

But before I get to move, Baekhyun calls. “Hanbyul.” I turn around to face him with a curious look.

"About our date,” He stops for a second, “can you empty your schedule for this Saturday? I’ve booked a restaurant for dinner. We can go anywhere you want before that, if you want to.” Baekhyun speaks. My heart drops for a second when he mentions the date.I thought he had forgotten about it, not expecting him to be serious about his invitation the other day.

I think of the plans I might have for the day, hoping I will be able to clear it for the date. “Yeah, sure.” I give him an answer, remembering that I am free on that day. Baekhyun beams brightly upon hearing it.

He keeps all his stuff in his bag while I wait for him. Baekhyun gets ready to leave as he plasters a soft smile on his face.

"I’ll see you this Saturday, then?” He confirms back as I nod. Baekhyun comes closer to me and gives one last smile before he leaves the cafe without turning back. I swear, my heart is about to jump out of my chest at that moment.

Baekhyun doesn’t text or talk to me after the day we met for the discussion. We didn’t encounter each other by chance either since our Friday’s class was also cancelled by the lecturer. Now I am pacing around in my room on Saturday. I’ve done all the chores in the house today, from doing the laundry to washing the dishes and mopping the floor. I am determined to free my schedule today just for the date. But, I’m not sure if it’s going to be happening at this rate. I don’t have the guts to text him.

I even refuse Soomin’s invitation to go to the mall because I was waiting for him. In the end, she leaves the house with Sehun and I hope he will cheer her up. I’ve been scrolling my Instagram last night and I encountered his account that practically got me to sit up abruptly from my lying position.

Indeed, he’s not the type of guy who loves to post pictures of himself. Most of the pictures were random scenery and I found them aesthetic. Maybe, he just doesn’t like to share about his life and somehow, I think it suits his personality.

Baekhyun is a mysterious guy.

My desire to get to know him, every side of him is getting stronger day by day. He’s… irresistible. There is something different about Baekhyun, something that he hides deeper, away from everyone else. I’m sure it’ll take me some time to figure him out.

Finally, my phone rings after a few hours sitting in silence. I literally run to get to the phone. When I check the notification, a grin makes its way to my face. It’s really him! Like finally! Unlocking the phone, I open the text with a click.

[Baekhyun]: Hey, miss me?

I chuckle. Baekhyun is really an annoying guy, expecting that I will be missing him.

I don’t miss him. I’m just expecting his text. That’s all.

[Byul]: Ha ha. Obviously not, Byun Baekhyun.

[Baekhyun]: Ouch. That hurts.

[Byul]: Serve you right. So, why are you texting me?

[Baekhyun]: You must’ve forgotten our date tonight, huh?

I thought you’re the one who forgets it, Baekhyun.

[Byul]: Date? What date?

[Baekhyun]: Stop playing around, Hanbyul.

[Baekhyun]: I’ll pick you up at your house if you’re okay with it.

[Byul]: My house? But, I can go by myself to the restaurant.

[Byul]: No worries.

[Baekhyun]: Hanbyul, it’s unpleasant to let a woman go by her own for the date.

[Baekhyun]: I’ll pick you up at 8. Send me your address later.

[Byul]: Okay then…

[Baekhyun]: See you.

[Baekhyun]: And I’m expecting a real address.

I text him the address of my apartment before he replies to me with a curt 'okay'. Looking at the clock, I realize I still have a few hours left before the date. I stand in front of my wardrobe, staring at the few dresses that I have hanging in it. Going through some dresses, I sigh realizing I don't have any dresses that could be suitable to wear on a first date. He did mention about booking a restaurant so I figured he wouldn't bring me to somewhere I can simply wear my ordinary dresses. After contemplating between a royal blue coloured dress and a black dress for more than a few minutes, I decided to settle with a wine-coloured dress. The dress is short but it ends nicely above my knees. I then take my bath and get myself ready despite having an hour left till 8. I choose to put on natural shades make-up before putting on my dress. Finally, I style my hair with my hair curler and let them fall loose on my shoulders.

I inform Soomin about going out, omitting the fact that I'm going out for dinner with Baekhyun. As usual, she tells me to take care of myself, to not come back too late and to call her if anything happens. I agree with all of the things she told me and tell her to have fun with Sehun. She must be having a splendid day with her boyfriend. I envy her.

When the hands on the clock move to 10 minutes before 8, I receive a text from Baekhyun.

[Baekhyun]: I'm almost there. You can come out now.

It’s time. I bring my purse together with me when leaving the house. Riding the lift to the ground level, my heart couldn’t bring itself to pump normally. I wait for him at the entrance, my toes curling in anticipation. A few minutes later, a familiar black car stops right in front of me.

The driver rolls down the window, peeking his head from the inside, “Hop in, Hanbyul.”

I take a deep breath before getting into the passenger seat, buckling myself up. Baekhyun watches me settling down and when I turn to look at him, I was awestruck. The car may be dark right now but his charming look is visible.

"Ready to go?” He asks as I nod my head. Baekhyun presses the pedal and drives the car to our destination. Believe me, I just stay still like I used to, fingers gripping tightly around the seatbelt. The urge to look at him, the way he drives, is strong but I fight the desire. I realise he is stealing a few glances at me that makes me blush quietly.

We finally arrive at the restaurant after nearly half an hour. As expected, he brings me to fancy, and most probably, expensive restaurant. I follow Baekhyun from behind as the waiter brings us to the private room that he had reserved for us. He helps me pull my chair out, letting me take my seat before he does and I thank him softly. Baekhyun only replies to me with a smile, as sweet and charming as ever.

The waiter hands out the menu and I get surprised seeing the prices that make me gulp. Baekhyun must have saw me reacting to them as he chuckles softly.

"Would anything be okay for you? Any allergies or requests?” He asks concernedly.

"Yeah… I’m okay with anything.”

"Good. I’ll order the same thing as usual,” Baekhyun tells the waiter before he leaves the room, leaving me and Baekhyun alone.

"So… how are you?” Baekhyun initiates the talk first.

"I’m fine, as you can see. How about you, Baekhyun?"

"Quite busy handling something.” He replies. My mouth turns into an ‘O’ shape and we both get into silence again. I’m so nervous to look at him straight into the eyes and at the same time, I just don’t know what topic should we talk.

"Hey," he calls, making me lift my head up to face him. "You're usually so talkative at the cafe, why are you being quiet now?" He muses, followed by an amused grin.

"Baekhyun, how old are you?” I ask after contemplating for a few seconds.

"28. Do I look too old?” He questions me back and I chuckle with a shake of my head.

"I’m 2 years younger than you,” I confess.

"Yeah, I can see that.” He chuckles huskily this time.

A waiter comes into our room with a bottle of wine, pouring it into our glasses. I thank him politely before continuing the conversation.

"Regarding our assignment, when do you want to proceed? Are you free after we have our classes or—”

"Hanbyul, can we talk about anything else aside from the project?” He orders. My breathing stops for a second, hearing him speak in such a serious tone. I bring my head down to look at the table, fiddling with the napkin as I try to think of another topic to converse.

"How about you tell me about yourself? Maybe your family or anything?” I purse my lips together, waiting for his answer. Baekhyun smirks slightly, fixing his sitting posture.

"My family isn’t interesting at all. Let’s talk about yours. Shall we?" Baekhyun taps his fingers while staring at me with the same smirk. My stomach is about to flip all over because he's making me nervous with that look. I take a glass of wine and drink it slowly, tasting the alcoholic drink that is foreign in my throat. The wine somehow causes me to make weird facial expressions and I guess, Baekhyun sees it. Because he laughs softly.

"Does it taste weird?" He asks with concern.

"Kinda but it's tolerable. Thank you for asking," I reply. At least, the wine can calm my nerves after being so nervous in front of him. Baekhyun plasters a smile before he drinks his wine, waiting for me to start telling him about myself. I take the opportunity of the silence between us to calm myself down.

"So… here it goes.” I start telling him about my background honestly. I tell him about me being an only child with divorced parents; my dad disappeared since then, while my mom got the full custody of me. A few years after the divorce, she remarried another guy, my current stepfather and decided to move in with him at New Orleans. I also have an older stepbrother named Suho. Suho is two years older than Baekhyun.

"Don’t ask me whether he has a girlfriend or not because he hasn’t talked about it with me,” I warn Baekhyun. He only chuckles to my statement and asks me to proceed with the story.

It goes on from my life in New Orleans, with my new family. He listens to me diligently while waiting for our main courses to arrive. I tell him the reason I’m continuing my studies and it’s because I would love to run my own business. But, would definitely apply for a job at any company once I graduate from this post-graduate study.

"So, you’re telling me that you work at the cafe to pay for your study?” Baekhyun asks once he sips the wine as I nod my head slowly.

"I applied for a loan for my study because I had to,” I confess with a soft tone. Realising how tough my life is when I’m trying to be an independent person for my own future. I may belong to a modest family but I have been told by my mom that living without trying to achieve one's dream are useless.

Baekhyun hums. Finally, our meals arrive on time and I am glad for the distraction because I couldn’t bring myself to tell him more about my struggling life. He thanks the waitress that served us the food before she leaves the room. We’re having steaks for dinner tonight.

"Let’s eat, shall we?” He says and I smile. Both of us start to devour the juicy and thick steaks as I leave myself stupefied with the rich taste of the meat. It’s really scrumptious and no wonder it's one hella expensive food at a 5-star restaurant.

Baekhyun notices my reaction as he asks, “How does it taste? Good?”

I bob my head up and down, carrying on to eat. He seems happy watching me eating so well as a wide smile appears across his face. Baekhyun gives me one last glance before he continues to eat.

"How about you? What made you decide to continue into this course?” I blurt out, asking him a question.

"Well, I want to expand my knowledge in business. Who knows, I might be given the opportunity to handle a big one, one fine day,” he stops, making eye contact with me. I just bob my head a few times as a sign I’m listening to his explanation.

The conversations go on and on, but the difference is the awkwardness between both of us has vanished. Baekhyun literally tells lame jokes but it’s still funny when he expresses it. It manages to make me almost choke myself while eating.

Those crescent eyes, bulging cheeks and endearing smile when he smiles caught my attention. It’s a good view to be able to witness his another side apart from his manliness. Manliness was my first impression of him when he stepped into the cafe with a well-tailored suit. Not to mention, the way he talks and behaves, he must be a great person to befriend with.

We have chocolate lava cakes for dessert. Baekhyun has been asking my favourite flavour as I answer him, “Chocolate. How about you?”

"Strawberry flavour. Gosh, I’m willing to eat them 24/7 rather than kill myself with cucumbers.” Baekhyun explains.

I scoff while giving him an unbelievable look. “You don’t like cucumbers?”

"It’s not just I don’t like it. I hate it.” Baekhyun replies with a serious tone that makes me giggle. He may look like a sulking boy right in front of me, eating the lava cake with a slight pout.

"Come on, Baekhyun. It’s just a cucumber and delicious too when you eat just like that.” I give him my own opinion.

"Na-ah! Still, I hate it.” He retorts with a scowl on his face. I chuckle lightly and eat the lava cake. Suddenly, his phone rings loudly. He digs out his phone from his pocket and looks at the dialler. Instead of answering it, he lets the rings continue as he silent his phone.

"You can answer the call, Baekhyun. I don’t mind at all, it might be important.”

"It’s okay. Not important at all,” he says. “Let’s finish this up and then I’ll send you home, okay?” I hum and continue to eat quietly in my seat. I’m curious about the caller because the phone is still ringing and vibrating as he places his phone on the table. It does look like it’s important but he insists to ignore it so I am left to wonder quietly on my own.

Baekhyun pays for dinner and we go straight to my apartment with silence lingering in the car. Without having any courage to initiate the talk, I decide to stare at the window, looking at the Moon shining brightly in the dark sky. There aren't many stars tonight, only the Moon decorating the lonely night sky. The journey to my apartment is short, basically, he drifts the car at the empty road swiftly like a professional. When we arrive in front of the lobby, he offers to help me get out of the car by opening the door and lending his hand. Which successfully makes my cheeks go red.

"Thanks for tonight and the wonderful dinner, Baekhyun,” I thank him politely.

"No problem. Rest well and I’ll see you on Monday,” he says and I nod my head. Baekhyun gets back into his car, rolling down the window and bidding the last goodbye before he leaves. I sigh in relief, grateful at the same time for the great time I spent with him tonight.

I head straight home quietly without making any noises to avoid awakening Soomin who is probably sleeping in her room. After taking a quick shower, I hop on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I reminisce the moment I had with him. It’s almost 11 pm when my phone receives a notification and I bet it’s from Baekhyun.

[Baekhyun]: Asleep already?

[Byul]: Nope. Have you arrived at your home yet?

[Baekhyun]: I’m dropping by somewhere because I promised someone to meet tonight.

[Byul]: Oh… I see.

[Baekhyun]: Hanbyul, I forget to tell you something.

[Byul]: What is it?

Baekhyun doesn't reply to my question straight away that leaves me curious on my own. I decide to switch off the lights and gets ready to sleep when suddenly my phone rings again. I unlock it and look at the text. That text manages to make my heart and my mind has gone crazy when I read it.

[Baekhyun]: You look amazing in that dress, Hanbyul.

[Baekhyun]: Goodnight and sweet dreams, beautiful.

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aristocraticvision · 4 years ago

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Chapter 29: Checkmate (Pt 2)

“We’re here with Prince Stephen III, reigning sovereign of Weston, who has just announced plans to revitalize Westonian trade by rebuilding and leveraging Grenville Bay’s withering infrastructure. Prince Stephen, I think we’re all aware of the lock the Torenthian Empire has traditionally maintained on international trade. How do you think the Torenthians – and, in particular, the Torenthian Emperor, will react to this announcement?”

Stephen paused, then smiled.

“Well, Scott, I hesitate to speculate, but I do know that Torenth has voiced its concern about my trip to the U.S., and issued a warning regarding any negative impact on Torenthian trade,” he said.

“Then how do you feel Torenth will respond?” Scott asked. “Surely, Weston cannot withstand an extended trade war with any of our Oceanic neighbors.”

“Nor would we wish to start one,” Stephen said. “The key to maintaining our regional relationships is stability. Torenth, due to its larger size and significantly larger economy, has long had an advantage over the rest of Oceana’s nations. Unfortunately, that has put Weston at a disadvantage that requires remediation.”

“Remediation?” Scott asked. “How?”

“By negotiating not only a free trade treaty with the United States, but also a security pact that guarantees Weston “preferred nation” status in the eyes of the Americans and provides military assistance should anyone threaten the sovereignty or stability of Weston as a nation,” Stephen said.

“That is remarkable, your royal highness!” Scott said. “But, if you’ll indulge me, one more question: while building up Grenville Bay as the center of trade for Oceana is sure to create many jobs in the region, will that be enough to address the record unemployment which continues to ravage its people?”

“Unfortunately not,” Stephen replied. “Which is why I am also pleased to report that additional investment is coming to Grenville Bay through one of the world’s largest high-technology firms, Xelios. We are currently finalizing details on the addition of the continent’s largest distribution facility in Grenville Bay, as well as a manufacturing facility that will help support cell phone production on a global scale. These two facilities alone will add nearly 4,000 new jobs to the Grenville Bay economy.”

“You also pledged to address the horrific environmental damage that has been done to Grenville Bay over the past century.”

“As you may know, Weston was the sponsor of a resolution at the United Nations that will help make environmentally clean technologies more affordable for nations around the world,” Stephen said. “Previously, taxes, tariffs and other financial barriers have often prevented the use of those technologies in many countries – even here in Weston. With the passage of this resolution, we will be able to begin implementing these technologies, which will begin the process of repairing existing damage and limiting further damage to the environment.”

“But simply because these technologies are more affordable doesn’t make them free, your royal highness,” Scott said.

“No, Scott,” Stephen replied. “Indeed it does not. But, as you recall, the crown will be contributing $100 million to our infrastructure project, while the National Assembly is only being asked to provide $60 million in funding. Given the disparity, I think it’s only fair that the National Assembly match the crown’s contribution with an additional $40 million in funding – money that will go directly toward solving Grenville Bay’s environmental crisis.”

“Will $40 million be enough?” Scott asked.

“No, but we will also be receiving anther $70 million in funding from the Americans as their contribution to the new partnership with our nation,” Stephen said. “Plus, Xelios will be contributing another $20 million to help clean up Grenville Bay for new generations of employees it hopes to attract there. That’s a total of $130 million, which – from my perspective – is a pretty good start.”

“Indeed,” Scott said. “We only have a few minutes left, your royal highness, so I’d like to turn quickly to the recent attempt on your life.”

“A sad episode in our nation’s history,” Stephen said. “But understandable. You see, the people of Grenville Bay have reached their limit. The young woman who shot me – Annabel Fiore – recently lost her father to cancer as a result of continued exposure to the pollutants in Grenville Bay. Having lost my own father recently, I sympathize.”

“Excuse me?” Scott asked. “You sympathize? This young woman shot you twice and nearly killed you, your royal highness.”

“Only after being pushed to her limit, physically, financially and emotionally,” Stephen said. “I was able to meet with her earlier today, and hear for myself the depth of her pain and suffering. It was very moving. Which is why I have decided to grant a royal pardon to Miss Fiore for the attempt on my life.”

“That’s absolutely ... shocking,” Scott said.

“Perhaps,” Stephen said, “but again, I don’t want to start my reign with violence and death, but with unity and growth. With life.”

“Thank you, your royal highness,” Scott said, turning back to the camera. “That was Prince Stephen III, sovereign prince of Weston, and this has been an exclusive interview only on WBN. Thank you for joining us this evening, and we invite you to join us at 11 p.m., when we’ll continue our analysis of the remarkable announcements made tonight by our prince. Until then, I’m Scott Dearborn. Goodnight.”

BEGINNING | PREV | NEXT

Continent of Oceana | History of Weston

#TS4 #ts4 royal family #ts4 royalty #ts4 monarchy #ts4 royal legacy #Principality of Weston #HRH Prince Stephen III #Oceana Stories

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youarejesting · 5 years ago

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[Prev] [I’m Dead] [Next]

Please Don’t

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death throughout Angst Pain, Feelings

Summary: Woken one night by memories of the past you meet a mysterious man on your balcony. He is cocky and charming and you find yourself swept up in something that is bigger than you can imagine. Why? Because he is death. And because your meeting is long overdue.

Your opinion of Jimin transformed. He didn’t make any noise as they beat him, but every time they turned on you he would antagonise them further. You don’t know how much more he could take.

Your body was shaking, watching as they strung him up by his hands. Head hanging low, blood dripping from his mouth. They ripped off his shirt and used some holy water on him until his form changed. Black wings emerged from his back and he held back a strangled cry as they tore through feathers, flesh and bones.

His body slumped, and the men stopped, waiting for him to regain consciousness before beginning again. It was sadistic.

“You’re supposed to be angels”

“Yes, and we eradicate evil”

“How is he evil, he saved my life?”

“He was greedy, it is not his choice who lives or dies”

“And so it’s yours,” you hissed, and they turned to you, “maybe we will remove one of your limbs, an arm, a leg, your tongue?”

The angel pulled out another handsaw and lined it up on your arm when Jimin spoke. “You angels are pathetic” the words that came from Jimin’s mouth was horrifyingly graphic.

They turned and held him still, ripping the last wing from his body. You were watching the dark blood trickle down his back, hoping he would make it even if you didn’t. They left, and you were quick to chance shuffling over and cutting your ties free you grabbed Jimin’s swollen face talking to him trying to wake him up. Undoing his hands from the ties and gently placing him on the floor.

“Go without me,” he said “look I know I shouldn’t have been following you but the day you were supposed to die I couldn’t do it. Because you treated me like a friend, you didn’t cry, you smiled and asked my name you were kind. I let you live and I was going to be punished. My friend, he took the blame, they ripped off his wings after he pulled out your soul but I couldn’t let you go. So I put you back in your body and forged the paperwork. They found out and started tailing you, they tried to kill you about fourteen times and I have been keeping you alive. We were best friends once, but you told me to let you go and so I wiped your memory, but it’s so hard to watch your friend when they don’t even remember you.”

He touched your face, and memories flooded back. You felt like your whole existence was a lie. What was real? Only when it was filled with pleasant conversations and laughs did your life now feel like there had been something missing. Tears pouring, your heart broke again and again with each new memory of your friendship.

“Y/N!” The door busted opened revealing a panicked and dirty Jungkook, his knuckles covered in blood. Jimin lost himself to the pain, knowing you would get out safely. Writhing on the ground. Taehyung and Seokjin appeared in the doorway to see his form crawling and collapsing on the floor.

“JIMIN!” Taehyung scooped up the unconscious Reaper and the group promptly left to make their escape. Seokjin stole a van while you fell asleep in Jungkook’s arms, his scent calming your shaking form.

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chxnyeol · 5 years ago

Text

Champion (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Reader x Johnny

Setting: University / Boxer!Johnny AU

Summary: You’re assigned to write an article for your University’s paper- that’s all. You were only meant to get close enough to him to get the information you needed, write the column, and be done. However, things begin to change as you get to know him, and you uncover more about his life than, maybe, you were meant to. What’s going to be your next move?

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: First chapter is a little long and slow and I’m sorry! Gotta set the stage a little before we get to the good stuffs. I hope you like it, anyway! <3

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“Stop!”

Fast footfalls sounded on the pavement as you ran forward, one arm raised high in the air and waving frantically. As the taxi screeched to a halt, you let out a sigh of relief and quickly ran to the back door, swinging it open and sliding inside. “Thank you so much, I’m going to be la-”

“Where to?” the driver’s tone was dismissive, uninterested in whatever it was that made you flag him down so pitifully he felt bad enough for you to interrupt his lunch break while he cruised. He lowered his rearview mirror just slightly so you could catch his glare, and you frowned a bit, wondering if you were willing to give him your money, if he were going to be this way.

You glared back at him, crossing your arms but deciding that your friends would kill you if you were late again, so you opted to swallow your pride. “The university. The west half.” Matching his clipped tone, you sunk low into the back seat and buckled yourself in, sulkily looking out of the window, before turning your attention to your bag and pulling your camera out of it.

You were on your way to a meeting with your friends and, as usual, you were running late. As you turned on your camera, you looked up at the roof of the taxi for a moment and sighed. You were a communications major- though you considered yourself more focused on journalism, really- and you were part of your university’s newspaper team. The pay was crap, but it looked good on a resume, so you dedicated more of your free time than you needed to. Every week, all of you would gather for a meeting and discuss what deadlines were due and which stories needed to be covered, divvying up the responsibilities by drawing straws. You thought it was archaic and irritating, as you often got stuck with the stories you knew wouldn’t showcase your talent; but, Kun, the founder and head editor, had insisted that it was not only fair, but would also help everyone sharpen their skills in their weakest subjects. No one else complained, and your vying for a better system had gone dismissed.

So, now you sat in the back of the taxi, clicking through the pictures that you had taken of a sorority’s mixer two days before- your assigned cover story for the week. “Sororities: Sisterhood and Ties,” you scoffed, bottom lip pulled in a pout as you cycled through obnoxiously smiling faces, wearing the same colors and holding red solo cups that they’d insisted you wrote in as “mocktails”, though anyone would know that wasn’t true. It wasn’t even that you had a thing against them, really, they just weren’t your scene- but, they were a heavy part of your university’s social life, impossible to avoid, and you’d needed to add a story to them sometime, you guessed. Anything was better than the sports report.

You had finished choosing the best shots as the taxi rumbled to a stop, and you reached over the shoulder of the driver quickly to pay him, and then mad dash it out of the car and towards the Arts building. You knew you had about a five minute window, any later and you’d get a Kun-lecture, and you just weren’t here for it. Your footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as you thundered down, wondering who thought it was a great idea to put the meeting room in the farthest room from the entrance, and as you turned the last hallway and saw the doors come into view, you slowed down to a trot. Each window you passed by, you used the reflection to try and fix yourself while you tried to catch your breath, adjusting your messy bun, pulling your old t-shirt up from where it hung on your shoulder, brushing the cat fur from your faded and ripped jeans. You were panting heavily by the time you reached the door, reminded of how out of shape you were and how you really should work out but how the idea of that sounded worse than death.

You paused for a moment to take a deep breath in and then shoved the door open, flinging your arms up in a grand gesture, attempting to use humor to make up for your tardiness. “I’m here, and I’m sorry for being late!”

“Again.” Kun raised an eyebrow at you as you entered, giving you a scalding up-and-down look before looking down at his wrist. “We’ve waited ten minutes, Y/N, and I know I’ve said it before, bu-”

You held up a finger to your lips, shushing him while the others in the room snickered, “Then you don’t have to say it again, Mom. I already said I’m sorry.”

Kun’s ears turned red and he frowned at you, to which you returned a sheepish grin, and he turned away from you with a huff. “Alright, guys. Let’s start.”

You took your seat at the round table at your usual spot, sandwiched between Taeil, who offered you a pat on the back, and Doyoung, who mumbled something about you being a princess and turned his back to you some, irritated at having to be left waiting, again. The rest of the club ambled over and moved to sit down as well, and you scanned over each of the familiar faces for the umpteenth time, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you. Though a ragtag group, over the years since Kun formed the paper, you had all grown close- and larger, with the addition of new members each year.

Kun had started it his first year of undergrad, and he was in his first year of his post-grad now. Doyoung, Taeil, and Zara had joined the year after and were on the verge of graduating. There were you, Ten, Minji, and Hendery, and then after that Mark, Jeno, Xiaojun, and finally Jisung. Overall, you all got along- except for Doyoung, who was comfortable pretending to hate you all though was always there for advise if needed- and, even if you thought the assignment process was dumb and were upset if you got stuck with the dumbest articles, you looked forward to joining them all each week. And, some of you hung out outside of the club, too. Every now and again you’d all gather at a coffee shop or a park to meet beyond your scheduled time at the school, and you found yourself spending a lot of time with Taeil, Minji, and Ten. With this new year, you found yourself spending a lot of time with the newer additions- they were funny, and like the younger brothers you never had.. or wanted, but here you were.

You, Kun, Doyoung, Xiaojun, and Jisung were the only ones who spent all of your time dedicated to the paper. Doyoung was self-appointed second-in-command and treasurer, and Jisung had taken on the task of being head photographer- and you, well, you just had no life other than school and your actual job. The others had other responsibilities in the school- Taeil and Hendery were also involved with theatre, Minji part of the science-something-or-others, Zara changing her major and focuses every other day, and Mark and Jeno had recently joined a fraternity. Either way, when you were in this room, all of you were attentive and dedicated to your work- even if it wasn’t that serious, and even if you were always late.

As your eyes jumped from each face to the other, you realized that there were a few new people in the room, of whom you’re sure you’d seen before but couldn’t name. All males, all wearing the same jackets, adorned with red, black, and gold and an emblem on the sleeves. You frowned just slightly, the comfort and familiarity of your space broken upon the intrusion of strangers and, as Kun noticed your look, he cleared his throat.

“We have some new people sitting in with us,” he began, gesturing for the three new guys to pull up chairs beside him, “Mark and Jeno have brought some guys from their frat in, to talk with us about doing an article.” He cast a glance in your direction. “They heard that Y/N was writing about- uh, which sorority was it?”

“Zeta Eta Rho.” You and one of the strangers hummed in unison, his voice deep and level while yours came out with a flourish of exasperation, coupled with an eye roll. One of the new guys raised an eyebrow.

“--Right. They’re hoping we’d be interested in doing two articles for them, to bring awareness to their Fraternity for recruitment and also to—what was your name again?”

The tallest of the trio smiled a bit and you wrinkled your nose. “For a reporter, you sure do have short memory,” he teased, raising a hand to give a little friendly wave to the rest of the group. Only Mark and Jeno waved back. “Johnny. My family runs the gym on the outside of campus, and we offer a lot of different classes.”

Silence. Everyone just stared at him, meeting him without response. One of the guys sitting next to him shifted uncomfortably, but Johnny only offered up a lazy grin to everyone in turn, as if unbothered. Jisung sneezed.

“.. Well, guys? Doesn’t that sound like something interesting to do?” Kun attempted weakly, suddenly tapping his hands against the table in an off-rhythm. Silence again.

You and Minji exchanged a glance, from where she sat on the other side of the table, and the look read that both of you would rather be doing anything else. Though it seemed harsh, you had gotten stuck with the boring subjects the past month, and you wanted to write about the recent surge of protests on campus, or the sudden break-ins at the freshman girl dorms; not another party-group article or coverage of a local mom-and-pop.

“The gym is pretty neat,” Mark chimed in, trying to help Kun. “Johnny’s going to be giving me and Jeno classes soon.” Silence again. Kun shifted and cleared his throat, trying to combat down an embarrassed smile and failing.

As Kun and, as you learned in that moment, Taeyong began to speak together, the rest of your group began to break up and speak quietly amongst themselves. Mark and Jeno went to the strange trio to speak with them and you watched and observed them for a moment. Taeyong’s red hair matched the colors of his jacket and he had an air about him- confident, stern-, that didn’t quiet touch his eyes, which looked at Kun with a familiar warmth. You decided that they must be classmates, if not friends. The one beside him, who’s name you had yet to learn, was shorter than the other two and seemed younger- probably closer to Mark and Jeno’s age. He had a playful demeanor about him that only blossomed as Mark and Jeno approached, and he leaned back to smack both of them in the arm comfortably, asking them their plans for later and if they’d meet him at the house before going to the arcade. And, Johnny. As your gaze settled on him you realized he was watching you, too- or, it seemed that way, before his gaze flicked onward to Taeil beside you. You realized he was sizing you all up, observing all of you like you were him, and you felt a little indignance spark in you, and then die down. You wouldn’t quite like a room full of people that didn’t seem too thrilled about writing about your family’s business, either. Johnny seemed like a mix of the two boys with him in personality- friendly enough, with eyes full of amusement even though nothing funny had happened, and confident. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead and he reached up to swipe at it, running his hands through it, and his gaze circled back around to you. You finally looked away.

Suddenly, you felt a light pressure at your shoulder, and you heard Taeil’s voice near your ear. “Handsome, aren’t they?” he chuckled, a teasing lit to his voice. “Maybe I should join their frat, too. Drink whatever it is they’re drinking.” You only scoffed in response, sure that if they were anything like the sorority you’d covered it was a lot of vodka, and began busying yourself with pulling your camera out of your bag once more.

As you got ready to show the shots to Taeil, and tell him just why fraternity and sorority life definitely wasn’t in any of your immediate friend group’s interest, Kun cleared his throat again and clapped his hands together, gathering the attention and calming the quell of rising voices are normal conversation began to flood the room. “Alright, guys. Time to draw.” He paused, then explained to the visitors, “We don’t let people pick and choose which articles they write, so we can be fair and-“

“Push the boundaries of our writing,” you, Doyoung, and Jisung all sang in chorus with him, though Doyoung’s voice was low, a whisper of a mock.

“- Exactly. And that way everything gets covered and no one fights about it.” He turned to cast a glance at Doyoung, specifically, though the other boy ignored him, pretending to be busy inspecting his nails. “We’ll be splitting their articles up into two parts- one specific for the coverage of the fraternity, and one for the gym.” Everyone stared, deadpan, again, while Kun lifted up a paper to read off the rest of his list. “And, of course, there will be the coverage of the protests, the recent break-in’s of the freshmen dorms, the anonymous tip we got about the Humanities Dean’s usage of Tinder to meet students, and our regular general news, weather, and media coverage, including the upcoming sports events. Due to the nature of the first three, we’ll split it into partner work, so you can cover more ground in the week. Objections?”

You played with your hands on the table, hoping that you would get the juicier stories. Jeno and Mark could work on the fraternity and gym articles- they had just gotten admitted and they knew Johnny, so it’d make more sense! But you knew better than to argue it, knew that it would fall on deaf ears for Kun, who just wanted to be “fair”. He reached into his backpack and dug around before pulling out a silver tin, where he kept the lot to draw from. It was often called “drawing straws”, but really they were wooden sticks with colored tips, hidden at the bottom of the tin. Kun preassigned colors to articles beforehand, ensuring that everything was as fair as possible.

Informing you of which color equated to each article, you wrung your hands together, sending up a small wish to the journal Gods above that you’d get pink, for the protests. Pink, pink, pink, please.. “And, Y/N, since you were late again, you can pull last this time.” Kun settled his gaze on you and set his mouth in a tight line, letting you know there was no room for protest as you began to do just that. You closed your mouth and sunk low in your chair, pouting for the second time today.

The tin circled around the table and the newcomers watched curiously, the younger one leaning over to whisper to Taeyong from time-to-time. Your heart broke as you saw Taeil and Minji get the two sticks marked with pink, not even bothering to see what else everyone got since your shot at the article you wanted was squashed. Maybe you could convince one of them to trade with you, if you begged enough…

Finally, the tin clattered to a stop in front of you, and you started forlornly at the last stick in it, reaching forward to snatch it out and hold it up to Kun, so he could write down your assignment. You eyed the color and your pout deepened, though Kun offered you an encouraging smile and giving you a cheesy thumbs up.

“And, Y/N will be covering the gym.”

#nct #nct 127 #johnny seo #seo youngho #nct imagine #nct johnny #nct writing #boxer!johnny

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