#*//or everything at once would resume her character better me thinks

[missggullet]

babe you're so quiet what's on your mind?

[juniperskye]

The Set Up.

Sneak peek: based on the following request: Aaron and the reader are secretly married, and the team try to set them up together (obviously not knowing they are married) and they go on their date that the team set up and they enjoy it and the next day they tell the team that they are married. - I changed it a little bit but I hope you like it!

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1878

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, implied age gap (kinda?), secret relationship, mentions of canon typical violence, some language, team members meddling. I think that’s all, let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

The team had been immediately aware of the difference in Hotch’s demeanor when you joined the BAU. You had been bright and shiny, straight out of the FBI academy and you’d had an impressive resume. In all seriousness, Hotch had chosen you to join the team prior to reading your name or date of birth. So, when you arrived with that twinkle in your eye and a hunger to make the world a better place, he knew he needed to protect you that for as long as he could.

Dave was the first one to mention the elephant in the room to Hotch. It had been about six months since you had joined the team. He had cornered Hotch at the coffee maker and outright asked him.

“Do you have feelings for her?”

“Dave that is not an appropriate question and this is certainly not the place for it.” Hotch shook his head, walking away.

Of course he had feelings for you, how could he not? You had been sweet and gentle, and you hadn’t let the horrors of the job harden you. Which is exactly why Hotch had asked you on a date two weeks prior, you had been out a few times since then, but Hotch couldn’t let Dave know. What if it didn’t work out? What if it got out and the bureau reprimand you both? What if it got out and you were targeted because of him?

Those are all the reasons he continued to use as an excuse for keeping your relationship under wraps. It’s been two years, and since then the two of you had become serious, moved in, got married, and were now talking about expanding your family…which of course led to a more intensive conversation of telling the bureau and more importantly the team of your relationship.

On the other hand, Penelope had been working endlessly to set you up with an eligible bachelor she knew, and after many failed attempts and a drunken night out with the girls, Emily had outed the crush you had on Hotch. If only they knew. That was the beginning of the schemes – the team was doing everything in their power to set the two of you up.

They had sent you undercover as a couple more than once, constantly partnered the two of you up on cases, made sure to take all the seats on the plane so you’d be forced to sit next to one another, and left you two to share rooms when it was needed on cases. The two of you found it humorous given that you’d already been doing all those things in secrecy.

It had been a pretty quiet day, you all had been catching up on paperwork, when the girls approached you and unbeknownst to you, the guys approached Aaron. That evening while cooking dinner you and Aaron would share nearly identical stories.

They approached me about a blind date. They said that it was scheduled for Friday at 7pm at Fredrich’s. To look for the

Woman in red and that I should wear gray.

Man in gray and that I should wear red.

At that point the two of you looked at one another and laughed. The team had set you up on a blind date with one another. You both agreed to play into the team’s plan and go on the “blind” dates they were setting you up on.

The rest of week went on slowly, but once Friday came around, the girls couldn’t contain their excitement for you. Emily had reassured you that the guy she set you up with was nothing if not a gentleman.

Morgan had made sure to stop by Hotch’s office and remind him of his date.

“Don’t leave this girl hanging man. She’s a great girl.” Morgan scolded.

“I will be there; you have nothing to worry about.” Aaron couldn’t help but smile as he thought of you.

You’d left work at 5:00 on the dot and went straight home to get ready. Aaron left at 6:15 and adjusted his attire, he removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Hey sweetheart” his hands made their way around your waist “you look incredible.” Aaron placed a desperate kiss on your neck.

“Aaron, we should really be going!” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.

You headed to the restaurant, excited to be out on a date, it had been a while since you had been out for dinner together, with work being so busy. When you arrived at Fredrich’s, Aaron pulled up out front and made his way around to your door. After assisting you out of the car, he handed his keys to the valet and led you inside.

As you made your way inside to the hostess stand you looked around the restaurant. Taking in your surroundings you were quick to notice a gentleman sitting alone at a table for two wearing none other than, a gray suit.  As you were waiting for the hostess to seat you, a woman entered the restaurant accidentally bumping your arm.  At the disruption Aaron glanced in your direction and took note of the color of the woman's dress…it was red.

 Aaron and you shared a look, one that was filled with acknowledgment and laced with a little bit of humor.  When the hostess looked up at you, Aaron gestured for the woman to go first she mentioned to the hostess that she was meeting someone, and he was meant to be wearing gray. The hostess nodded and said he got there just a few moments ago and directed the woman to the table with the man in gray, sitting alone.

When she returned you asked for a table for two and were directed to a small booth in the back corner. You couldn't help the scoff that escaped you looking over to Aaron in utter disbelief.

“I can't believe this…”  you shook your head “they have been trying to get us together for months and they set us up on these blind dates, with random people at the same place this doesn't make any sense.” You finished.

“Do you think maybe they thought that if we saw each other out with other people that we'd come to our senses and ask one another out?” Aaron inquired.

“I mean maybe, I guess they thought that we'd either end up with one another because we couldn't stand the thought of each other with someone else or they thought that we'd end up matching well with the people they set us up with. Either way I think it might be time to let them in on our little secret.” You suggested.

“Yeah, I think perhaps you're right.” Aaron agreed.

Throughout the rest of the evening, you and Aaron shared a wonderful dinner and couldn't help but peek over at the couple that was set up by pure accident.  It made you smile at how well they appeared to be hitting it off and if anything could come of this night you were glad it could be new love for two people deserving of it.

When you and Aaron arrived home that evening you decided to discuss how you would break the news to the team that you'd actually been together, married in fact. You knew it would be hard especially with how close you were with them, Penelope would for sure be the most upset, given that you'd have had a wedding that she wasn't invited to.

Monday morning Aaron and you woke up, got dressed (unintentionally coordinating I might add) and for the first time, drove to work together. You walked in the building together hand in hand, with the hope that your team would be accepting.  Unsurprisingly the first person to notice was Morgan, he had been sitting on Emily's desk and looked over as soon as you two entered the room.

You couldn't tell what they were more shocked about as eyes made their way to you. Was it the fact that this is the latest Aaron had arrived to work since he started at the BAU or was it the fact that you were so openly partaking in PDA. Naturally you were bombarded with questions like; how long you have been together, when you got together, what the relationship status was, if Dave has secretly known the whole time, they all were tossed at you with ferocity. But in the middle of all those questions Emily posed a rather important one, 

“If you two are together, what happened on your dates last night and why did you even agree to go on them?”

“Well, we've been together for quite a while and when we went home the other night, we had shared the information of the blind dates you guys were setting us up on and when we both had the story of me wearing red and him wearing Gray we sort of thought you guys were trying to set us up together.” You explained, “So color us surprised when we got to the restaurant at the same time as a woman in red who was looking for a man in gray.”

“Wait, but what about Mary? Hotch I told you not to leave her hanging, she's a good girl and I've known her a long time.” Morgan warned.

“And what about Ethan, he texted me this weekend saying how great the date went?” Emily questioned.

“Well, we let the hostess escort the girl in the red dress to the guy in the gray suit. So, Ethan and Mary went on a date together. While we enjoyed a much-needed date night.” Aaron clarified.

There was chatter amongst the team trying to break down the information they had just received from the two of you. You could tell they were still confused on some of the details, especially that of yours and Aaron's relationship. You looked at Aaron with pleading eyes, which he returned with a curt nod. The two of you thought it best to explain the situation to everyone.

“I guess we should probably explain ourselves. We have been married for about eight months. We have been together for nearly two years. I know that that probably comes as a shock but given everything we've gone through working here we do hope that you'll understand. our secrecy wasn't because we don't trust you, it was simply to keep one another safe as well as avoid any sort of reprimand from the director.” You informed.

You could tell the team was a combination of many emotions seeing them all flash across their faces, emotions like hurt, understanding, shock, but the most surprising was the love and care that ended on all of the faces in front of you. You couldn't be more appreciative of the people standing before you.

The blind date story was one that the team would go on to tell in many ways; to your future children of how they found out their parents were together, in Dave's best man speech at your vow renewal, and in simple jokes in passing. At the end of the day the team couldn't be happier that the two of you got your happy ending. Together.

[vivid-ink]

"Show Me & Teach Me"

Part II - "I Like Your Stars Better"

Neteyam Sully / fem!Omatikaya OC Part II Summary: Seyla reflects on being designated tsakarem and Neteyam finally gives her her first lesson in and first taste of sensuality.

Content: SMUT 18+ MDNI, angst & fluff, pining, protective Neteyam, romance, Neteyam is your mentor, teacher-student chemistry, eventual happy ending, slight age-gap fetish, older man-younger woman. Show Me & Teach Me: Part I here

Part I Fic Summary: You were an inconsequential member of the Omatikaya clan who had failed your rites of passage once already. You were born to heal, not hunt or fight. So, why had the tsahìk designated Neteyam of all people to take over your training? What business did the future olo’eyktan have mentoring you? But it was too late now. You should have known better than to fall in love with your mentor. You had known this day would come; the day when your success would mean losing his company. You should have clung on tighter to your heart while you still had it…

Word count: 6.8k

Notes: Welcome back to all my lovelies who followed Part I and hello to everyone who is new onboard! :) You'll notice a change in POV in this part. I wrote Part I in second-person POV using the pronoun 'you' as the reader. For stylistic purposes, and also for ease of getting multiple character perspectives, I have written Part II from third-person POV using my OC's name Seyla. For those that enjoy Neteyam x Reader-Inserts, you are still Seyla! Her perspective is still yours, just as I hope anyone reading it in third-person is able to still connect and feel what Seyla feels. Without further ado; ENJOY Part II! There is a whole lotta SPICY HEAT in this.

The tension in the healers’ hut was thick enough to slice.

Seyla swore she could feel the heat of the other young woman’s glower blistering the skin of her turned back. Any hotter and her waist-length braids would catch fire. The jarring clack of a knife striking unforgiving and hard against a wooden chopping board was just another addition to the already edgy atmosphere. Seyla sighed with a silent roll of her eyes. Would this tantrum never end?

The pronouncement by Mo’at and the clan council that she had been chosen as tsakarem had been met with positive endorsement by most people. There were some who still held reservations for various reasons. Some still doubted her capabilities, which was fair considering how long it had taken her to pass her rites of passage. Others felt she was too timid to lead the clan as tsahìk. However, Seyla knew that for the woman who sat violently obliterating fruit behind her, it was pure, undiluted envy that instigated her opposition.

Vitani was Mo’at’s other young apprentice. There had been an unspoken assumption for a long time that it would be Vitani who would be designated as tsakarem. Seyla herself had believed this, never thinking for a moment that she would even be considered for the role. But evidently the tsahìk had more faith in her than she had in herself and she was determined not to disappoint.

Seyla acknowledged that she was quiet, but her silent nature did not mean she was weak. She just needed to learn to be more direct, and what better time to practise this than the present?

“Is everything alright, Vitani?” Seyla called nonchalantly over her shoulder.

The harsh chopping ceased for several moments before it resumed with renewed vehemence. Nevertheless, Vitani answered in a tone that oozed with derision, “Yes, things have never been better.”

Stopping her own task of peeling some yalnabark tubers, Seyla turned to face Vitani, meeting her peer’s scowl head on, “You had better take care or your fingers may end up severed alongside the fruit, sister.”

The knife clattered against the board as it was released carelessly from Vitani’s hold, “What? You think that because now you’ve netted a big fish you can boss me around?”

Seyla fought the urge to shrink under Vitani’s piercing gaze, but she refused to back down, “My concern for you was genuine.”

“Tell me, sister, how did you lure him in?” Vitani jeered, leaning forward with her elbows perched on each of her crossed knees. She folded her hands and rested her chin on them in a mock display of interest, “Neteyam is quite the handsome catch.”

Narrowing her eyes and pinning her ears in irritation at the other woman’s blatant objectification of Neteyam, Seyla hissed, “Neteyam is not some prized object. He’s a person. And it was not his decision alone to make me tsakarem.”

“No, but I’m sure he could have objected if you didn’t appeal to him.” The cock of Vitani’s head was scornful, “So how did you do it? Training you must have been a painstakingly slow ordeal, and I’m sure it isn’t your mute nature that charmed him. Unless, perhaps, your muteness was productive and you used your mouth in other ways to win his favour.”

The lewd insinuation was scandalous and Seyla sucked in a harsh gasp, “How dare you!”

Vitani cackled in malicious glee at getting a rise out of her, “Is that how you repaid him for your lessons? In carnal favours?”

“I did no such thing!”

By Eywa, Seyla could not comprehend how Vitani ever thought herself worthy of being tsakarem with so much bitter animosity in her heart.

At first, Seyla had felt bad and she had understood that Vitani felt slighted. She had tolerated the woman’s sour mood and astringent demeanour, believing that the storm would pass in time. However, it had been weeks now and Vitani only seemed to be getting more hostile.

With a scathing snort, Vitani flicked a stray fruit peel from her shin onto the mat and simpered, “Ah, there’s no need for that level of affront, sister. There’s no shame engaging in such activities. Men are all the same, no matter their station. All easily led around by what’s behind their loincloths.”

Seyla was about to retort that it was not the implication of sexual activities that angered her, but the insinuation that she had only got where she was by engaging in them that did, when the firm clearing of a throat stopped her in her tracks.

Neytiri appeared from around the cloth flaps of the hut’s entrance and while she made no remark, the dark expression she wore and the impatient flick of her tail behind her was sign enough that she had overheard their heated exchange. Vitani blanched as if she had seen a ghost.

Padding into the hut on silent feet, Neytiri was the physical embodiment of grace, as always. Her critical eyes settled on Vitani who immediately dipped her head in respect. “Vitani, I believe the linen out at the washing grove is dry now. Can you please go and fetch it in. I think you need some air.”

With a barely audible squeak of acknowledgement, Vitani shot to her feet and scurried out without a backward glance. Seyla allowed herself a scowl. Coward.

“Oel ngati kameie, Neytiri.” Seyla greeted, her head still dipped sheepishly, embarrassed at the thought of the slanderous comments the woman had just overheard about her son. None of it was true, but the insinuation was no less mortifying for Seyla.

Neytiri returned the greeting warmly and folded herself down to sit by her. She peered over at the girl who had dutifully resumed her peeling work and was deliberately avoiding her gaze, “You are worthy, child. No matter what others might imply or assume.”

“I never did anything like that. Nothing inappropriate happened while I was in training.” The words burst from Seyla in a torrent and she was unsure of why she even felt like she needed to reiterate the facts to defend herself.

A husky chortle rang out from Neytiri who fixed her with a knowing expression, “I think you forget who I am. Your karyu is my son and the tsahìk who appointed you is my mother. I know them both like the backs of my own hands, and they both speak very highly of you. I’m the last person you need to convince of your honour.”

Swallowing the tight lump in her throat, Seyla nodded mutely in acknowledgement. Neytiri’s words were a soothing balm to her nerves. Vaguely, she wondered what Neteyam had told his mother of her. She felt Neytiri’s warm hand settle on one of her wrists then and she instinctively glanced up to meet her kindly gaze.

“You have done well. The spirit of our Great Mother is strong in you.” Neytiri breathed, heartening Seyla with a gentle squeeze of her wrist and an affectionate smile, “And one day, when you and Neteyam are both ready, I will be proud to welcome you into our soaia (family) as a daughter.”

Seyla’s answering grin was reserved, but her heart sang with elation at Neytiri’s words. One day, when she and Neteyam were ready, they would seal their bond before Eywa.

She would be his and he would be hers for eternity.

***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Her eyes were wandering naughtily, Seyla knew, and she smirked defiantly to herself. Perhaps it was the cover of darkness after eclipse that made her bolder, but she continued to trace the muscular silhouette of the man above her with her gaze as they climbed.

She watched unapologetically as Neteyam climbed nimbly ahead of her, his lithe limbs scaling the massive tree trunk with an athletic ease she was envious of as he led them towards their intended destination. The tensing and flexing of his muscles as he moved was a stimulating sight, but she firmly maintained that she was not at all sorry for ogling. Not when he was her betrothed now and especially not when they had spent the last few weeks getting very lost in the new scent, sound and feel of each other’s bodies.

Reaching the platform, Seyla watched in anticipation as Neteyam adroitly pulled himself up onto the level plane of it. He turned immediately with a cheerful grin and an outstretched hand, which she took without hesitation, marvelling at the way he proceeded to haul her effortlessly up to join him as if she weighed nothing more than a leaf.

“What do you think?” Neteyam asked, his pride evident in the broad set of his chest and shoulders as he beamed at her.

Seyla glanced inquisitively around her, making a quick assessment of her surroundings.

The platform was an impressive textile. It had been skilfully interwoven with the perfect balance of softer cloth fibres, sinewy vines and dried palm strands to form a large, flat hammock that retained the breadth of its spread without sinking too much in the middle when weight was impressed upon it. It currently hung suspended from the boughs and branches of the surrounding woodland trees and a matching weave of tsawlapx (unidelta tree) leaves spanned overhead, providing shelter from falling shrubbery and rain.

However, the most breathtaking part of where they were situated was the view and Seyla gasped in delight, “Neteyam this is beautiful.”

This part of the lush woodlands overlooked a steep drop off a cliff on one side before bottoming out and expanding towards more of the verdant treetops of the bioluminescent forest below. The platform had been suspended between the trees closest to the cliff’s edge and out beyond the platform lay the vast expanse of the night sky, adorned with clusters of stars that glimmered bright against their darker milieu.

“Well, I figured we needed somewhere more secluded. More privacy. Away from prying eyes.” Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping both in pitch as well as volume as he watched his little student pace the platform. Seyla still appeared rapt by her surroundings and he was unsure if she had even heard him. No matter, there was no rush. They had all the time in the world up here to explore each other further without the worry of being seen.

Another endearing intake of breath left Seyla as she spotted the clear vessels that had been placed at various points on the platform, illuminating the space with a gentle glow due to their contents. She knelt to pick one up, giggling as the fluttering glowmoths inside them flitted to land where her fingers were wrapped around the confines of their clear prison.

A small pang of woe pricked at Seyla then and she looked over her shoulder toward Neteyam, “We can let them go after, right? They’re not trapped in here?”

Never failing to be touched by her endless compassion, Neteyam nodded, “Of course. The tops of the vessels come off and we’ll let the moths go later. My father calls these vessels jars. The avatar camp has plenty of them and they use them for food storage.”

Seyla could see that small holes had been punctured into the metal tops of the jars allowing for air circulation within them. Satisfied now that her winged friends would come to no harm, she pushed gracefully to her feet again and slipped into Neteyam’s arms where they were waiting to receive her.

Rubbing her cheek against the warmth of his shoulder, Seyla savoured the quiet thud of his heartbeat against her ear and splayed her fingers against his warm back, “The stars look so stunning from up here.”

Neteyam’s next words were a whispered caress by her ear and he ran the tip of his nose along the curve of her neck, inhaling the clean and sweet scent of her, “I like your stars better.” His fingers trailed tantalisingly over the swirling and weaving patterns of the tanhi (bioluminescent freckles) along her spine, and he felt a spear of male satisfaction at the way she shuddered against him.

“What was it you were saying earlier about privacy?” Seyla purred, taking a step back so she could tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

A corner of Neteyam’s mouth upturned in a crooked smile as he perceived the mischievous glint in her eyes. Seyla had always been a studious learner. In her training for her rites she had been true to her word about trying her best. If she had failed to meet a target or if there was room for improvement, she would pick herself up and double down on her efforts. And Neteyam had discovered in recent weeks that she was just as diligent now with their new evening curriculum. 

“I thought we could use a safer space to get to know each other better, get closer without having to keep an eye or an ear out for potential interruptions.” Neteyam said, his voice more a rumble than a sound due to how close they were to each other. He was very aware of her hands, which had snaked from his upper back down lower to skim the tops of his lean rear.

With zero warning, Seyla grasped hold of the base of his tail in one hand and stroked it deliberately. His harsh intake of breath made her giggle and she continued the action, knowing full well it was an erogenous zone as he had done the same to her previously and taught her so.

Weaving the fingers of one hand into Seyla’s braids at the base of her head, Neteyam angled her face towards his and claimed her lips in his. She moaned softly into the meld of their mouths and met his kiss head on, shifting her hands to grip tightly at his shoulders to pull herself up onto the balls of her feet and press closer to him. The next re-angling of their heads brought with it a rough nip as Seyla deliberately caught Neteyam’s bottom lip between her teeth with a gentle, titillating pull.

Hot embers of lust ignited deep within Neteyam’s belly and through his half-lidded eyes he caught the flirty grin dancing on her lips as she nibbled on his. Well, well. It appeared his student had more than passed the first stage of her curriculum… It had not taken Seyla long to acquaint herself with the art of kissing. She had taken to the passionate dancing of their lips like a duck to water and she was proving to be a very fast learner in this arena.

Many of their evenings in the weeks past had been spent trailing their mouths and hands over every bare inch of each other’s bodies; lips moulding to lips, teeth and tongue tasting the skin of neck and chest; fingers tickling ribs or palms pressing hot against thighs and derrieres. They had remained clothed, not trusting that sneaking out into the glade around Hometree was far enough or secluded enough to promise total privacy. And every evening they had spent like this had left them both in a heated mess of slick limbs, their desire searing so hot that it had spurred Neteyam on to building this platform (Lo’ak had helped with many a teasing jibe once he had realised what it was for).

“Somebody is impatient this evening.” Neteyam muttered with a dark chuckle, “What’s happened to my shy student, huh?”

Seyla gave a mock pout and giggled, “You said you’d teach me, karyu. I think I’m ready for my next lesson.”

Neteyam felt the already snug confines of his loincloth constrict even further and he mentally cautioned himself not to get too excited. He did not want to scare her. He had been aroused around her before though. He had been unable to stop it happening considering the last few weeks, with the fervent meeting of their mouths and bodies. There was no way that Seyla could have missed his erections. The solid jut of it was very obvious behind his loincloth, not to mention the rigid press of it against her body as they kissed.

As always with her training, Neteyam let her set the pace and the boundaries, “And what would you like to learn for your next lesson, numeyu (student)?”

Pressing her lips together to swallow the saliva pooling in her mouth from desirous anticipation, Seyla held Neteyam’s golden gaze and let her hands drop to the ties of his loincloth, “I want to see all of you tonight, and I want you to see all of me. I want us to touch each other, everywhere.”

Neteyam’s hands stopped hers before Seyla could pull the corded ties of his loincloth free, “Are you sure? We can just focus on you, yawntu. You can show me what you like?”

Stubborn determination flashed in Seyla’s orbs and she reiterated, “No, I want to see you too. We can both teach other what we like.”

“Alright, but there’s no pressure for you to do anything you don’t want to, yeah? We can take things slow-”

“I’m a healer, Neteyam. I’ve seen naked men before. And I know what happens with bodies and sex.”

Neteyam raised a hesitant brow at her. He highly doubted she had seen an aroused naked man before though and there was a difference, “I just don’t want to scare you or make you feel like you have to go further than you’re comfortable with.”

Fixing him with a softer expression, though it was no less adamant than before, Seyla said, “I know I’m safe with you, karyu.”

Great Mother, she had a way of breaking down his resolve when she said things like that… Leaning forward, Neteyam pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Alright.” Neteyam’s own hands moved to the ties of his clothing, his fingers deftly undoing the ties and moving to undo the strap around his tail.

Seyla mirrored him, tugging the ties of her chest covering free first before working on her own loincloth. She felt strangely calm. Her heart was palpitating in her chest, but it was not from anxiety or fear. She trusted Neteyam. He had proven beyond all doubt during her training and afterward that he cared and felt deeply for her. She had no reason to be afraid.

Steadfastly, Seyla discarded her chest covering and freed her tail from her loincloth. Gently bundling her items of clothing together, she tossed them to a corner of the platform. Returning her eyes to Neteyam, she found him already looking at her with slightly wide eyes. He looked rather stunned actually and she resisted the instinctive urge to wrap her arms around her chest. She wanted this and she would not shrink.

Neteyam felt himself ache and burn between his legs as his eyes took in the sight of Seyla’s bare frame. All women were beautiful in their own way and he appreciated them all, but there was something about the innocence of Seyla that made him instantly breathless. Naturally, he was drawn most to the delicate rounds of her breasts. They were not buxom, but they looked just big enough for him to cup in a handful and they were tipped with beautiful lilac nipples.

“Great Mother, you are perfect, Seyla.” Neteyam proclaimed, a little hoarse. However, his student was distracted and not really listening. She appeared to be taking her education rather seriously and she had begun to pace around him slowly as she too soaked in the sight of him.

Majestic was not good enough a word to describe Neteyam, Seyla thought to herself. The customary attire of the Omatikaya did not cover much so, as such, she had technically seen most of his body before tonight anyway. But the comprehension that he was truly naked – that they both were – absolutely thrilled her. She had snuck a glance at his erection when she had first returned her gaze to him and in honesty, she had gotten a little shy then, which is why she had begun to circle him slowly.

Seyla let her eyes rake up the backs of his legs, noticing the nervously twitching tuft of his tail. She admired the lean musculature of his thighs that fed into the very attractive rounds of his bottom. She carried on with her pacing, reaching his other side as she looped back around to his front. His slim hips flared out to defined abdominals, to a broad chest and shoulders, from which hung brawny arms that made his powerful strength evident. She finally let her gaze settle again on the most male part of him and her breath hitched softly.

Neteyam was as imposing there as he was everywhere else, the thick and swollen length of his cock standing upright to easily reach his navel. Seyla was not about to lie to herself; she was intimidated by its impressive size. But growing up she had heard whispers from other women that sex felt amazing; that a man’s body had been designed to fit perfectly with a woman’s, just as Eywa had intended. She supposed she would find out for herself eventually, perhaps in another‘lesson’.

Meeting his eyes again, Seyla chuckled at Neteyam’s dumbfounded state and she took the opportunity to tease him, “Who’s the quiet one now? Come on then karyu, I won’t learn anything if we just stand around all evening.”

Clearing the hoarseness from his throat, Neteyam gestured with a hand to a corner of the platform where he had previously lay some soft throws down, “You lead the way.”

Seyla reached out to take his hand, which surprised him, and she led them both to lie down. She settled her back against the soft blankets and looked expectantly up at him, blinking modestly through dark lashes. She saw him hesitate for a moment before his form bent at the knees into a crouch and he stretched out on his side next to her, propping his head up on an elbow.

“You seem more nervous than I am.” Seyla spoke softly, reaching out to caress his cheek, “One would think you’re the inexperienced one here, but I know that’s not the case. Women talk. Lo’ak talks.”

With an unsuppressed sigh and a shake of his head, Neteyam silently cursed his loose-mouthed brother. While Lo’ak had matured over the years, he was certainly still more ‘fun-and-games’ than he was. Neteyam had never had any intention of hiding the truth of his experience with women – Metkayina females were especially passionate – but he had never had any intention of shouting it from the treetops either. A sentiment not shared by Lo’ak who rather enjoyed regaling anyone who would listen with the adventures he and Neteyam had got up to back in the reefs.

“Does that bother you?” Neteyam asked.

“No. You’re several years older than I am. It would be naïve of me or anyone else to think, at your age, that you haven’t explored such matters with other women.”

“I wasn’t irresponsible or cavalier with any of my former lovers. I left all that rampant fun to Lo’ak. I had always felt something for those I chose to lie with.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me, mighty warrior with a gentle heart?” Seyla remarked and her tone was fond, “Will you kiss me again now, karyu?”

Neteyam did not need to be asked twice. He honoured her request enthusiastically, pouring the depth of what he felt for her into the kisses he proceeded to shower on her lips and neck. His upper body sheltered hers now, though he kept his hips away from her still. Seyla was arching up against him, arching into his touch as his lips and palms began to wander her torso. The sensation of her peaked nipples brushing against his chest sent blazing desire coursing through him and his cock throbbed longingly.

“I’m going to touch you now, OK?” Neteyam gasped in between open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, “But you can tell me to stop at any time if you’re not enjoying what I’m doing.”

A molten heat had started to consume Seyla under Neteyam’s attentions, spreading slowly from the liquescent ache between her legs and outward through her limbs. Her breaths were getting louder and she emitted an involuntary squeal when she felt the rasp of Neteyam’s tongue lick across the stiff nipple of one of her breasts. Her back bowed under her, pushing her soft flesh against his mouth and Neteyam took that as his cue to continue.

The points of her nipples pebbled at his touch and he took one into the searing heat of his mouth, suckling intently on it while the fingers of his left hand toyed with the other. Seyla squirmed, the pleasure shooting from her nipples straight to her core. She had touched herself on occasion, but she had never realised her breasts were so sensitive. Neither she nor Neteyam had touched her core so far tonight, but already she felt the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter low in her belly.

Seyla’s right hand drifted to the vee of her thighs, easily finding the swollen nub atop her core. She was surprised to find how easily her fingers slid through her folds, so slippery already with the slick of her skyrocketing arousal. Rubbing circles over her clitoris with her slick fingers, Seyla whined piteously as the pleasure pulsed at her core while Neteyam continued his ministrations on her breasts.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Neteyam could see Seyla touching herself and he groaned against her. His hips canted back and forth in the air in small thrusts, the head of his cock drizzling a string of pre-cum in heightened excitement. Lifting his head, his lips pulled away from the mound of her breast with a soft pop and his eyes found her half-lidded ones.

She was an absolute vision like this.

Beneath her hooded gaze, Neteyam could see her pupils were dilated wide and a desirous flush coloured her cheeks and chest a sensual violet. Her mouth was ajar and she was panting as she continued to pleasure herself. Stealing another kiss from her plush lips, Neteyam ghosted a hand over the wrist at her centre in a wordless request to touch her where she burned the hottest. Seyla answered with the slow parting of her thighs, bringing her knees upward and out to expose herself fully to him.

Neteyam stifled a strong curse and he breathed out with his next breath, “Fuck, you are so beautiful yawntu. You’re driving me mad.”

He reached down and blistering, moist heat enveloped his finger as Neteyam gently pushed a single digit inside her. His jaw opened both in amazement and in lust at how smooth the glide in had been, her core welcoming his intrusion with a tight clench and pulse. Seyla moaned and the sound was so deliciously licentious that he longed to hear it again. Her fingers pressed in faster circles over her clit and Neteyam gently added a second finger. He was rewarded with another throaty moan and the stretch of her thighs as she widened them as far as they could go.

Seyla’s movement brought the shin of her leg closest to Neteyam into contact with something solid and warm, and she stilled then, her eyes darting down to look. She gave a small start when she realised it was his erection, as if just remembering that it was there. It throbbed slightly and it appeared even stiffer than it had been before, the head of it glistening with Neteyam’s own arousal.

Her left hand crept towards him and she murmured a question through her heaving breaths, “Can I touch you?”

“Yes, but I want to focus on you fir-”

Neteyam’s reaction was instantaneous as Seyla’s fingers closed around his girth. His entire torso jumped like he had been shocked by something and her hand flew backward in fright, apologies spilling from her lips, “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Neteyam’s laugh was gravelly and he refuted the need for her apologies in a croaky voice, “No, sweet girl, you didn’t hurt me. It’s alright. I’m just incredibly sensitive currently.”

“How do you like to be touched?”

“Let’s just focus on you right now. I can’t think if you’re distracting me by running your lovely hands over my cock, and I want you to feel good first.” To press his point, Neteyam curled the two fingers that were still snug inside her drenched core, eliciting a keening moan from Seyla, “Can you do that for me, numeyu? Just relax and enjoy this for now? You can touch me later, promise.”

“Y-Yes, karyu.”

Setting a steady pace of curling and stroking, Neteyam watched Seyla’s responses carefully. Her fingers resumed their massage over her most sensitive bud and with each curl of his fingers, he could feel her walls pulsate and tighten around them. Her eyes slid closed in concentration and whimpers puffed from between her parted lips. Neteyam had to steel himself at the wanton picture before him, fighting the pooling heat at the base of his spine and the pulsing throb of his cock. By Eywa, he was not going to spill too early like a hormonal teenager…

Everywhere, all around Seyla felt like viscous, gooey desire. Her skin prickled all over and her nipples tingled against the cool night air. The pleasure was greatest, of course, at her core where her fingers and Neteyam’s worked in tandem, driving her towards the cresting peak she could already see hurtling towards her. His hands were much larger than hers; his fingers thicker, longer and much more satisfying than her own had ever been during the times she had explored her own body.

Feeling like she was on the brink of shattering into the tiny fragments, his name left her lips in a lustful prayer, “Neteyam.”

Sensing her orgasm was imminent with the telltale quivering of her knees and thighs, Neteyam dipped his head once more to kiss over her breasts, nuzzling one peaked nipple, “That’s it, sweet girl. Just lean into it and let go.” He kept the pace and rhythm of his fingers steady, knowing from experience that once he had found something the woman enjoyed that consistency was key, not increased speed or pressure.

“Karyu, I-I’m so- Neteyam-” Seyla’s movements were becoming frantic and she rubbed even more intently at her clit, straining to reach the high that was just out of her reach. She was almost there. She just needed a little something more-

Neteyam’s mouth closed over one of her nipples again and he drew it into his mouth in a long, enticing suckle. It was that last little something that Seyla needed, and it threw her careering over the blessed edge of bliss. Her left hand fisted against her mouth to suppress the shameless scream that tore from her throat and Neteyam cursed low under his breath as the slick walls of her core squeezed and undulated around his fingers in ecstasy.

Great Mother, it was like his fingers were feeding the sensation directly to his cock and it pulsed in warning with a small spurt of pre-cum, his own orgasm threatening to consume him. Burying his face into the crook of Seyla’s neck, Neteyam gritted his teeth and resisted the urge.

No, he had promised Seyla she could explore him later, after her own pleasure. He would not rescind on that promise now due to losing control.

Heart pounding in her ears and thundering behind her ribs, Seyla panted through the aftermath of her orgasm. She reached across to thread her fingers tenderly through Neteyam’s beaded braids where his head was nestled against her neck. She felt him shift and he propped his head up again to regard her. Seyla felt blood heat her face at the sight of him also panting slightly, his piercing golden eyes still saturated with his desire. She smiled bashfully at him and turned her flushing face away from him.

Chortling, Neteyam ribbed her, “Oh, now you’re shy? By Eywa, where did all this come from tonight?”

Twisting her head back to face him, she pursed her lips in mock rebelliousness and retorted, “I’m a fast learner.” Her expression softened then and she tittered, “And I trust you.”

I love you, her heart said, but her lips kept that particular secret to herself.

Seyla had been curbing the urge to tell him. She had loved him for many moons now and although she and Neteyam were now betrothed, she was still afraid of being too forward with her emotions.

Neteyam silenced her with another heart-stopping kiss and Seyla rolled on to her side towards him, bumping yet again into his still very roused erection. He broke away from the kiss with a hiss at the contact, and Seyla saw her opportunity to begin her exploration of him.

Reaching down between their bodies, she gently grasped hold of his impressive length and gave it a tentative squeeze and stroke. Neteyam’s hips bucked towards her and a thrill of delight shot through her. She tested the feel of him in her grip, finding the cyan skin of his cock silken soft and yet its shaft was also exceedingly hard beneath his skin. A drop of liquid beaded at its tip and she instinctively swiped at it with her thumb, spreading the moisture over the smooth head of him.

“Tell me how you like it.” Seyla whispered, relishing the way his jaw had dropped and his face was contorted in a grimace of enjoyment. She continued with experimental strokes, feeling so empowered at the pleasure she was evidently bringing him as some more pre-cum began to ooze out of his cock, further lubricating the glide of her fingers over his sensitive flesh.

If Neteyam was honest, she could do anything right now and it would be paradise. He was so aroused, his balls drawn up close against his body, that he knew this was not going to be a lengthy exercise. Swallowing through a dry throat, he stammered, “That’s good. Keep going, sweet girl.”

“Is this what you want to do? What you want me to do?”

Neteyam’s expression twisted into a pleasure-filled snarl at the innocence of her question that provoked a surge of unchaste imagery in his mind, “Numeyu, there is so much that I want to do to you. You would be pinned beneath me screaming my name if I had my way.”

“OK.”

Neteyam stopped her hands then, bothered by how calmly and easily she had delivered her consent and he opened his eyes to blink sincerely at her. Great Mother, her desire to please him would be the death of him. Even whilst training for her rites, Neteyam had discovered early on that making him proud as her mentor had been a strong motivating factor for her. Seyla would push herself to her limits if the only reward she received from him at the end was a smile of approval.

In truth, he had answered her question amidst the thick of his pleasure and though taking her fully was indeed what the very male parts of him desired most, it was not a line he would be crossing with her today, “No, not ‘OK’. Sorry yawntu, I answered too quickly. I do want you, but not like this, not tonight. We’re not going to rush this.”

Seyla nodded quietly, still wanting to please him as best she could, “But how can I make this as good for you as possible? Teach me how.”

Licking his lips to moisten them, Neteyam admitted, “I like to thrust. So I normally thrust into my grip.” Seeing the slightly confused tilt of her head, he elaborated further, “Instead of moving my hands, I usually move my hips.”

“Oh, I see.” Cottoning on to his meaning, Seyla dripped her head in understanding. She was determined to be a good student, “Is there a way I can help you do that now?”

Unable to resist the earnestness burning bright in her big doe-eyes, Neteyam leant down to taste her lips again, taking great enjoyment in the way her mouth just opened for him to plunder it further. Ending their series of kisses with a chaste peck to her lips, he pressed Seyla down flat onto her back again and threw a knee over her hips so that he was kneeling on all fours over her.

Reaching for her hands with one of his, Neteyam arranged the fingers of both her hands around his cock, guiding her as he showed her the kind of grip he enjoyed. A ragged moan left him as he planted his hands on either side of her shoulders and peered down at her, “We can do it like this. Keep your perfect hands just the way they are, sweet girl. I’ll do the rest.”

“Yes, karyu.”

Neteyam began with a slow push and pull of his pelvis, his breath whistling low out of him as he watched his length glide in and out of the grasp of her beautiful hands. His pleasure was great, the feel of her fingers squeezing him as he pumped his cock in and out was the most exquisite sensation he had felt in a long time. He felt his cock begin to throb in a mounting rhythm of pleasure and his hips increased their pace.

Seyla watched from beneath him, making conscious effort to keep her clasped hands still through the thrusting of Neteyam’s hips. She was unsure if she had ever seen a creature more beautiful than him. She was thoroughly enjoying the view. She could see his face and watch the minute changes in his expression as he sought his bliss; the way his brows furrowed in varying intensities; the way his nose would wrinkle and his lips would peel back in a soundless snarl; the way his tail flexed and curled over at his side.

The rippling of his abdominal muscles while he worked his pelvis was Seyla’s favourite, however. She noted how his thrusts varied in speed and intensity, the way he had complete control of how deep or shallow his movements were. All the while a provocative string of his pre-cum was dripping onto the exposed skin of her belly, and the sight titillated her to no end.

Harsh groans were beginning to escape Neteyam and his hips were starting to stutter. It was becoming harder and harder for Seyla to keep her hands in their original position as the force of hips was pushing them lower towards her abdomen. He did not seem to be complaining though and soon her hands were wedged between their bodies, his hips aligned with hers while they continued their onslaught into her grasp.

Neteyam’s breaths deepened, punching out of him in large huffs before his entire body went rigid and a shout tore from him. His abs tensed and flexed with the assault of his climax against his senses and Seyla felt hot spurts of his semen lashing against her front, up her belly and painting stripes over her breasts.

Rolling off Seyla and onto his back so he did not crush her, Neteyam’s senses reeled from the force of his orgasm. His chest rose and fell rapidly while his lungs attempted to bring in enough air to calm his body to a more relaxed state.

Seyla felt a strong sense of satisfaction at her evening’s achievement. Neteyam was an absolute dream and she had thoroughly enjoyed being this intimate with him. She felt she finally understood why her peers all seemed so eager to engage in such activities now. Sweeping a curious finger through the sticky fluid that painted her front, Seyla held her fingers up to look at them and she gasped in surprise.

Neteyam’s eyes flew open at Seyla’s sudden gasp and his head whirled to face her, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She shot him an enchanted grin, her fingers still suspended before her as she delightedly pronounced, “It glows.”

Seyla cackled at her discovery, not minding the sticky, luminous mess on her fingers at all. She supposed she should not be surprised that semen was bioluminescent. It was a man’s lifegiving seed after all, and everything that was alive on Pandora glowed.

Snickering at the pure amazement on her face at such an innocent discovery, Neteyam pressed a kiss into her hair, “Is that your favourite learning of the evening, numeyu?”

Seyla crowed with laughter, nodding.

Tonight had been her first ‘lesson’ in sensuality and judging by the rousing success of the evening, she dared to say that she was very much looking forward to her upcoming lessons as well.

***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Author's Note: Woooo! That was a very steamy Part II! The spicy scene at the end also ended up waaay longer than I thought, but I really wanted to flesh it out so you got both Seyla and Neteyam's perspectives. Thank you for reading! Likes, comments & reblogs are always so, so appreciated my lovelies. :D Gimme your thoughts and feelings, folks! Who loved Neteyam in this?? <3 So. Sexy. OMG. Who wants Part III?

Part III now HERE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (I think this is everyone who showed an interest in Part II): @wawuwe @liluvtojineteyam @neyetams @cinetrix @dutifullysteadystarfish @han-sirentell @bluealiensimp @mahalkomarvel @nmin @bellstwd @blue-iciclepop

Some of the tags don't work for some reason - I'm so sorry to those bloggers! :( I don't know how to fix it.

[thestarminstrel]

don't very often come into the tag to post my thoughts unprompted, but finished challengers and. eugene.

what did pacat do to him.

i already wasn't expecting great things just based on the preview where eugene, my poor boy, just gave a weak thumbs-up at getting benched. but i had faith and hope as foolish as it was.

like, you're telling me that eugene labao who spent years working to get on the fencing team, every year told his mom "this will be the year", and gave a training camp his all just. gives a forced smile at being booted off the team for state?? what?? if pacat wanted to go with a eugene that cares more about the team than his personal resume, fine. okay. but eugene is allowed to be more upset. he should be. he was given everything he dreamed of by williams saying that they could have two reserves, and now it's gone. i don't care how much a team-player you are, that's devastating. especially as a high school junior (in america and australia i GUESS). if you want to go to college for fencing, i imagine the state competition is a great way to get scouted. also, you miss out on fencing with your teammates for the last or second-to-last time. getting benched as a freshman sucks but you got some more years in your high school career. but eugene's a junior, this is his first year on the team, so now he's fencing state maximum once. that's just a cruel stab in the back by williams, genuinely. he should have been given time to be upset onscreen whether it was privately or with friends.

which then, what the fuck williams. you literally said that you could have two reserves- that you FOUGHT for two reserves- and all the sudden eugene can't compete. i never did high school fencing and maybe things are different in australia, but that seems a little ridiculous to me. like wtf did the higher-ups tell her? "yeah you can have two reserves for one competition but that's it" ???????????????? did pacat have an experience like this or something bc i have no clue how that's a logical train of thought a high school sports organizer can have. i will admit that one could argue she's competitive and wants to win. like sure but then why have a second reserve. could she not decide and was always planning to cut nick or eugene depending on who did better at the camp? what kind of coach is that?? none of the other coaches did that - not even donati and she is neck to neck with williams in this rivalry. it doesn't matter how much she wants king's row to have this gold medal- if williams was intentionally doing any of this, uncaring of whether or not she hurts one of the fencing boys, she should not be a coach actually. period. again, i love early fence williams. but oh my god the way she handled this was so bad.

which then brings me to: what is the point of eugene.

i love eugene, he has been one of my favorite characters since 2020 when i first read volumes 1-3. he is one of the reasons why i get so excited about fence and makes me so happy as a character. but honestly? you could cut eugene out of fence and nothing would change. i know he's not haiden or nichoji, but he was put there for a reason that i think pacat forgot. he never has any signficant screentime unless it's to be comedic relief or be a supporting character to nick, the other "underdog" on the fencing team. i really do hate to say it, but reading challengers really made me wish pacat had written out eugene sooner or not written him at all. he's not treated well as a character, and at this point, i don't understand why eugene is even in this story.

another point i want to make is nick. what the hell is wrong with nick. you're telling me that the same nicholas "zero" cox who was about to give up his scholarship and chance to fence so that eugene, a guy he barely knew at the time, could finally be on the team is the same nicholas who only says "but coach--" when eugene gets kicked off the team? that is a terrible friend. i'm not saying nick should have said "i'm not going to state if eugene isn't!!" but he should have called williams out on it, found eugene later and say "dude i'm so sorry this sucks" -- literally ANYTHING!!! but no, nick bever acknowledges it outside of this panel and is too busy at state apparently to notice eugene being bummed about, you know, not fencing with him. it's so, insane to me that nick became this person that doesn't bother checking in on his bro. that tells me he's more concerned about fencing and seiji - which to each his own but i would drop anyone who did me like that. can't even manage a "how r u doing" text what the actual fuCk. i can not stress enough how much i do not like this nick right now.

in conclusion: i need eugene to have a good cry with his mom or his bros about this bullshit and to eat so much good arroz caldo. please save my son from the narrative, it keeps being mean to him :(((

[novashelby]

I'm Not Your Wife, I'm Your Daughter Part II-A Tommy Shelby x daughter!OC Angst FT. Jack Nelson

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC Feat. Jack Nelson

Warning: MDNI. 18+. Mention of murder, death, mention of child abuse, sex abuse, prostitution, emotional abuse, mental abuse.

Word Count: 3,518

Summary: After Evelyn attempts to leave the hospital to go home, one of her father's enemies decides to have a little chat with her. He proposes quite an awful deal in order to build his assets.

Please, if you read it and enjoy it, leave a comment and reblog. It would be so kind of you. I also respond to all comments. It is the best way to build community.

*I am sorry if I got Jack's character wrong. It is my first time writing him.

To her dismay, he was amused, taking slow steps back to her. Tilting his head in morbid curiosity, “and how would you do that? Chop her head off, I mean.” Evie coward in his presence. A short man, but he knew how to make an appearance. He loomed over her, hand resuming his position on her flushed, hot cheek. “Hm? There’s many methods of decapitating heads, but I don’t think my good girl is familiar with many of them-”

“You’re be fucking cynical-”

“Language,” he scolded, but tone even. Low and calm. He was the worst when calm. Though never striking her with his hand, he often had a way of punishing her with his words. The twenty-four year old woman felt small. Once again, pressed against the wooden door frame. The smell of death from the corridor seeping up her nose. His hand cupped her cheek, massaging it. “I’ve taught you better than that, love.”

Despite it all, she leaned into his affection, sighing at how easy it was for her to give into him. “I’m tired. I’m tired of it all, Daddy, and I don’t know how much longer I can be strong for everyone.”

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “I know…I know. I know you’re angry. And though I am defensive to all, I understand why you’re angry, but conventional life isn’t suited for an unconventional family, Evelyn. You need to understand that.” He paused, opening his eyes on an exhale. His hand moved gently from her cheek to under her chin, making her look at him. “I did my best with what I had. All I ever wanted was for us to be happy, and perhaps, in some ways I’ve failed you in that regard. But in the great big picture, look at what we have. Everyone wanted for everything, and I got it.”

“I didn’t want everything,” she said, fluttering her eyes open. It was all too much. Being there with Ruby’s dead body just down the corridor. He should have found Lizzie by that moment. Hold her, comfort her, wipe her tears. But there he stood, more upset and scared about losing Evelyn. It made her sick, a bit. That pressure and emotional burden of being her father’s favorite everything. “You should go find her…she needs you, daddy.”

His response was merely a hum. “Hm.” Evelyn couldn’t make it out. Was it an agreement? Or dismissal?

She pressed further. “I’ll miss her-”

“Yeah,” he said, offhandedly, still soaking up his daughter’s presence. “Yeah, me too.” Tommy wrapped his arms around her, feeling a bit of him fall apart when she hesitated. Flashbacks of her running in his arms warmed his heart. The only nostalgia he could hold onto. After a moment, he whispered in thought, “after it’s all done, we’ll leave.”

Evelyn nodded, pulling away, rubbing her eyes in sleep. It was nearly three in the morning at that point. Her father and her shared a very distorted idea of what healthy sleep was, among other things. “Well, you need to find Lizzie first and-”

“No,” he said, stopping her. “When we bury….” Tommy had to stop himself and think about what he was about to say, not truly believing his words. He’d hope that no one mistook his actions because he loved his youngest as he did his second. Just not nowhere near his first. He looked over at Evelyn. It was the only right thing to do. Leave. “When we bury Ruby, you and I will leave-”

“Daddy,” she groaned, closing her eyes in frustration. Had he not listened to anything she said? I’m not your fucking wife! She took a belly deep sigh, holding it as she rubbed her temples. On the exhale, she looked at him. “And leave where? You still have a wife…a son-”

“The ties are broken,” he said. “After this, there’s nothing left holding any of us together, but you and I…we can still be held together.” He reached for her delicate hand, studying the chipped manicure. “We’ll go on the caravan-”

She pulled her hand away, scoffing. “Daddy, I don’t want to go on the caravan! Don’t you understand? Any of it? I’m twenty-four years old-”

“But you love the caravan,” he argued, still seeing the little girl under it all.

“When I was eight, daddy, and everything was new,” she explained. “And when Finn was there and John and Aunty. When we’d play in the fields and looked at the stars, that’s when I liked the caravan.” Evelyn shook her head. “Daddy, what are you and I going to do in the caravan, huh? I’m twenty-four years old. I can’t possibly live with my father in a caravan!”

“But it’d be good-”

“For you?” she asked, knitting her brows. “For me? Where will I sleep? For you? I can’t give you everything you need. It isn’t normal.” Part of him knew she was right, but the other half argued. She could give him everything he needed emotionally. They already were so close all the time, that he hadn’t thought anything wrong with sleeping on the wooden floor next to the one hay filled bed. Partially because he wanted to convince himself it was alright. 

He gave a nod of understanding. “Right, well,” he sighed, massaging his forehead. “Why don’t you go home and when it’s all done, we’ll talk everything over.” She nodded and he opened his arms. “C’mere, love.” Evelyn looked at his widened arms and offered a small smile before walking over, sinking into his body. Tommy held her so tight, hands rubbing her back affectionately. “I don’t believe in God, really, but if I did….” He pulled away, cupping her face with both hands, smiling softly. “I would ask him what I ever did to deserve such a wonderful little girl.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the nose. “Out of everything in my life, you were the only good decision.”

She smiled and nodded, pulling away as she straightened her bag. “I’ll meet Isaiah out front. “ When she turned, Lizzie was standing there. Her whole being was pale as a ghost. It seemed as though she cried a lifetime and couldn’t spare another second to it. Evelyn was better at words than most Shelbys. “I’m going home, I’ll prepare home for the wake.” For you don’t have to, was her reasoning, but really, she couldn’t stand still. She walked towards the door, pausing under the threshold, placing her arm on Lizzie’s shoulder. “It’s awful. It’s really awful.” The older woman couldn’t say anything. When Evelyn left, Lizzie looked at Tommy with a hollow expression. Many thoughts came rushing in. Everyone said it. Tommy Shelby would never be able to love you as long as she was there. Perhaps Grace was better at setting boundaries than she. 

Lizzie walked in and took a seat, cigarette between her fingers. “Where were you?”

Tommy joined her side, taking the cigarette from her and puffing it himself. He looked over at her. “I don’t have an excuse-”

“I had to give her your kiss goodbye,” she said, drained, no emotion left. “Telling her that her father loves her just before I walk in here and I-”

“Let’s bring this home, eh?” he asked, pulling her in for his once a year affection. “Let’s grieve.”

Evie went for the main entrance where she could see the black car. Isaiah had been waiting. She didn’t know for how long, but it was definitely long enough he turned the car off. She smiled, reaching for the handle when an arm slipped between her and the door. Before she looked at the man, she studied his pressed blue suit, decorated with gold cufflinks. Her eyes traveled up his arm to his face, swallowing. She wasn’t one to involve herself with her father’s business, preferring to be distant enough, clueless enough, and safe enough. A handsome gentleman looked down at her, slight grin. She was familiar with his face, but hardly cared enough to learn a name. Probably ignorant of her seeing as though it was Gina’s uncle, famous Irish-American gangster Jack Nelson. Like Tommy Shelby, people knew him. 

“Your father doesn’t give many opportunities for one to seek you alone, Miss. Shelby.” Evelyn flinched away, eying her one escape route. A lone stairwell that led back up to the main hospital area. Where her father was, probably with a gun by his side. She could also scream in hopes Isaiah would hear her. But he was a step ahead, cupping her chin and making her look at him. That smile was like a personal signature to him. “There’s no need. I thought perhaps we could take a ride, you and I-”

“Who are you?” she asked, connecting eyes, and he was nothing short of amused, introducing himself like a gentleman, hiding any evil motive. “Well, Mr. Nelson, I’m simply my father’s daughter and quite frankly, want no business with his friends. Now, if you may excuse me, I’d like to go home. It’s been an awful-”

“I’ve heard,” he interrupted, slipping his hand down to her arm. There was something sickly sweet about the way he was empathetically massaging her arm. “It’s so awful, isn’t it? Young and all.” Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time a man other than her father touched her. Though an unassuming gesture, she felt flushed by the touch. Almost like a little school girl. Jack could read her bashful expression; how her cheeks turned some shade of pink, how she averted her attention, how she acted like a small girl. He thought for a Shelby, she’d have a bit more edge. But over the years, her edge smoothened.

“Thank you, Mr. Nelson-”

“You’re very polite,” he complimented. “If you don’t mind, Miss. Shelby, can we go to my car? I’d like to have a chat with little risk of interruption-ah,” he hummed, noticing the fear in her eyes. “There is a side exit just under the stairwell…and there is no need to fear, if I wanted to kidnap you or kill you, it would have been done. Now, let’s not be silly.” She couldn’t tell you what possessed her. Was it his cool exterior? His calm voice? The gentle manner in which he touched her? But she gave one last look to the car waiting out front before following Jack Nelson to the side exit. 

He wasn’t driving his car. It was an older gentleman who only said a few words when opening the door for them. As the gentleman he was, he motioned for Evelyn to go in first. Hesitantly, she looked at him before sliding across the leather seats. He joined her side. He allowed the driver to start the car and go on their way. “Just towards my home. Is that alright?” He turned to Evelyn. “It’s a little bit of a ride, but perhaps you and I will get to know each other quite well during this time. Bond a bit seeing as though we both wear Boston routes.”

“Do you live here?” she asked, trying to feel out the situation. Her hand kept a steady grip on the door handle.

“Not usually,” he said, eying her hand before reaching over her and prying it off. “No need for that. I’d hate for you to jump out of a moving car and hurt yourself. What if you get a scratch on that pretty face, hm?” He chuckled, pulling her in towards the middle. “In fact, let’s sit closer-”

“Mr. Nelson-”

“Shhh,” he hushed her. 

She sighed, uncomfortably close to him. He propped one of her legs over his while one of his arms was snaked along her waist. His other hand rested on his knee. He sat relaxed, legs spread. He got so comfortable, he loosened his collar on his shirt. She swallowed the lump down and stiffly asked, “what is it exactly you want? My sister just died and I really just want to go home-”

“Mourning is an awful process, isn’t it, Miss. Shelby?” he asked, looking at her. “But it’s a process that will take a lifetime. While this chat will only take a sliver of your time.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of annoyance. “If there is something you want, Mr. Nelson, I can’t give it to you. My father has kept me sheltered from his business. I have no access to money. I have no access to assets. I have no access to people. I’m as useless as-”

“Your grandfather was an anthropologist-archeologist,” he commented. Evelyn stiffened, looking at him with a look of worry. Evelyn was so disattached to her biological family that she couldn’t remember some of their faces. She met her grandparents only a short few times when she was five and her mother was acting normal. “Quite famous, actually. Did you know he found some rather important artifacts in what was once known as Mesopotamia? Now Iraq…it’s a bit far from here-”

“I know my geography,” she said, jaw a bit tight.

He nodded. “Well, I regret to inform you, but your grandfather has passed on and well, for a very good price, your mother has so kindly sold me some interesting pieces-ah, ah, ah…you don’t like that. Me calling her your mother?” He noticed how Evelyn went pale and her breath hitched. “It’s alright,” he whispered, rubbing her arm. “Anyway, I have to say, those pieces look rather nice in my parlor. I’ve been complimented on them.” 

“What…do…you…want, Mr. Nelson?”

He chuckled, “well,  you think a woman whose whored herself for nearly thirty fucking years would have learnt to be a better business woman.” It was like a switch in Evelyn’s brain. She quickly pushed at him and lunged for the door, kicking her feet as his body. But her small, weak frame was pathetic. Jack was quick to grab her. His kindness shedded slightly as he pushed her back against the seat, holding her there with a hand around her neck. “Now, now, how impolite? To think we were getting along so fucking well!” She didn’t dare protest, his hand pressed against her life. “Now, she sold those very nice furnishings under the condition that she can see you just one last time.” Evelyn’s heart sunk to her stomach, and just as she was a child, she felt her body betray her. She got sweaty, her heart pounded. She was going to lose herself and her daddy wasn’t there to save her.

“I didn’t think you were an artifact dealer, Mr. Nelson,” she said, shaking. She wiggled under him, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

He eased his grip. “Me either, but the money is attractive. There are plenty of people willing to pay me quite a nice price for them. Now, she’s at home-ah, ah, ah. No need to panic. Shhhhhh.” He moved his hand from her throat, rubbing her cheek. “You don’t like mommy, do you, Evie?” She broke loose on the inside, and spilled on the outside as she choked on her tears. She shook as all the childhood trauma she thought she solved slowly seeped back up. “Hmmm, it’s so sad-”

“Mr. Nelson, please,” she begged, closing her eyes. Her chin twitched like a child’s. “Don’t make me-”

Jack pulled out a wrinkled black and white, yellow tinted photo. There were so very few pictures of Evelyn as a child. Tommy had a single photo. There, in Jack’s hands, was her mother’s photo of her that she kept in her handbag. “It’s so sad how someone could be so evil to a little child…Look how fucking cute you were? Wonder why you’re so adored…favorited.” She stared at the photo, observing how little Evie was smiling. Her curls were so thick then. “How she treated you-”

“I don’t think about it-”

“The abuse,” he continued. “I’d hate her, too, if I was you-”

“I feel nothing,” she said, trying to convince more than just him.

“How she’d work as you slept in the same bed.” How did he know all of this? She closed her eyes, trying to block him out, but he wouldn’t stop. “Left you with whores, for days unfed and uncleaned. Hair littered with lice…I couldn’t imagine the pain you felt, crying for a mother who never showed you an ounce of love.”

She took a deep breath, her chest tightening, wheezing. “Just stop…just please stop-”

“And that one time when you thought she bought a pretty dress for a party, but really, it wasn’t for you, was it? That pretty dress. It was green with white lace trimming.” He continued to retell her story, but Evelyn slowly started to sink into a hole of darkness, her mind swirling with memories of her childhood. Her mother was to make nice money that night. It was chicken money. Enough food for a few days. Evelyn remembered walking into a room, her mother’s hands on her back and an unfamiliar man sitting on her bed. Distinctively, she remembered the look on the man’s face…it morphed into something so evil, Evelyn swore she saw the Devil. Her mother left her alone in that room, locking the door from the outside. 

“I never worn a green dress since,” she whispered, lip trembling.

“But he saved you,” he said. “There was knock-”

“On the door, but he didn’t wait for her to answer. He walked in,” she said, continuing the story of how Tommy Shelby saved her from the Devil. Her nails dug into her skin, trying to keep herself calm. “He heard me and the man talking…I was so innocent. And he, he…he pushed my mother-”

“Into the stove,” Jack interrupted. “Your mother still has that scar on her forearm where the hot kettle burnt her-”

“He rushed into the room…my dress was slipping from my shoulders. But the world stopped when he came in. He studied the man for so long before grabbing me and covering me with his wool coat. We went home and he told Aunty Polly to watch me…that he had business to do. I remember hearing the first click of a gun…I remember seeing a gun for the first time-”

“Do you know what he did to that man?” he asked. 

“What do you want with me, Mr. Nelson. I’ve asked you and you’ve only caused me to-”

“I told you,” he corrected her. “I said, that she wants to see you-”

“And I don’t want to.”

“Right,” he nodded, handing her his red handkerchief. “Or, if you’d like, I can end her, but debts don’t pay themselves, Miss. Shelby.” Evelyn shot him a look of confusion. “Oh, like you haven’t thought about her end-”

“I’m not like that-”

“Well, then a family reunion would be very nice, wouldn’t it?” When she questioned what use he’d have of them meeting, he said, “none at all, but I do have good use of putting you in my debt. If I end her, whether or not you agree to it, I’ll put you on my books. And there is only one way to remove yourself.” He positioned her once again half on his lap, helping her clean her face, mumbling how she was a pretty girl. “Just a shame your father has such an unhealthy way of parenting. Poor girl, you probably hardly ever had a night out to yourself in the last few years.” When he was done, he put the handkerchief in his pocket. “I have a nephew…Irish blooded like yourself.” Evie slowly widened her eyes. “Before you object, I’ll have you know, he’s handsome and,” he paused, grinning. “Large cocks run in the family-”

Evie stopped him right there. “So, you are going to kill her then hold me to a debt I never asked to be a part of? And that debt is to…what? Fuck your nephew? Mr. Nelson, I’m not going-”

“Come on, Evelyn,” he whined mockingly. “You’re beautiful. You’re unmarried, no kids….Who will you have to share your father’s assets with when the brain tumor takes over, huh? When he’s gone-”

“B-brain t-tumor,” Evelyn stuttered, a thump in her chest. What tumor?

“You know you’re your father’s favorite,” he continued, ignoring her disheveled, frazzled state. She clung to him, nails digging into his blue suit sleeve. “Your sister is dead…Miss. Stark has filed for a divorce. What do you think you inherited compared to, what’s his name? Charlie? You know that you got that house, that land, those five cars…all that money. Never mind the business and the horses. Wouldn’t it be nice to share it with someone? C’mon, sweetheart, a Boston-Irish girl like you deserves to reconnect with her roots-”

“Take me the fuck home!” She snapped. 

“Then make a deal-”

“I’ll see her then take me home.”

That’s when he grinned. “How do you know that she isn’t already dead and the deal hasn’t already been made? Hm?” Evelyn narrowed her eyes and raised her hand to slap him, when he caught it. Looking at his driver, he said, “take her home.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Helping Hand 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You're permitted to leave the dungeon of your policy review for your designated half-hour break. You go to the lunch room and sit down with your meagre tray of crackers and cheese. You pick away at it, your appetite spoiled by the rotten start to your day and the pain tearing at your muscles. You really just want to go home but you know you can't. You need the money.

Your phone shakes on the table, a loud rattle that makes you flinch. You sigh and grab it, standing up to take the call. The longer you avoid Andy, the worse it's going to get. You leave your food on the table and jar your shoulder as you pull open the door. You put the phone to your ear as you storm onto the sales floor.

"Andy, I'm at work."

"Tough shit. How hard is it for you to give me an answer? It's as simple as a text--"

"You ever think I don't want to see your mother or you? Andy," you huff and hold your breath, lowering your voice as you hurry past customers. You get outside just as you're about to burst, "you left me. You served me papers. Why are you still bugging me?"

"I asked you for a goddamn favour. And just like usual, you can't do a simple task--"

"Andy--"

"Listen to me," he hollers over you, "she's sick. Okay? She's sick and she wants to see you."

You stop on the curb, teetering on the edge. You push your neck back and groan. God, you're shoulder hurts.

"How sick?" You ask.

"Sick," he answers somberly, "please, it's one afternoon."

You exhale, "what about... her?"

Another silence as he sniffs, "that's over."

You want to scoff. You want to scream in his ear. All that for a fling that didn't even last a whole year. You hold back your venom, it doesn't change anything. You're still divorced and you still hate him.

"Too bad," you mutter, "fine, I'll come."

"Thanks," he says, "for what it's worth."

"For her, not you," you growl.

"I can drive you--"

"No, I'll figure that out myself," you turn back to the storefront, "the less time we need to be together, the better."

He clucks, "I wasn't that bad."

"Apparently I was," you shrug and let out a pathetic yipe, "god fuck!" You pull the phone away from your ear as you try to stifle your exclamation. You put it back to your cheek and cross the pavement to the door, "gotta go. Bye."

"Sunday--"

"Got it."

You hang up and shove your phone in your pocket. You whine and clutch your shoulder. Your eyes blur with tears. So much for a relaxing lunch.

You reenter the store, head down as you ignore the customers trying to get your attention. You punch the keycode into the lunchroom door and grab your uneaten snack, packing it away before returning to the backroom. As you enter, you find the office occupied.

"Ah, there you are," Jonathan greets as he turns to you, "how was your break?"

"Short," you answer and go around to sit in the chair, cradling your elbow to keep pressure off the joint of your shoulder, "thanks."

"I saw you rush out. Everything okay?"

"Yep," you roll forward and flip a page, "everything is roses."

"And how is your shoulder?" He asks.

"Good," you lie.

He stares at you. A deadlock between you. You bow your head and resume your mindless browsing of redundant rules. He comes close to the other side of the desk and rests his fingertips on the top.

"I am worried, I am not treating you maliciously," he says evenly.

"I know. I told you not to worry."

"Someone should be cautious if you won't," he insists, "I am not like that man I fended off last night–"

"He's not your problem to worry about."

"Yet, I do," he intones, "you shouldn’t let him shade your impression of the world. He is one person–"

"I don't want to talk about my ex-husband," your voice scrapes with frustration, "please," you lift your head, "I'm just trying to get through the day."

He considers you, dragging his hand away from the desk to cross his arms. His forehead ripples and his cheek twitches. He takes a breath and his chest rises and falls.

"Very well, let's keep this professional. Go home."

"What?" You sputter.

"Yes, you've had time to review the policy. Should an employee have issues performing their duties, and/or pose a risk to themselves or others, they may be dismissed," he declares, "I believe if you sit here any longer and stress your injury, you will cause irreparable damage."

"It's fine–"

"I am your boss and I am telling you to leave the premises."

You lean back, chewing on a yelp. You blink as you glare at him. You can't believe he is doing this.

"Now, since you are officially relieved of your duties, as your friend, I insist you see a doctor–"

"You can't do this–"

"I am," he shrugs nonchalantly. "Of course, you may choose to catch the bus and see how you fare with a night of discomfort and no relief or you will accept my offer and seek help. I had my physician pencil you in for an hour from now–"

"Why would you do that?" You sneer.

"Because, you are stubborn–"

"I am not your responsibility."

"Perhaps not in your mind," he smirks, "so, shall I retrieve your things from your locker or would you prefer me wait for you here?"

"I'm not going with you," you stand and close the binder, slamming your hand on the cover.

"Very well, until you seek proper care, you will not be permitted to return to work. I cannot risk the liability–"

"You are…" you begin, breathless with exasperation, "why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? Looking after you?"

"Yes," you murmur, "why would you bother?"

"Someone must," he drops his arms, "please, be mad at me all you like, it is better than hurting yourself."

You shake your head and huff, avoiding him as you round the desk, "I'll get my bag."

"I'll be here, darling," he hums smugly, "patiently."

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c9. Reign of Terror.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Cool about it, boygenious

abstract: listen, I don't even want to hear it. yes, it's Simon. I told you already, I'm gathering intel during this part. don't think too hard about it, this doesn't mean anything. and yes, I think she was telling the truth. I follow my instincts and they only failed me once or twice…

When the routine settled back in, she felt like the Al-Jareena mission was a thing of the past. A week had gone by, she had no news about the mission. Or Arash. She was snapping her fingers following the rhythm of the music. 'And one, two, balancé!' She watched as the girls rehearsed in front of her, moving in pairs, one from each side of the room. They had been going on and on for an hour, the poor girls were exhausted. 'Okay, from here, piquè', she had been demonstrating everything, trying to remember her notes and the changes she had to make to the original choreography. Her blue leotard was sticking on her skin, she could feel sweat dripping down her back and in between her breasts. Her bun was starting to come untied, she kept fixing some shorter hair behind her ears. 'I don't want to see those stiff hands Jenny, please', she resumed, 'piquè, finish on your right leg. Sam and Gemma, you're going to go stage left with two saut de basque'. She stopped talking to demonstrate the jump, which was quite difficult, she had to admit. 'You finish on relevè, arms in fifth position, then repeat to the other side'. She was too old for all this activity, (Jude is delusional, she's 26). She had to catch her breath without letting the girls know she was getting tired. 'Then, Kyla, Cassie and Luna, same thing to the right as soon as the first two finish jumping, same thing to the left with group three.' She instructed and approached the mirrors in the front of the room. 'Let's see it, please'.

She packed her bag while the girls said bye to her. God, did she love being called 'Miss Alba'. She put on sweats, lifting them up over her legs without bothering to remove the pink tights she hated so much. She preferred black ones, they concealed stretch marks, cellulite… See, if the school was hers, she would let her ballerinas pick the colour they wanted. She could see during the lessons some of them were self conscious about their bodies, like she had been for years when she was younger. The way they looked at each other in the mirrors, like they were comparing themselves to the others. Some were thinner, some had bigger bums, bigger breasts, some had more muscle, some you could see their whole ribcage sticking out. School policy, black leotard and pink thighs. They were too young. But still, even Alba herself had some serious issues with her figure, demonstrating in front of everyone was challenging and took a tool on her mental health sometimes. She knew she was fit, don't get me wrong, she had worked fucking hard for years to get to where she was. Strong, lean quads, a good set of abs. She had followed every diet in the world, she learned so much about what foods not to eat, how to get the perfect body… How to be slim and toned and have fat in the right places. She gained back weight after the 'bad year' when she didn't work and decided she was not gonna feed herself anymore. Cooking was just too much back then, she spent hours going on walks with headphones in, on the verge of passing out. She was better now, she only had those thoughts every now and then. They were under control, she was healthy. Let me tell you, her legs, arms, her hips, a fucking work of art. Still, being watched by those young girls who probably spent way too much worrying about their weight and having to be the representation of perfection was daunting. Keep your abs thigh, your foot straight, your hips aligned. Hide how painful it is, hide the fact your calf is cramping and you're losing balance. A game of pretend.

When she got to work the next day, she was surprised to see a special someone waiting for her beside her door. No fucking way. She stopped in her tracks when he saw him, bag hanging from her shoulder, boots clicking on the floor. What are you doing here, how do you know this is my office? Did you ask around? Are you following me? She approached him and he took a step towards her. He had a blue jacket on, no skull mask today, simple black one. She could finally see his hair colour, dirty blonde. He needed a trim. 'Can I help you?' she said. Well well well. 'Not really' he replied, crossing his arms against his chest. He was tall, he was scarily tall. She had to tilt her head to look at him. That position made his arms look even bigger. She no problem admitting how good looking he was. 'Am I in trouble?' she asked tilting her head to the side. His mask moved slightly, but his eyes didn't exactly show a particular emotion. Was he smiling or about to punch her, she didn't know. She had always loved risks. 'You're not' he answered. He wasn't in the mood for jokes maybe. Noted.

She nodded and took a step towards the office door unlocking it and getting in, supposing he would follow. Being in there made her feel slightly more secure. It was a place where she normally had some authority. Not with him she didn't. He closed the door behind him as she put her bag on the desk. The office had two big windows which let in few shy rays of sunshine. She had a couch with a few pillows for the patients and a chair for her. She looked at him and indicated the couch, as to say 'sit'. He really didn't want to. He felt like a patient. He went to therapy before, he just didn't want to be her patient. He stood there in the middle of the room watching Jude take off her coat and hang it on the chair. She wore jeans today. Tight jeans and a jumper. He could see her boots clearer now, they were shiny and the tip of the shoe was round. They looked from the 80's. She had cream coloured socks. She looked younger dressed like that. She looked less professional and more… a civilian, a normal 23 year old girl. He had settled that was her age. Her hair loose, her casual outfit, she looked ready for a walk in the park. He wondered if she walked in the park with her dog. She looked like she had a normal job, like waitressing or maybe she was a painter or a student. She looked like she could go to the movies dressed like that, or play bowling. She looked like she was about to sit down, take her shoes off, get comfortable and tell him about her day, talk about nothing for hours without ever boring him.

She finally spoke, sitting down in her leather chair. 'Why are you here?' she asked, her hands on her thighs. 'You can sit if you want', she added. He still wouldn't move. 'I wanted to apologise for asking about last year, I realised it might be a sensitive topic'. His voice was low and soothing, his British accent heavy on every word. She didn't expect that. That was very considerate of him, the 6 foot soldier standing in the middle of her office like the representation of death that comes knocking at your door. What a strange thing to say man, did you hear stories? Did you hear your friends say I faked it? Cause I know they're saying it. 'Thanks', she said softly, a tone she had never used with him. She tried not to get triggered by his words, not to let her mind wonder back to the event he was referring to. She had to fight hard to not let her brain spiral, a fight against herself. She always seemed to lose. 'It's just something really bad, I don't like to think about it more than I already do', she explained. His eyes were fixated on her like she was a wild animal about to go extinct. He nodded and silence filled the room.

'How did the mission go?' She asked even if she already knew the answer. She was just making conversation. He didn't want to stay too much. He thought about seeing her, he thought about talking to her again and now that she was there, now that he purposely went to her office to talk, he wanted to run. 'Good. Good, yeah, thanks to you, actually'. He finally sat down. That was what patients saw then. The desk behind her, the windows and her, on the leather chair. He tried to imagine her during sessions. Her back straight, compassionate eyes, maybe a notebook on her lap. The window on her right illuminated only half of her face. Making her half an angel. She wasn't commenting on his answer, she squinted her eyes. 'Are you saying I was right and you were wrong?' she asked. Cheeky. She wasn't smiling, cause she knew she was right all along. 'I'm saying you got lucky.' She made him weak, his mouth was dry. 'So what are you gonna do next? I might get lucky again', she said. Could he tell her? She already knew so much. He decided he could share, vague answers only. 'We find where they took Khorram, we'll probably find Arash as well. We leave in a week.' She kept biting her lower lip, not in a provocative way. She was thinking. 'What did he do exactly? He's the one with that snake flag right?' she asked. She was informed. She had seen the flag she was referring to on the news and on social media. It was a green flag with a snake print, with red eyes. A symbol. 'The viper, yes. We've been following him for some time. Human trafficking, mainly.' Her expression was of disgust. 'He formed an army, he controls the main cities, he lets people starve, public executions…' he decided to stop there. She nodded, she got the gist. 'Makes sense…' she murmured. 'Reign of Terror kinda thing.' There was silence again between them.

'Reign…' he felt bad that he didn't know what she was talking about. He didn't have a degree. Jude had probably 4 or 5. But no, he wasn't that cultured. It made him feel small. Guns and war, he was the best. It was the second time he didn't know what she was talking about, she said something about a Little King or some shit. (It was the Little Price, the book). 'French Revolution, doesn't matter', she cut him off. Don't make me feel stupid Jude. He got up saying he better be going, she did too, she said 'of course'. She offered him her hand to shake. You're Italian, he decided. The hand gestures, the physical touch. Yes, to Simon shaking your hand twice was considered physical touch. She wasn't British, she was too polite and beautiful for it. How do you speak English so well then. What made you come here? What's your real name something Italian like Julia or Sarah? He reached for her hand, glad he was wearing gloves this time so he couldn't feel her skin. Less of her to think about. She looked at him, then looked down to their hands, still holding it. Her soft, caramel skin, with those dainty black nails against his skeleton printed gloves. She turned his hand so she could see the skeleton print and smiled, with her head tilted down. A smirk. She had dimples. Her eyelashes were almost touching her eyebrows. He let go of her hand and turned around, regretting he didn't wear his other mask. Would have hidden the fact that he was blushing.

notes: I was listening to 'cool about it' by boygenius when writing this. also, writing ballet is fucking hard… how do I describe the pain. also also, Jude's shoes are those chunky coquette Mary Jane shoes that you wear with socks.

notes: Julia and Sarah are not correct spellings of Italian names, more on the American side. makes sense Simon doesn't know how to spell the Italian versions. (they are Giulia and Sara). How are you guys doing, you all good? You guessed it I'm still taking my exams and working and being clinically insane and unbelievably tired.

love, mare.

taglist:

@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 9: Broken Cage

Ch. 8 <; Series Masterlist

Warnings: violence, blood and injury, character death.

Summary: Canary will make them pay for everything. All at once.

Do not read this work if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 2800~

“Luke is taking too long.” Alan comments to no one in particular, his cup of coffee in front of him left untouched after the first few sips - it tasted like sewage water, truth be told. 

Charlie simply hummed in acknowledgment as he munched down on some crackers he had found in his backpack - the only non-stale food in the cabin. He gulped them down with cold coffee, and Alan decided not to think too much about the state of his taste buds. 

“He’s probably just avoiding the cops,” Charlie finally commented after a few silent minutes, “maybe there are blockades and shit.”

Alan said nothing, limiting himself to smoke his cigarette and watch out of the open cabin door towards the road. It was almost noon, and he had returned to the cabin hours ago. He had planned on getting some shut-eye once Luke had come back, but the hours passed with no news and he was growing antsy. 

He knew that as far as Luke was concerned, the only thing the police could arrest him for was driving a stolen van. If that was the case, it would be only a matter of time until he received a call from the police station and he would have to present himself as his friend to bail him out, or as his lawyer and demand his release until a set court date. He had done it with Charlie a couple of times before, it would be a first for Luke. 

A quiet grumble interrupted his musings, and both men looked at the direction it came from. Alan suddenly remembered that their cute little hostage hadn’t had anything to eat in almost two days, and he sighed. “...Right.” He took one cracker from the sleeve and stood up, stepping slowly towards her. 

Canary froze up, inwardly cursing her stomach for being so impatient and calling their attention. She had been painstakingly rubbing the hilt of the knife against her bindings, keeping her wrist movements hidden from her captors with the rest of her body. She had managed to avoid detection so far, and it seemed as if her greatest traitor would be her own body. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears as Alan approached her, and she wormed away from him in an attempt to hide her little plan. 

He stopped right before the bed, and showed her the cracker held between two fingers. “If you try to bite me, I’ll tear your teeth out one by one, understand?” 

Canary gulped and nodded, knowing that her best chance of escaping would be by them letting down their guard. That would only happen if they didn’t see her as a danger, and the only way she could accomplish that, was to be obedient and submissive. Only until she got her damn restraints off, though. 

Alan nodded and leaned down, pressing the cracker against her lips. She took it with her teeth as slowly as she could, trying her best not to touch his fingers with her lips. Alan smirked, releasing the cracker and stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

She felt like lurching whatever remained in her empty stomach as she heard him - it definitely sounded much better when it was Simon saying it - but she ate the cracker in silence. It was a little humid, but it would do for now. 

“If you behave,” Alan hummed, pulling away, and walking back to his seat, “you’ll get another one later.” 

She now really wanted to bite his fingers off. 

“I can think of something else for her to eat, though,” Charlie leered at her, licking his lips with a wolfish grin. 

She narrowed her eyes. I dare you to try, see how my chompers work, she thought, but stayed silent as she swallowed the cracker. Canary had resumed her work on the ligatures as they were distracted, slowly grinding the knife against the bindings, which were giving away little by little. The more they loosened, the more she could feel the rope burn around her wrists. She kept her breathing steady, not looking away from the men as she worked. 

Alan seemed to read her thoughts, though, as he cackled out loud. “You want to live the rest of your life with half a dick? Be my guest then.” Charlie simply shook his head, lighting a cigarette and clowning the smoke towards her. 

“She won’t be able to if I dislocate her jaw, though,” he chuckled darkly, enjoying the mental image that his brain conjured, already feeling his blood pooling to his crotch. 

“That’s for the buyer to decide, and you know that,” Alan scolded him, and put out the butt of his cig on the table. He checked his wrist watch and stood up with a grunt, patting down the front of his jacket. “I’m off to check if we got an answer from our buyer,” he walked to the door and sent Charlie a last warning, “I’m serious, if you do anything to her that can’t be covered with a band-aid, I’m going to kill you.”

Charlie watched him go with a snort, taking a long drag of his cig, “You’re no fun.” 

The last thread of the rope snapped away at the same moment the door closed shut behind Alan, and Canary nearly cried in relief. She managed to stealthily pull the pieces of rope away from her wrists and hold the knife tightly in one hand. Her blood pounded through the bruises and into her hands, cramping the tips of her fingers, but she was well aware that she had no time to relax. Charlie had stood up from his chair. 

He downed the last bit of his coffee and lit another cigarette, his eyes leisurely traveling from her chest to her feet. He took a step closer to the end of the bed, his eyes shifting to her face. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” he grumbled with a smirk, fiddling with the cigarette and leaning in to hold her ankles with his free hand. 

Canary kicked back half-heartedly and let out a small whimper while her eyes fixed on his openings, she needed to make him think she wanted to crawl away from him, that would make him lean in even closer. She was dangling the bait in front of him, and her hand clutched the knife, ready to swing at the smallest chance. “Try not to scream so much, okay? Alan is busy, after all.”

Charlie used his leg to press down on her thighs, unknowingly offering her a full view of his back. His free hand clutched her ankles while the hand holding the cigarette inched closer to her skin. He failed to see the shadow over his shoulder as the knife came down. 

Canary was significantly weakened from her usual strength, due to the drugs, the hunger, the dehydration. But she still managed to dig the knife halfway into his back - more or less where his upper-lung should be. He let out a painful howl and tried to flinch away, but her hand clamped down on his upper arm and pulled out the knife, before forcing it down on his neck as fast as she could. 

The thin muscle gave way to the steel and Canary pulled the knife out just as quickly as she stabbed it, and blood began spurting out in the same rhythm as his heartbeat. Charlie’s legs managed to pull him away from her only to tumble down onto the floor, taking the chair down with him. 

Canary jumped on her feet, ignoring the stinging pain in her soles, and readied herself to attack again. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and fueled her with almost the same energy she felt in the battlefield. A sense of euphoria surrounded her when he looked up at her with a mixture of fear and rage, desperately trying to put pressure on the hole in his neck. He opened his mouth but only a gurgling sound came out, and she knew that he was starting to drown in his own blood.

Canary raised her hand holding the knife and took a deep breath, before smirking down at him. He was going to pay for everything, all at once. 

~~~~~~

“Get in,” Luke did as was told, or attempted to, since his hands were still handcuffed behind his back. A strong hand pushed him into the car and he groaned in protest, before setting down in the middle of the backseat. 

He allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath, until he realized he wouldn't be alone. The Sergeant with the mohawk and the Lieutenant with the skull mask climbed in and sat on his sides, their enormous bodies barely fitting in the back of the patrol car - and big weapons held between their legs. Suddenly the air in the back of the patrol was stuffy and he barely had room to breathe.

An officer sat behind the wheel and Hartford climbed in the passenger seat. “Where?” He simply asked, looking at Luke out of the corner of his eye. 

“T-take the road around campus and cross the bridge,” Luke could barely let the words out of his mouth, feeling two pairs of eyes practically digging through his flesh, “then take the first turn to the right.”

The patrol car drove off, and Price’s jeep followed with him and Gaz inside. 

~~~~~~

Alan stopped dead in his tracks as he was walking down the road. He knew he had heard a shout, but wasn’t sure of whether it was the girl or Charlie. He slowly turned around, weighing his options. 

If it was the girl and Charlie lost it again and tried to ‘shut her up’, they would surely lose another product before he even got a sale confirmation. If it was Charlie, and the girl had managed to hurt him in some way, it meant that he would fight back - the girl was tied, drugged, and hungry; he was at an advantage and would certainly bust her head open. Again, lost product. 

A third possibility crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly - it couldn’t be possible that she had managed to untie herself. Even if she did, he was still stronger than her, there was no way…

A few moments passed in silence before he began walking back to the cabin. Minutes passed when he finally reached the cabin and opened the door, his mouth instantly slackening in shock. 

Charlie was on the floor with his limbs spread out, lying in a pool of his own blood, and their hostage was kneeling on top of him with her hand holding the knife that was still buried to the hilt in Charlie’s chest. She was disheveled, her clothes were covered in blood and her eyes shot up to meet Alan’s. He felt a shiver travel down his spine - her eyes were cold and deadly. His hand reached under his jacket where he hid his holster at the same moment she stood up. 

Canary held the knife tightly in her hand and ran forward, nearly slipping on the blood with her bare feet, as she stormed to her enemy with a battle scream that nearly drowned the bang of the shot being fired. 

~~~~~~

“Um… Take the road up north and drive on,” Luke gulped as he sat up straight. He had the feeling that if he relaxed just a little, he would die. However, both Soap and Ghost remained silent, simply watching out of the window and only occasionally sending Luke a glare, just to make sure he couldn’t try anything funny. They both knew that their presence in the car alone was enough to inhibit any fighting plan he could conjure up.

As the car turned right on the intersection, a few minutes passed before Hartford recognized the scenery and his heart dropped. A day prior, Melanie Kirk was shot and killed in that road, and the detective remembered exactly which tree had stopped her car. Now, he was traveling down that same road, with one of the men involved in her death, to rescue the woman she had tried to help. 

He looked into the side view mirror and saw Ghost’s eyes on him. He seemed to be thinking the exact same thing as him. 

They will pay for everything. 

~~~~~~

The sound of the bed sheets ripping under the hilt of her knife was barely louder than her panting. Once Canary gathered enough strips of fabric, she took a large square of fabric and folded it several times to create a press, and held it against her open wound with a groan. The bullet had gone through and through, and although it passed dangerously close to her lung, she didn’t hear any whistling sounds coming out of her wound. 

Canary wrapped her makeshift bandages around herself as tightly as she could, knowing that it would be only a matter of time until her blood started to stain the cloth even further. She couldn’t sit still, though. She knew that the third man had been out for a while, and he would be back at any minute now. She was now too injured to hold a fight with an uninjured man who was probably also armed, while she only had a knife.  

Despite the risk of blood loss being too great, it was still a fighting chance that she wouldn’t have if she just stayed idle. If she made it to a road with more traffic, she would be able to find help. 

As she walked out of the cabin, she was faced with a difficult decision: should she walk on the road, or should she sneakily walk through the forest? She would be able to flag down a vehicle easier if she walked on the road. However, she would also be easily found by the third man. Besides, he was supposed to get another vehicle, so she may not recognize the danger until it becomes too late. 

The forest would definitely hide her from view from the road, but it would be hard to navigate in it without having been able to see the road when they got there. She glanced down at her newly acquired shoes, courtesy of Baldie’s corpse. They were a couple sizes too big, but they would help protect her feet from the terrain. 

Her wound stung, and she looked up at the sky. It was past noon now, and the sun felt nice on her skin. The wind made her shiver - she would have at least 4 hours of sunlight before she was consumed by the dark. She needed to find help before then. 

Canary took a deep breath and marched forward, decidedly walking into the forest, unaware of Alan’s eyes trained on her. He had somehow avoided death, and managed to get up as she left, his weapon still in his hand. He wheezed and coughed as the taste of iron filled his mouth at the effort, but his entire body was fueled by rage. Pure adrenaline pumped through his veins as he gripped his gun and staggered after her. 

Straight into the woods.

A/N: Canary made Charlie into a cushion pin for his own knife.

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[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Out in the Cold Field, pt. ii

Hello Travelers. Terrible Waste hurt us all... Surly this won't hurt you more?

@ananxiousgenz @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @demonic-panini @waters-and-the-wilde @the-private-eye

The woman’s expression went from smug to slack in mere moments. She said her name was Aurora. Aurora’s expression went from smug to slack in mere moments. 

She recovered swiftly and chose her words carefully, “I have no clue what you’re talking about Darling.” 

“If you have intention to lie to me, then my Associate and I will be less inclined to help you.” 

“Like I said, I didn’t ask to be saved. And in any case, you’re running away from yourselves, you and your Associate, correct? I can’t begin to conceive why you would stop to pick a stranger off the side of the tracks. I have nothing to give or offer you.”

“My Associate and I do not want anything from you–”

Aurora’s laughter is sharp. Like nails gliding against a chalkboard, she cackles with an amount of carefree nature that Jet hasn’t heard since spring disappeared. 

“Oh Jet Darling– you really are a comedian! There is no such thing as free in this world. Everything has a price. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father, but he made it a point that I understand that nothing I wanted would ever be handed to me.”

Aurora loved to talk. Or maybe she just liked the sound of her own voice. She would be in for a rude awakening tomorrow when her voice would be gone. Already raw as it is, if she kept this pace up it would be gone within two hours. Four at most. It makes the corner of Jet’s mouth twitch with delight. 

Aurora pauses her yammering. “Something I said tickle your fancy?”

“I was just thinking you had a lovely voice.” Jet leans away from her and turns back for his stool. He pauses. “You never answered my question.”

“What question? I don’t recall you ever asking me anything.”

Ah, the talking was a distraction. Whoever Aurora really is she’s quite the character. 

“I asked: what happened to make you want to die?” He’s met with silence. Jet nods and crosses the room. He resumes his seat next to the fire and pot of stew. They had but three shriveled carrots and a quarter head of cabbage left to split three ways. It needed a protein, but regardless it’s come together rather nicely…

Another twenty minutes creeps by. Jet looks up to check on Aurora and finds her eyes closed. Whether she’s actually asleep or pretending to be is not his concern. Watching her chest rise and fall is. 

She looks so small lying on the cot. With such a big mouth she must be quite the showrunner at parties. She just about talked circles around Jet, and he has the sneaking suspicion she would if he let her. 

Her bright and bold red hair is what allowed Jet to spot her in the blizzard. He had been walking back to the small Hanataba Cabin carrying a frail rabbit for the stew when he saw what he first thought was a dahlia. Dahlia’s growing along the tracks were not uncommon, but they tended to sprout sporadically and wither quickly. Upon further investigation seeing that it was in fact, a person not a flower, he dropped the rabbit and scooped the woman into his arms. He hadn’t tried to sprint through the snow in years. Once he got her settled in the cot and addressed her frostbite as best they could, he sent his Associate away to forge for roots. They always had better luck at it than he did. 

And now here they are. Aurora shivers. She clenches her teeth revealing a smile missing a few teeth and the rest filed to dull points. Perhaps they were razor-sharp some years ago. 

The door to the cabin creeks open and a gust of billows in. It nearly sweeps his Associate off balance but they hold their ground. Aurora jerks and tilts her head as much as she can to peer at them as they throw their body against the door to jam it closed. 

“Goddess! It’s colder than Pluto out there!” They remove their bag and toss it towards Jet. He catches it mid-air and rummages through it to pull out whatever goods they managed to find. Mostly roots. A single rogue mushroom… and acorns. Lots and lots of acorns. 

“I told you to stop scavenging for acorns.” Jet looks up at their Associate.

They hum, unwrapping their layered scarves. White hair spills down around their shoulders in long dreads. “Did you?”

“Yes. Last year when we met up at this cabin, I told you the cabbage tasted bad with the acorns.”

“And I seem to recall telling you the acorns tasted bad with the cabbage. I like acorn stew.” They approach Aurora’s cot and quickly pull off their goggles to wink at her. “My my, look who’s alive! How do you feel?”

“Never been better,” she rasps. “I feel like I can run a marathon. Sign me up for the next triathlon.” 

They laugh heartily while Jet sets about adding their forged goods to the stew. 

“A pretty face and a sense of humor. You’ve earned two points in my book. Do you have a name by chance?”

“Nobody that matters anymore.” At this, Jet does allow himself to smile. With his back turned at least neither of them can see his expression. 

“Ah, that got you to smile now, didn’t it Big Guy?” Well, at least Aurora couldn’t have known. He’s worked with his Associate for too long now. They know each other like two sides of the same coin. A loud thunk and Jet is reminded that they stashed their instrument under Aurora’s cot in a haste to address her injuries. “Well then Ms-Nobody-That-Matters, can’t you tell me who you were when you did?”

“Depends on who you are I suppose. Your Associate over there said you stole something very important from Hades. And based off those bandages on your hands, he was telling the truth.” Aurora hums setting off a chain reaction of humming around the room. Jet turns to face the both of them. Their Associate has made themself plenty comfortable on the ground in front of Aurora.

“What else did he tell you? Because my Associate was telling the truth. I did steal something important. I stole fire from the King.” 

“Why in Goddess name would you do that? You must either be incredibly smart to do such a dumb thing, have a death wish, or love to play stupid games.” 

They smile and Jet’s stomach drops. He never liked that smile. “Silver-tongued... I like you. Pleased to make your acquaintance Ms-Nobody, call me M’tendere. And you’d be right– about everything. Work for the Crown for as long as I have and you’ll do just about anything to push some buttons.”

“What, no title like your Associate the Unnatural Disaster?” 

They shake their head and reach out to brush a hand through Aurora’s hair. “‘Fraid not. Why’d you tell her that anyway, Jet? You haven’t gone by that in years.”

“Not within the last century yes. I needed to build trust with Aurora. Showing her my hand was the easiest thing to do.”

“Oh darling– it’s Buddy actually.” Aurora– or rather, Buddy– blinks sympathetically towards Jet. “I’m sorry for deceiving you.” 

“Don’t apologize to the Big Guy. Ever.” M’tendere strums the strings on their instrument. “Big Guy doesn’t think he’s worth apologies.” If it came from anyone else Jet might have been slightly hurt. Coming from M’tendere though it's just the truth. They pluck a few notes absent-mindedly humming the same tune they always do.

“M’tendere doesn’t apologize to me. Whether you do or not is your decision to make, Buddy.” Buddy… Buddy with the red hair… Jet’s eyes widen as a confounding puzzle from four months ago slots together. “Buddy… Buddy Aurinko? You're Palomine's daughter." It’s not a question. It’s a fact. A fact just like how Jet doesn’t accept apologies from M’tendere. 

Buddy opens her mouth to speak and without looking up M’tendere cuts in, "He's dead."

She scoffs, "No that can't be. I just saw him last year. I got a letter from him four months ago–"

"And now four months later,” Jet reigns the conversation away from M’tendere before they can run it. Having one person around to do all the talking was headache enough. He enjoyed Buddy’s chatter though, M’tendere’s less so. “We’re telling you he's dead. Trust me. He would not stop begging for his life. He even bargained for it with yours."

The warm atmosphere falls cold. The small fire that Jet has continued to tend to crackles and pops. M'tendere gets up and leaves their guitar on the ground. They get up to rummage through a cupboard, busying themself with a set of metal tools and glass bottles on a shelf. Buddy rubs the thin sheet covering her between two fingers.

"How do you know all this?"

"It's our job," M'tendere turns to face her. "The Big Guy and I lead lost souls down to Hades. We've been at this for a while now."

An abrupt laugh erupts from the cot. It breaches Buddy's mouth and sounds more like a wheeze then a laugh. More like a strangled sob then a breath. Jet glances at M'tendere. They share a long look and exchange a loose shrug. By the time Buddy gathers herself she closes her eyes and presses her lips together in a thin line. Her shoulders begin to shake.

"You should've let me take his place. You should've led me to Hadestown..."

[elfryn]

Commission to Clyn. Title: Once in a Moon. Request: Drunken confession, Larissa finds out and happy ending. Words: 5648. Ratings/Warnings: General Audiences/No Archive Warnings Apply. Relationships: Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates/Larissa Weems. Summary: She feels a lump in her throat, a heaviness in her stomach, and discomfort in her eyes. Larissa is using all her strength not to scream, not to cry, yet, as the other's diminutive figure seems even smaller and more fragile cowering in the centre of her bed, it makes everything difficult. Silently, Larissa Weems wishes she could go back to before, when she was still ignorant, to a time when she did not know the sleeping being in front of her. She wishes she could go back to the days long gone when she had yet to lose her heart to Laurel Gates. Links: ao3, tips! Commissions info here!

“Why do you want to work at Nevermore, Mrs. Thornhill?" Larissa uses her most professional voice. 

“Miss," the redhead corrects. “Nevermore is one of the best schools in the country and I..." she proceeds to say a decorated speech. Larissa is well aware of her school's reputation, both the good and the bad, she doesn't need people to remind her of that. Weems admits that she has stopped paying attention between one word and another. After several boring interviews, it is normal to lose interest past a certain point. Everything she needs to know about the candidates is in the curriculums anyway. She studies the resume she has in hand. Exceptional track record, flowery references, no complaints or disgusted notes.

On paper, Marilyn Thornhill looks practically perfect in every way. 

“And what did you say your skill is?" Not that it will change her final decision at all, but Weems likes to keep track of what kind of person she's dealing with. 

“I didn't say," Thornhill smiles yellow, almost nervously, “I don't have one," she reveals. This catches Larissa's attention as she carries her gaze to her with a quickness that makes her dizzy.

“Are you a normie?" Larissa thinks she's put too much poison in the word, considering how Marilyn shrinks back in her chair. “Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." 

“No, it's okay, that's kind of my fault for omitting information." Again with the fake smile and nervousness.

“It's not like you're obligated to put that on your resume," the blonde tries to soften the damage she's caused. Weems looks at Marilyn and notices her, really notices her. The long red hair, the fringes married to the giant glasses that help hide her face, the simple clothes and nothing flashy. She looks like a low-budget red-headed version of some Zooey Deschanel character. There is absolutely nothing over-the-top about her. Marilyn Thornhill is ordinary, forgettable. One of those people who stand in the back of the room and nobody notices, as if they have a perception filter over them, deflecting away all eyes. Had Larissa not known better, she would never have married Marilyn Thornhill's resume to the person of Marilyn Thornhill. “Why do you want to work here?" Larissa asks again, this time genuinely interested. 

Marilyn holds Weems' gaze, defiant. “I used to live in Jericho years ago as a child. I observed first-hand how the townspeople treated Nevermore students. Even as a kid, the aloofness, anger and ostracism never felt right to me.

“When my family left, I thought it would be different, better, however, the sad reality is that the situation away from these walls, from this town, manages to be infinitely worse. Admittedly, the citizens of Jericho are not receptive and can even cause problems for the institution and its students. However, the young people who inhabit these dark halls are not alone in the world, and as long as they have someone like you, Principal Weems, to pray for them, they are safe.

“Which, disgracefully, cannot be said about thousands of people who have their lives cowardly cut short just for being different. Like..." She interrupts herself, her eyes glistening with tears that she refuses to let fall. Taking a deep breath, Thornhill continues, “My reason for wanting to work at this very prestigious institution is not because of professional relevance, the fat salary or anything else. I stand before you today out of an extremely selfish personal desire, just that and nothing more."

“What would that be?" 

“I want to protect those children, or at least try to." All the redhead's nervousness and discomfort are washed away, and suddenly Marilyn Thornhill no longer looks like someone dull who is lost in the landscape. She emanates a glow of her own, capable of blinding anyone who dares to look at her directly. The shy woman at the beginning of the interview and the woman who gave the touching speech are two completely different people. Larissa gets a glimpse of something she can't name but wants to see again. “I know I'm not much and that it's very preposterous to think that some random person with no powers can achieve something so great, or even that you need the help of someone like me, but if I can do anything to help, I need to try. 

“That, Larissa Weems, is the real reason I want to work at your school."

**

Weems searches Thornhill around the room with her eyes, knowing exactly where the woman will be. The months following Marilyn's hiring have passed smoothly, and the school year follows its routine cycle without end. The students keep on giving work to the same extent as in all the other years, the faculty goes on as usual. As far as the eye can see, everything is normal, everything is fine. However, Larissa is neither stupid nor ignorant, she knows how to look beyond appearances, beyond the surface. She notices how the botany teacher has a little more difficulty in her classes than the other teachers, she perceives how the shorter one is almost always isolated in the corner and on the rare occasions she saw her talking to a student or another teacher it was for something related to her classes. 

In staff meetings, Thornhill is in the corner, standing by the wall, blending into the environment. In those situations, she is only noticed by those who are looking for her, otherwise, it is as if no one is there. Weems remembers her first impression of her, of finding her ordinary, forgettable. She also remembers her words, her heart-warming speech and the small glimpse of something magical she saw that day.

“Miss Thornhill," the headmistress calls out once the meeting is over and the room begins to empty, “will you come with me? There is something I need to discuss with you." 

“Of course," she agrees with a shy smile. 

The walk to Weems' office never seemed so long, the atmosphere between the two similar to a burial. Corridor after corridor, Weems feels the prying eyes on them, students and staff who are probably thinking the teacher is in some kind of pickle. Glancing around, she notices a smile here and a giggle there. Something uncomfortable stirs inside her, but the tall woman just ignores it. 

“Am I in trouble?” Thornhill asks once they reach the blonde's office. She sounds like a child afraid of being scolded. 

“I don't know, do you have reason to be in trouble, miss?” Weems heads straight for the bar, she studies her options carefully. Checking the hours, she sighs defeatedly. “Tea?” She offers, smiling. 

“Yes?”

“Are you accepting the tea or admitting you committed a crime?" the Principal asks, amused. “You don't have to be nervous.”

“Are you sure? Because I kind of feel like I should be terrified.”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” She assures. “Please sit down,” she indicates one of the armchairs near the fireplace. Looking a little more relaxed, yet still nervous, Thornhill accepts the invitation to sit down. Between heating water in the electric kettle and choosing tea, they fall into an almost comfortable silence. Weems feels the redhead's eyes following her every move. 

“I was about to ask you that before, but I didn't find an opportunity,” the blonde breaks the silence. “How have you been? Is your adjustment going well?”

Thornhill doesn't answer immediately. For a moment she looks confused, surprised by the question, then her countenance changes to thoughtful. “Everything is fine,” she answers finally. 

“Are you sure?" She insists. Weems put a few spoonfuls of tea leaves into a previously scalded French press, then pours the water in circular motions until the container is almost full. “You can tell me if something's not going well, you know that, don't you? Whether it's a student causing too much trouble or some inside difficulty, you can tell me anything.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it's not necessary," she assures. “Everything is fine.”

The headmistress turns to face the teacher, her concern stamped in her eyes. Weems needs to know if everything really is fine or if the woman is just being strong. Larissa cares about her staff as much as she cares about her students. Everything and everyone related to this school is important to her (admittedly, some more than others). She analyses the little redhead, looking for anything that would give away the lie in her words, however, she finds nothing. 

“Either she's a great actress and a first-rate liar or she's telling the truth,” the blonde thinks to herself. 

“Well,” the woman settles for saying. She approaches Thornhill, bringing with her a tray with the French press, two mugs and other things she needs to serve the tea. Depositing the tray on the small coffee table between the two armchairs, she sets about serving. “Sugar or honey?”

“Sugar.” Weems hands the cup with the blue liquid lightly sweetened with a sugar cube to Thornhill, who takes a sip of the drink before adding another four sugar cubes. “What?” she asks innocently when she notices how Larissa stares at her.

“You're a criminal,” the blonde replies. 

“Pardon?”

“There is no pardon for someone who puts five sugar cubes in their tea.”

“I like sweet things,” the redhead defends herself. 

“That's not sweet, that's diabetes in a cup,” she jokes. “Next time, I'll offer you just the sugar cubes right away.”

“Do so, and I'll gladly accept,” Marilyn replies with a smile.

**

Larissa tries to steal some of Marilyn's popcorn once hers is finished. They are in the headmistress' quarters, watching a film of dubious quality that the teacher has chosen. It's about a brain that won't die, however, Larissa believes the title is misleading as it's about a whole head and not just the brain. She also thinks the film is nonsensical, more than once she has commented on how a head cannot remain not only alive but also conscious without a body. In Weems' opinion, the brain surviving alone would make much more sense than the whole head. Thornhill just told her to be quiet and watch the film, which she did, even though she is itching to point out every absurd thing happening on the screen. Larissa doesn't know why she still lets Marilyn pick the movies, it's more than proven that the redhead has terrible taste in movies. The week before she picked a movie about a wormy woman, and the week before that she made the blonde watch Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, because, according to her, the fact that Larissa had never seen the movie until then was a crime. 

Weems lets her eyes wander from the screen to the person sitting next to her. Marilyn is sitting with her legs folded under her on the sofa, the bucket of popcorn, her inseparable companion, resting on her lap, her eyes glued to the screen, she hardly blinks, absolutely engrossed in the plot. She wears grey sweatpants and a pastel pink shirt with a kitten on it, her hair tied up in messy braids and her glasses forgotten on the coffee table. Larissa can't help but notice how Marilyn seems to belong in the room as if she's the person who actually lives there. 

“You're staring at me again,” Thornhill says, and only then does Larissa realize that the film is over. 

“No, I'm not.” She doesn't even bother to stop staring. 

“Yes, you are!”

“I'm not, but if I was, you can't blame me if you're so much more interesting than these bad movies you pick.”

“My movies aren't bad.” 

“Oh, but they are, honey. They're terrible.”

“If you think the movies I pick are so bad, why do you keep letting me pick the movies?”

“Because you look very pretty while you're watching bad movies, and I like that very much.” Marilyn stares at Weems wide-eyed in surprise for half a second before quickly turning her face away. 

“Idiot,” the redhead says in a low voice. Larissa can see the slight blush on her cheeks and can't help but smile.

**

They walk side by side through the city streets, their fingers intertwined and their shoulders rubbing lightly with each step. It is their first official date outside of school since until then they have reserved themselves for movie nights of dubious quality, idle Wednesdays drinking fancy teas, and one particularly disastrous Friday when Larissa decided to cook and ended up exploding the casserole (in her defence, Marilyn said the sauce was fine, even if it was sticking to the wall). 

Marilyn talks about her passion for carnivorous and poisonous plants, the main reason she chose botany in the first place, citing some of the types they have at the Nevermore Conservatory. Weems listens intently, confused by all the scientific names that the little woman throws at her — the principal's knowledge of botany is limited to which plants she can make tea with. There aren't many people on the street, but the few they do meet give them a tail-eyed stare, with each new encounter, Larissa feels she's very close to punching someone. Realizing this, Thornhill gently squeezes her hand, calming her down and telling her it's all right. 

When a group of teenagers dressed as pilgrims approach them, laughing and pointing brazenly, Larissa moves towards them, but Marilyn pulls her to the other side. 

“This way, I know a shortcut.”

“This isn't a shortcut,” the blonde says, acknowledging where they are. “This is the opposite of a shortcut, it will take us at least another half hour to get to the school grounds.”

“Good,” the teacher smiles, "so I have you all to myself for another half hour.”

Larissa feels her ears burn and the blood rises to her cheeks, she thanks the moonless night for hiding the blush that she is sure has taken over her face (mentally, she imagines her head being replaced by a tomato). She slips her arm around Marilyn's shoulder, who in turn slips her arm around Weems' waist. And so they continued walking, in each other's arms, to the gates of Nevermore. 

**

Weems wakes up with a sound similar to a cry. Marilyn is curled up on her side of the bed, looking even smaller than usual, her eyes closed, her fists clenched, her countenance contorted in pain. Lightly bathed in the moonlight streaming through the half-closed curtains, she looks like a wounded animal.

“Mar...” Larissa calls out, concerned. “Marilyn!” She shakes the woman when she gets no answer. 

Marilyn wakes up in a jump, frightened and bewildered, she attacks Weems, her hands going straight for the woman's neck. Larissa doesn't move, doesn't fight back, just waits until the mist in the redhead's eyes dissipates and she understands where she is and what is happening, which doesn't take long. Quickly, Thornhill pulls her hands back and turns away from Larissa, terrified by her actions. 

“I'm sorry,” she asks in a low, weak voice. Larissa hates it when she uses that voice. Throughout their time together, the blonde has noticed that Marilyn has a lot of nightmares. Occasionally, they tend to get worse, as if they have a seasonal trigger that makes everything go downhill. A trigger that Larissa has yet to figure out what it is to protect Marilyn from it. 

“It's okay,” Weems says hoarsely. She smiles, trying to lessen the weight of the situation. They fall silent, feeling the atmosphere weigh on them. “You... you were calling for your brother...” Larissa says small, uncertain. Marilyn rarely talks about her nightmares, and Larissa respects that, though she thinks talking about it might help her. “I didn't know you had a brother."

“I don't!” She bites, her voice a thunderclap in the night. Marilyn's harsh words echo acidly in the darkness. The silence that consumes them this time is heavier, more suffocating. Larissa feels guilty, the small voice in the back of her mind telling her that she messed up. Screaming that she should have stayed quiet like all the other times. She falls into a spiral of self-deprecating thoughts. “Not anymore...” Marilyn's voice is so low that Larissa almost doesn't realize she's said anything. 

“I... I'm sorry for bringing it up.”

“It's okay, I know you were concerned... and curious.” Marilyn shakes her head. She attempts a smile, but she has no strength or will, all she can manage is the shadow of something listless, lifeless. “It's just that I don't usually talk about my brother.”

“And you don't have to if you don't want to.”

“But I want to!” It's a cry for help. "I want to...”

“And I want to listen.” 

For a third time, silence devours them. The anticipation of what Marilyn is going to say fills the air with statistics. Weems holds her hands and squeezes them lightly in a comforting gesture. Assuring her that it is safe to continue, safe to share whatever it is with her. 

“My brother was an amazing person..." she begins, her voice so low and yet so high at the same time. “I followed him everywhere, his friends used to say I was his second shadow, and even though he was ten years older, he never treated me like the annoying little sister... I love... loved him so much... He was my best friend and the best person in the world, and he... He was taken from me...” Marilyn's voice dies. She feels Larissa wiping away her tears, and only then does she realize she is crying. Larissa hugs her and lets her girlfriend cry on her chest, she uses one of her hands to draw imaginary patterns on the redhead's back, something she knows calms her. When Marilyn finally stops crying, the first rays of sunlight can be seen through the window. 

“Do you want to get up and get ready, or call in and say you're sick?” Larissa asks. 

“Call who? You're my boss.”

“It's going to be a strange call, but I think I can convince myself to give us the day off.”

“ʽUsʼ?”

“If you're going to stay home and eat ice cream all day, so am I.”

**

Larissa walks through the green maze that is the corridors of the conservatory. Marilyn has missed another staff meeting. Although Weems is mature enough to admit that a part of her is relieved not to have to spend three hours locked in a room with her ex-girlfriend and all the other teachers looking at her funny, she's still the principal and Thornhill is still a teacher who needs to shoulder her responsibilities. 

Aisle after aisle, the blonde makes her way to the farthest and most private part of the room. It has been a few weeks since she and Marilyn broke up, or rather, since the other woman ended it all with no explanation or apparent reason. Larissa still feels sad, empty and bitter, and potentially angry. She let the redhead have her time, and her space and waited for her to come back on her decision to break up, but it didn't happen. To make matters worse, Marilyn's performance has declined greatly, causing even more friction in the relationship between the two, who meet only to have the headmistress scold her. 

Larissa goes over the conversation she intends to have with Thornhill in her head again, she needs things to work out. She doesn't want to keep fighting with the redhead every time they see each other. Marilyn was the best thing that ever happened to Weems, and if the redhead no longer wants to be her girlfriend, she understands and hopes that they can at least be friends — because Larissa can't go back to an empty and insignificant life where Marilyn Thornhill isn't part of it. The blonde takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She needs everything to work out, or at least not be a total disaster. The principal still feels bad about her last encounter with the teacher, where a professional discussion turned into a person and she said things that weren't true just to hurt Marilyn as her anger and frustration got the better of her. Larissa has not seen Marilyn since that day. 

Turning down the last corridor, the scene Larissa encounters makes all her speech disappear from her mind in a matter of seconds. Marilyn is lying on the floor, liquor bottles were thrown around her, and a syringe with a blue liquid is near her hand. Larissa feels desperation grow in her chest, and she screams the woman's name, or so she thinks she does, but she couldn't tell since she can't hear her voice. She shakes the small body, looking for signs of life, takes her in her arms and runs out. At some point, someone appears and she believes she has given orders for the doctor to be sent to her quarters, for when she reaches her room with Marilyn in her arms, the middle-aged woman in charge of the infirmary is waiting for her at the door. 

“She's fine,” the doctor says after what seemed an eternity to Weems. 

“What do you mean ‘she's fineʼ, she's unconscious!” Larissa screams. She feels bad about that, but she can't afford to care at the moment. “There was a syringe on the side of her body! She tried to kill herself!”

“She has no sting marks, so I don't believe the syringe was for that.” The doctor says calmly, used to dealing with people on the edge of their emotions. “She drank a bit too much and ended up sleeping halfway through whatever she was working on.”

“She's just sleeping?” She asks, discredited and relieved. 

“Exactly.”

“I'm going to kill her.”

**

When Marilyn wakes up, Larissa barely gives her time to find her way around before saying that they need to talk. 

“We don't need anything.” The redhead replies dryly and dismissively. Larissa feels terrible for being used to this kind of hostility coming from the woman. Precariously and keeping herself upright by some miracle, Marilyn stands up and begins to walk towards the exit. Weems is faster than her and uses her body to barricade the door. 

“You're not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“Is that an order from my superior?”

“It's a friend's request.”

“We're not friends,” she yells. 

“No, we are more than that, but you for some reason decided to ignore that fact and start acting like you don't know me!" Larissa returns in the same tone. She doesn't like shouting, even less so when the other person is not in a good place, however, she can't keep it all bottled up inside anymore. Weems knew she would explode one time or another and it seems that time has come. 

“If that's not an order, then I don't need to answer." Thornhill ignores Larissa's words. She tries to walk past the blonde, but the woman's tall body doesn't even move. Right now, she is like a stake fixed into the ground with concrete. 

“Please, can't you see that I'm trying here?”

“I didn't ask you to try,” she hisses. 

“That's the point, you don't have to ask!” Exasperates. “I'm trying hard to give you the space you need to sort your shit out, but every second you seem more distant and lost and it's hurting you and me. To make it worse, I found you lying on the conservatory floor with a syringe full of poison thrown beside you. I thought... 

“I thought you were dead... I thought I'd lost you again, only now for good.” Her voice is choked with emotion. “I can't go on like this anymore, I can't go on watching you sink deeper and deeper. When you give someone too much rope, they end up hanging themselves and I'm not going to lose you. Not like this.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I love you, you moron! That's why I care!”

“Don't say that.”

“I. Love. You. And no matter how hard you try to push me away, my feelings for you won't change.”

“You can't love me.” Marilyn sounds like a hurt and frightened child. 

“Why not?”

“Because you don't know me!" She screams with tears in her eyes. “My past, the things I've done, the things I plan to do. The real reason I came to this school in the first place. You know absolutely nothing about me, that's why you can't love me. Because if you knew anything, you would hate me...”

“I could never hate you, Marilyn.”

“I am not Marilyn! My name is Laurel. I'm Garrett Gates' sister! And I hate you. You and all these freaks in this goddamn school. Every student, every teacher, every outcast, I hate them all.” Her eyes burn with the tears she refuses to let fall. “Your kind is the reason my brother is dead. The reason I lost my entire family, and because of that I want all of you destroyed, dead! Every freak, every abnormal, every outcast, you all deserve death. All of you. 

“Or at least I thought it should be that way until you showed up...” Between the few stubborn tears that managed to escape, she gives a sad, pained smile. “You who are so serious and yet kind and cheerful and perfect. You lured me in with your warm smiles and fancy teas and soft laughter and beautiful personality. What mortal could resist the charms of Larissa Weems? None, I tell you. Before I could do anything to stop it, I caught myself completely in love with you. My revenge no longer mattered as long as I could be with you. But...

“Every time you call me Marilyn, I feel my heart being torn apart. All the things you say you love about me are lies. You love a lie. That's why you can't love me, Larissa. Marilyn Thornhill, the person you love, it's not me. So, I'm the one who's begging you now, because I can't keep pretending to be someone I'm not anymore, and more importantly, I can't keep hurting you any longer. Please, let me go.”

Weems doesn't understand what is going on. She knows that she has heard everything that Mar-- Laurel has said. She feels a suffocating pain in her chest, the air, or lack of it in this case. Her head feels heavy, and she is sure she is crying, and even though everything indicates that Larissa is just seconds away from falling, it is not her body that crashes dramatically onto the ground. 

**

Larissa watches over the sleeping woman in her bed. The small body curled up into a ball, her face swollen from crying. She wants to hold her in her arms and protect her from the rest of the world, to promise that everything will be all right and nothing and no one will ever hurt her again. However, she can do neither, so, with a tightness in her chest, she settles for slowly brushing her fingers across the woman's soft skin, up her exposed arms and into the fair redhead's relaxed face, taking the opportunity to brush a strand of hair from her face.

She feels a lump in her throat, a heaviness in her stomach, and discomfort in her eyes. Larissa is using all her strength not to scream, not to cry, yet, as the other's diminutive figure seems even smaller and more fragile cowering in the centre of her bed, it makes everything difficult. 

Silently, Larissa Weems wishes she could go back to before, when she was still ignorant, to a time when she did not know the sleeping being in front of her. She wishes she could go back to the days long gone when she had yet to lose her heart to Laurel Gates. 

**

In the morning, Larissa wakes up in her empty bed. It doesn't take long for her to discover that Marilyn, Laurel, or whatever the redhead's name is, has left the school in the dead of night. Weems notices the stares at her, the tension of the questions that no one dares to ask, she ignores everything and everyone. She ignores her feelings and the desire to scream that grows inside her chest. The redhead's words echoed in her ears, burning in her mind, repeating endlessly. She knows that everything that was said is true, Laurel's hatred was perceptible in each of her words, dripping like venom. Larissa cannot understand how Marilyn, so sweet and kind, could be Laurel, so bitter and sick. However, thinking about it wouldn't change anything, because Laurel ran away and took Marilyn with her, and that's the part Larissa can't forgive. 

**

When the police show up asking questions and hinting that the botany teacher had a connection to the strange deaths that had been happening in the woods on the edge of town, Weems said nothing beyond what was public knowledge (or the public imagination).

“Yes, we had a relationship,” she replies coldly. “No, I don't know anything about the possibility of her being a serial killer,” she thus ends the interview, practically throwing the sheriff out of her office. 

**

Larissa walks around the old cottage, opening the windows and airing out the place. She still remembers the last time she visited her family's cottage. Of the picnic, she and her mother had near the lake, the boat rides with her father, and how her brothers fought over the last s'more around the campfire. The old Weems Family Cottage was once a place of great joy, but now, it is just a pile of rotten wood falling to pieces. 

Since her mother passed away almost ten years ago, neither Larissa nor her brothers, nor her father has dared to set foot near the place. All the good memories created in this place have been transformed into daggers that pierce the soul overnight. The blonde walks slowly and carefully through the place, parts of the floorboards look like they will give way at any moment. She wonders how she let herself be dragged to that place, but now that she was there, she had no reason to dwell on her life choices. 

She sees her mother at the kitchen island cutting vegetables. Her father is by the fireplace reading the newspaper. She hears her brothers' footsteps running upstairs. Between one memory and another, she finds herself making a list of everything that needs to be fixed or replaced, or demolished. Immersed in nostalgia, in pain and longing, she hardly hears the knocks on the door. 

As she opens the door, she is confronted with the reason she is there, to begin with. Laurel Gates, better known as Marilyn Thornhill, stares at her uncertainly.

“Hi...” her voice is only a whisper. 

“What took you so long?” Larissa asks with a big smile that makes all of Laurel's nervousness disappear. 

“The traffic was horrible.” She replies with a smile as big as the blonde. “But I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“You can be sure of that.”

**

Larissa places her cell phone on top of the mantelpiece, and the soft melody of the music she has chosen gradually begins to fill the room. She offers her hand to the person who dragged her to that place. “Will you grant me this dance?” She asks with a smile on her face. 

“Of course.”

Weems takes Laurel in her arms, fitting her into her body. They follow the quiet rhythm of the music. Laurel rests her head on Larissa's chest, listening to the slightly accelerated heartbeat of the blonde. It is like a scene from a musical. 

The moon shines on them like a spotlight, the damp, dusty atmosphere giving way to the cozy warmth created by the fire crackling in the hearth. The feeling of detachment and strangeness slowly went away. The world around them darkens and loses focus, and all that is left is the two of them nestled in each other's arms and Neil Young's voice echoing through the air. 

“I missed you,” Larissa admits, her voice a whisper in the night. 

“I missed you too,” Laurel replies in the same tone. They continue to dance together, neither daring to say anything more, unable to break the little bubble of happiness they find themselves in. They are not naive and know they need to talk about everything, but not now. Right now, what they need is music and each other's embrace. 

As the music ends, Larissa stops and stands aside just enough to admire the woman with her. The new haircut, the spectacles with a different frame, the extra holes in her ears. Visually, so distinct from the last time the blonde had seen her, yet still the same person. Weems rubs her fingers slowly across Laurel's face, gently caressing her cheek. Laurel closes her eyes and lets herself be carried away by the touch, basking in the thrill of being touched by Larissa again. 

“I really want to kiss you.” Softly, Larissa runs her finger along the outline of Laurel's lips.

Laurel opens her eyes and stares into Larissa's deep blue eyes that flicker in the half-light of the fireplace. There is no doubt in the blonde's eyes. “Please do so.” It is a plea. 

Larissa leans in and ends the distance between them. Their first kiss after all these months apart is salted by tears that the two have not bothered to stop. Laurel's lips are the perfect match for Larissa's, just as Marilyn's were. As the kiss intensifies, Larissa feels something in her chest. She feels the hole that opened when Marilyn ran away being closed. Marilyn Thornhill may no longer be there, but Laurel Gates is, and Larissa loves her with all her being, and she will never let her disappear from her life again. 

“I love you, Laurel Gates,” Larissa utters. 

“I love you, Larissa Weems.” She replies with a smile and tears.

[waiting-on-a-dream]

𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝟹 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜

Prisoner 006: Sasaki Yui

General info

Verdict: INNOCENT

Physical changes: Her hair remains at a light grey shade, having paled after her guilty verdict for the first trial. She's taking care of herself now and styles her hair more often. Her eyebags aren't as prominent and her face looks better due to her resumed skincare.

Behavioral changes: Due to her innocent verdict, she's more cheerful and friendly, returning to her trial 1 demeanor with a hint of tiredness. Himiko's presence has made her simultaneously happier and more anxious, causing her to have some occasional mood swings.

Voicelines

– Third trial trailer

Maybe milgram admits people who believe they were responsible for someone's death instead of actual involvement.

– Character voice trailer

Himiko, MOVE!

𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘

DECO*27 song cover: Once Upon a Me ("This song comes off as happy but it’s kinda sad you see… The me in the mirror I looked at yesterday, though she wanted to change, somehow she looks the same today.)

Non-DECO*27 song cover: Kanjou deceive by Loar ("The smallest happiness → jealousy・inferiority complex, through a series of bad events." This line describes her so well I'm gonna cry)

Prisoner 007: Shigeru Rin

General info

Verdict: INNOCENT

Physical changes: He's grown his hair out long enough for his dark purple streak to return. He's also dyed the tip of his longer lock of hair dark purple as well for fun. His eyebags aren't as prominent anymore.

Behavioral changes: He's finally getting more sleep now that he doesn't get nightmares anymore, and is more friendly towards the innocent prisoners when he leaves his room. He mostly stays in his room now to talk to Renho... Perhaps to an unhealthy degree. He's accidentally skipped a few meals because of this, causing Noa to have to visit his room and remind him to eat.

Voicelines

– Third trial trailer

I don't feel like eating when I'm around her. She doesn't need to eat, so I don't either.

– Character voice trailer

Renho, no! RENHO!

𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘

DECO*27 song cover: Love Words Ⅱ ("Right now I want to thank you for all that has happened, I want to thank you for what the future holds as well. Though that’s all I’m really trying to say here, not able to say it all that well, I’m sorry for hurting you and then bursting into tears." I changed up his crime a bit to solidify his motive and now just thinking about him makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry.)

Non-DECO*27 song cover: Shinitai chan by Switch ("I don’t wanna disappear while my feelings still haven't reached you.")

Prisoner 008: Watanabe Noa

General info

Verdict: INNOCENT

Physical changes: Her appearance remains unchanged.

Behavioral changes: With Benjiro's presence, she's gotten happier, to the point where she's stopped drinking. She continues to be friendly and helps the rest of the prisoners.

Voicelines

– Third trial trailer

He would have wanted me to live happily.

– Character voice trailer

*heavy gasp, wet gurgle*

𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘

DECO*27 song cover: Neo-Neon ("E.g. I don’t know everything about you. E.g. I can’t be your ideal person. Does that surprise you? Didn’t you expect that?" Just had the thought that she might have feeling guilty often during her time with Benjiro... Why do I this to myself.)

Non-DECO*27 song cover: Haine to kleine by Niru kajitsu ("May this world become far dirtier than it is now, forever. I wonder if I’ll be able to get used to it then." There's a theory that the hotel in this song is a metaphor for depression. There's alcohol in it too.)

Prisoner 009: Miyahara Kiyoshi

General info

Verdict: GUILTY

Physical changes: His hair has grown longer and he has eyebags now. His left eye was injured after the fight with Daisuke, causing him to have to wear an eyepatch. Other prisoners have remarked that he often looks exhausted now, staring off into space blankly.

Behavioral changes: He ignores everyone's attempts to talk to him and stays in his room all day. Mayumi treats his eye and brings him his meals, but her attempts at conversation remain unsuccessful.

Voicelines

– Third trial trailer

He just wouldn't stop talking.

– Character voice trailer

That's what scum like you get.

𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘

DECO*27 song cover: Winter cleaning ("These memories that start bursting forth...where the heck do they come from!? I clean and clean but just can’t stop remembering." The lyrics...aren't so nice when you put them into the context of murder.)

Non-DECO*27 song cover: Fixer by nuyuri ("I just can’t help but wish that someone would take my place living this life from tomorrow on." All the lyrics of this song fit him so well. omg like Daisuke! /j The colour scheme of the MV is so guiltycore too <3)

Prisoner 010: Okura Mayumi

General info

Verdict: INNOCENT

Physical changes: She cut her hair short and tends to wear it in a bun nowadays. The rest of her appearance remains unchanged.

Behavioral changes: She isn't as silently angry as she was during the second trial. She's allowed to help out with meals now and goes out of her way to treat Kiyoshi's eye. She is strangely the only innocent prisoner that doesn't see her victim in her room. She also hasn't given up on trying to find out more about milgram.

Voicelines

– Third trial trailer

I can't fathom why someone would want to hurt innocent people.

– Character voice trailer

You'll fit right in with the rest of them in hell.

𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘

DECO*27 song cover: Dummy Dummy ("Yet the longer I search for that answer, the more I want to kill the version of myself who laughs with others." DECO*27 songs that aren't about love are few and far between.)

Non-DECO*27 song cover: C’mon, Just Praise Me for Living, Please! by 100kai Outo ("I wanna be someone stable. Why is it just so hard everyday?" This song may not give off her vibe, but damn do the lyrics fit her way of thinking for the past few years.)

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

The song Keep out by mafumafu really suits Rin. The same goes for Suicide by suisoh for Noa.

Haruto's non-DECO*27 song cover for trial 3 is A Living Hell Within A Dream.

𝙿𝚒𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜:

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2122621

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1394187

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1171011

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1453974

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/407340

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2050693

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2050693

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1532707

[blouptalking]

To Say the Least, This is Love

Hikaeme ni Itte mo Kore wa Ai / Love! That’s an Understatement

Fujimomo

comedy, romance, school life

9 chapters (ongoing)

“One day, a serious student named Risa, saves a wounded delinquent on her way home from cram school. Now, that delinquent Zen is following her around!! What will she do?”

(resume from Baka-Update Manga)

Story: 6/10

Why does Shojo have such a rapid rhythm these days? I really like when a story is well paced, especially when it's about romance, I think it's hard to find the right mix. The period during which the characters still flirt should not be too long nor too short, and there should still be things to explore and see once they start dating. Sadly, I feel like recent shojos tend to just completely skip the flirting part and make the two characters go out before the fifth chapter. Anyway, I had high expectations for this manga, same as “Uruwashi no Yoi no Tsuki”, but I was not really sure because I got a little bit disappointed with this manga. Well, for this one, it completely met all of my expectations, it’s even better than what I imagined it. The bad boy trope with the fight scenes and everything else doesn’t feel cringe at all. I was a little worried about this part of the story, but it's actually pretty "realistic" and not exaggerated, so this is really great! The one thing I could criticize is the speed at which this manga is. There are only nine chapters translated but I get the impression that everything went so fast between Risa and Zen.

Cast: 8/10

I have an indescribable love for Risa. I really like her personality. I love it when a character is down to earth and intelligent without exaggeration. Zen is also a great love interest. They go very well with each other. I wish we could see more of the supporting cast in future chapters, it would be fun.

Art: 8/10

The first thing I noticed about this manga, before even reading it, was the color pages and the color palette used. It is pleasant and very beautiful.

Enjoyment: 9/10

I really liked the story. l didn't expect that. I was afraid that the bad boy trope would be boring and cringe, but Zen is the perfect example of a good bad boy love interest. I think what got me to like the story even more is really Risa. She really left me speechless, she's such an amazing character. Anyhow, I would have given a 10/10 but like I said, the story is too fast. I have the impression that many things could have lasted longer, but it was still very amusing.

Overall: 9/10

[autobot2001]

Day 29; Shocking discovery

Fandom; transformers Characters: Crosshairs, Drift, Ratchet Rating: T Warning: Self-harm Description: Crosshairs finally can't hide how he feels watching Jamie struggle, but Drift can't believe what Crosshairs did.

Whumpober; gurney, "Let me see." Bridal style Flufftober: reverse the roles

The decision to return to the N.E.S.T. base had one concern: the soldiers would resume bullying Jamie, but Crosshairs and Drift decided it was time to go back to the base. Crosshairs didn't think he'd be feeling anger seeing the soldiers who had yet to approach Jamie. He decides to find a place to try to calm himself. Knowing his shared room with his two friends isn't a good choice.

Drift was fine with not seeing Crosshairs for a few hours. It's how late Crosshairs is for meeting him and Jamie for dinner that concerns him. Lightning takes Jamie into the cafeteria. Even she's worried about how late Crosshairs is.

Drift hates thinking about going to a room that seems strange for anyone to be in for hours. What he hates more is he's right. Crosshairs has been in the archives room, but he never thought Crosshairs would resort to self-harm as he sees the darker shade of green on his shirt. "Crosshairs?" Drift tries to get the mech's attention, "let me see—." "I'm fine," Crosshairs argues. Drift lifts up Crosshairs' shirt. Worried he won't be able to deal with this himself, even with the medical capsule he has. There's also the concern about the weapon used. "I have to take you to the medbay." "No, you don't." "I'd rather Ratchet take care of this, considering you likely didn't sterilize the weapon." Drift gets the basic first aid kit capsule and opens it, revealing the box. He puts on gloves and gets a bag to put the note in. Once that box is packed and the knife set aside until he's ready to leave, Drift gets the capsule with the gurney and opens that in the clear area of the room. "Come on." Crosshairs hisses in pain as Drift lifts him up. Drift carries him bridal style the few steps to the gurney. Realizing this will be better than carrying Crosshairs to the medbay. He grabs the bag and pulls the gurney out of the room. Crosshairs is glad no one is in the hallway but not looking forward to facing the medics.

Ratchet can't believe he's seeing Crosshairs on a gurney or what Drift tells him. "…. I'm hoping he doesn't end up with an infection, but hopefully, this will help you figure out what infection he could end up with," Drift finishes, showing the bag with the knife. Drift hates having to wait until Crosshairs is taken care of. To have to yell Lightning and likely the terror twins and Lily what happened. They'll all hate it, but it's Jamie he's worried about. He lets Lightning and the twins know he and Crosshairs are in the medbay. Sideswipe: I'll keep her busy.

Drift didn't have to wait long for Ratchet. "It's not a deep cut," Ratchet tells him, "my concern is infection. The weapon was filthy, even if it wasn't covered in dirt. I can't give him antibiotics to prevent infection. He won't tell me anything. I know he finally couldn't keep up his act, but this doesn't make sense. Why would he cut himself?" "I don't think he knows either." Drift is allowed to see Crosshairs, and Drift takes him to their room. He needs to keep an eye on the wound.

Crosshairs lies on the exam table, hating Drift found him. He's not sure what he was thinking as he cried. Everything he kept suppressed demanded to be freed. He sits up as the door opens. Drift wasn't expecting Crosshairs to hug him and cry. He closes the door before hugging Crosshairs. The two support each other, but now it's his turn to help Crosshairs. The difference is how Crosshairs kept everything bottled up for weeks. Drift has Crosshairs sit on the floor by the wall once he's calm. He still hugs Crosshairs while Crosshairs leans on him.

Ratchet walks in a few minutes later, unaware the two mechs hadn't left yet. "You want me to get Rung?" He asks. "No," Drift tells him, "there's nothing he can do." Ratchet hates that Drift is right. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. There's nothing to talk about. Drift thinks. I'm not going to scold Crosshairs, and we both fear that we'll lose Jamie. They both know they can only stay here for a short time. It's not just Lightning and Jamie who'll worry about not seeing the two mechs. They can keep the injury secret unless Crosshairs ends up in the medbay.

[w0nderland]

hiii!! i keep meaning to send you an ask then get interrupted halfway through typing it ^'^

how have you been?? i saw that you went to one of taylor's shows: how was it?? did you have a special outfit/makeup for the occasion? what were the surprise songs? pls tell me everything!!

also i have no idea if you listen to hozier but he's put out a new EP and it's!!! so good!!! (i literally cried listening to 'through me (the flood)')

last time you told me about having to make big decisions for what to do after graduation, i hope it hasn't been too stressful & that you've had help and support from your loved ones❤ i'm sending tons of relaxing vibes and hugs your way and i hope that your dreams come true <3

i'm sorry that i don't have precise advice for u, i chose very long studies so i have several years before i have to worry about this ^'^ i'd advise you to consider every option, and above all never let anyone (including yourself) tell you that you can't do something; it's better to send an application or a resume & have a negative answer than to stick to the 'safe' choice and always wonder what would have happened, you know?

also, i love jane austen too!! i haven't yet read northanger abbey though! i loved emma & i re-read pride and prejudice at least once a year (usually in november, no idea why ^^)

as for book recs, i'm currently reading "l'amica geniale" by elena ferrante; it's soo good i love it! all the characters are fascinating and very complex & it's such a page-turner, i literally can't put it down (i went back to reading while climbing up and down the stairs, anything to read a few more lines xD!)

another book i picked up at my local library was 'east of eden' by steinbeck. i'd never read anything by him so i didn't know what to expect, but i loved it!! it focuses on the life of two families in California & i love that the plot is really character-driven, every character is so interesting ... i kept thinking about that book for weeks after having finished it! so yeah pls read it so i can gush about it with someone xD!

i've also started reading war and peace on a whim, and i feel like a lot of people are intimidated by the size (i believe there are other a thousand pages? my edition published it in two parts for it to fit lol) but i found it very readable! it's like, 90% of dialogue and it's soo well-written!! and i was so engrossed in all the family drama xD it was like reading a jane austen book, only with a lot more characters

anyway i hope i haven't bored you with this looong ask! i'm sending tons of warm hugs your way❤❤❤

hi sky!! omg there is a lot going on at the moment. first of all taylor's show was AMAZING it's the first time i've seen her perform so I was very emotional the whole time :,) the surprise songs were cowboy like me and white horse, both songs I love so much!! although I'd be excited to hear any surprise songs.

Also yes I've been listening to the Hozier EP!! Is he releasing an album? I really love the three songs especially all things end.

Thank you for the good vibes, I'm starting to get excited about post-graduation plans :) hoping all goes well and this is really the best decision for me. thank you for the advice, it's so true that if I didn't at least try working toward my goals I'd regret it. so I will try!

Thanks for the book recs! I haven't read east of eden but I have read another steinbeck book (of mice and men). I'm reading the will to change by bell hooks but I definitely want to read another fiction book after I finish this, so maybe I'll pick up war and peace! I feel a little intimidated by super long books but I bet the library here has a few copies...

I love all of your asks and I love reading about everything you're up to!! I hope you've been enjoying your studies and basking in the beginning of spring. sending good vibes your way always <3

[dyns33]

Flufftober 28 - The Batman

Bruce Wayne x Reader 

        "Nice costume."

Bruce tried not to jump. Batman didn't jump, never, he wasn't afraid of anything, he embodied fear.

But he hadn't heard the young woman approaching him. He reassured himself, by telling himself that it was because he had known instinctively that she was not a danger.

In reality, he hadn't slept for three days, the fatigue becoming more and more difficult to manage, with the pain, and if he was still standing, it was only because he was thinking about his mission.

Because he was stubborn, Alfred would have said.

Turning slowly, Bruce faced the woman. She smiled at him, as if everything was perfectly normal.

And maybe tonight, Halloween night, it was normal to come across a man dressed as a giant bat, wandering through the dark alleys of the city. It seemed less normal to find an innocent citizen in such a place.

           "You shouldn't be here."

           "Oh, you're using a big voice too, you're really in character !"

           "I am not a character."

           "Of course. You are The Batman. Excuse me, but I think the real Batman has better things to do than hide in a corner. He would be on a roof, or near a place where a crime could have taken place."

           "There can be crimes absolutely anywhere."

           "Hmm." she said with a small pout, shaking her head. "I imagine that's true, especially in Gotham."

           "Go home."

           "I do what I want, dear sir."

They remained motionless, watching each other, waiting to see what the other was going to do. Bruce could have just left. With his grappling hook, it would have been very easy, he would have disappeared in a few seconds and she wouldn't have been able to follow him.

But he was tired. He had stopped in this alley to rest for a moment, catch his breath, before resuming his surveillance.

Besides, he didn't want to leave her here alone. It wasn't safe.

He would have preferred to accompany her to her home first, or at least to a place where she wouldn't risk anything. It was part of his mission.

           "The real Batman is taller." she said out of nowhere.

           "... Sorry ?"

           "He saved a friend of mine once. She was a bit scared of him, but he helped her up, gave her bag and left. Without saying a word. She described him as very tall, muscular. Impressive. You're not tall enough, and you're talkative."

           "I don't think I'm that talkative." he replied, unable to stop himself from slightly smiling.

           "And you're smiling. No, really, you don't make a very convincing Batman. But... Let's say you're the real one. Then I'd like to thank you. For saving her, and for everything else you do."

This time, Bruce said nothing. No one had to thank him for what he was doing. He was doing it because it was necessary and he didn't expect anything in return, only hoping that it would make the city a little better.

It was the only thing that mattered to him, nothing more.

Lost in his thoughts, and obviously really exhausted, he didn't notice that she had approached him. By reflex, he grabbed her hand when she wanted to touch his face, but without hurting her.

           "When was the last time you slept ?" she whispered.

           "I don't have time to sleep."

           "You... You must feel a little lonely sometimes."

           "That's not important."

The young woman pouted again, and without giving him time to react, she quickly kissed him on the cheek.

Bruce pulled away, as if she had just slapped him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed him like that. Probably his mother, a very long time ago. It was a strange feeling, he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

As if she knew what he was thinking, the girl smiled, laughing lightly, but not mocking him.

           "Whether you're the real Batman or not, you should go to sleep."

           "I'll think about it. You should go home."

           "I will think about it."

           "It's really not safe here. I can walk you."

           "Alright, little fake Batman. I don't live far." she said, rolling her eyes.

           "You shouldn't tell strangers where you live. Especially if they're dressed like me. Besides, you're not disguised ?"

           "But I am. I'm a serial killer, they look like everyone else. I lure little fake Batmen into my house and force them to sleep a bit."

His paranoid side, mixed with the fatigue, made Bruce wonder if she wasn't being a bit serious. She snickered again, scoffing a little this time.

           "By the way, my name is Y/N. And I live there."

She pointed to a third-floor apartment, which he scanned with his optical lens. He would check later if a Y/N lived here, but now he had to leave. He had enough rest, he still had a lot of work to do.

           "You are going to sleep ?"

           "No."

           "I thought so. You... Will I see you again ?"

Almost at the end of the street, Bruce stopped. He didn't really turn back, but he glanced in her direction.

           "... Perhaps."

           "See you then, Mister Bat. Happy Halloween."

When he arrived at his place, Alfred noted that he seemed less gloomy than usual, as well as less hurt. Bruce said nothing about it, touching his cheek as he thought of the kiss, before falling into bed, where he dreamed of dark alleys, rain, and Y/N.

[pentechnics]

Part 3 of A Strange Duet

Summary: An unexpected opportunity arises, and you jump at the chance to take it. Much to Din's dismay, you rope him into it as well, and he discovers something within him that continues to threaten his mission.

Pairing: Assassin!Din Djarin x Princess!reader (no y/n)

Series content: medieval-ish AU, assassin!Din, princess!reader, fluff, slow burn, sexual tension, falling in love, angst, mentions of injuries/scars, depictions of violence, usage of weapons, Din’s POV and reader’s POV, side character death (of OCs; no SW characters will die)

Notes: I am once again sorry for the huge gap in updates to this one! I do still think about it every day and give it attention when I can. I hope that you all will stick around for it, since I've got great plans for it! Let me know what you thought -- love to you all as always!

Part 2 | Part 4

~~~~

“Is everything okay?” You asked. 

“Yes,” he said, “she wanted me to inform you that your request to travel was approved.” 

Your eyes widened as you stared between him and Fennec. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” he pulled out a parchment and glanced at it before continuing. “You’re free to schedule visits throughout the nation as long as you take proper protection.” 

You smiled and hopped in place as your mind immediately began to form a preparation list for the trip. Once you’d thanked the worker and made your way back to your room with Fennec, you ran through each bullet point with her. 

“I’m sure my mom’s imagining that I take the entire guard,” you started with a chuckle, “but I think it’d be a better idea to put together a small, elite ensemble.” 

“Who are you thinking for it?” 

“Aside from us,” you said, taking a seat at your desk and pulling your journal out from its drawer to take notes. “I was thinking of taking Koska, and maybe two or three others.”

“I like the idea,” Fennec said, “though I’m also assuming you’re going to try to avoid taking the royal carriages. It’s unlikely we’ll be able to get away with just horseback.” 

“But taking the carriages would be the same as parading around with a large target on our backs. Maybe we can take one of the cargo wagons instead.” 

“I’ll talk to Kuiil tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Fennec.” 

The two of you talked through other planning details and set dates for the voyage. By the time you went to bed, anticipation was bouncing about through your veins, visions of Sorgan’s gorgeous countryside coming into your mind’s eye. 

Now there’s a view everyone deserves to see, you thought. 

~~~~

Din cried out as he was sent skidding across the floor. 

“Again,” the Queen commanded. 

Din struggled to get back up on his feet, his arm cradling his side. His assailant, another child no older than himself, resumed his battle-ready position while Din tried to raise his spear over his head.   

The other child swung his sword down. Din managed to block most of the blow, save for a scratch to his forehead. 

“Those blocks cannot be penetrated,” the Queen proclaimed from her perch. “You must keep training.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Din said. 

Din’s hand came up and brushed across the tiny scar just below his hairline, the memory slowly ebbing back into the recesses of his mind. 

He sat on his cot and stared out the nearby window, watching the stars in the night sky twinkle. 

“How was your first lesson?” 

Din looked towards the door to see Kuiil walking in, two cups of tea in his hands. Din accepted one with a small nod and gestured for Kuiil to have a seat on a nearby chair. These late-night visits from Kuiil had become somewhat commonplace soon after Din’s arrival, much to his dismay at first.

But Kuiil’s company provided him with an unexpected sense of comfort; he was easy to talk with, and told a variety of stories about his time working for your family. And he had the decency to not go poking into Din’s life and forcing him into more unconvincing lies.

“It was… interesting,” Din said. 

“Her Highness is quite the fiery soul,” Kuiil said as he took a sip of his tea. “I can only imagine that being all the more apparent with you.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

Kuiil shrugged. 

“You’re the first person I’ve seen her so eager to interact with in a long while. Spear or no spear.” 

Din’s brow shot up. He looked to the ground and sipped his tea, unsure of how to respond. 

His mind wandered back to your lesson. Sword fighting with you was an experience he never foresaw, even in a mere practice session. You were resilient and precise, wasting no time in between your blows. You never went for what looked best, like so many of his prior targets. You went for the strikes that did most damage with the least amount of effort. And you did it well.

You must’ve had a wonderful teacher, he thought. It was clear your abilities outdid his. 

“Her sword skills are quite impressive,” Kuiil said as if he could tell what Din was thinking. Di nodded, blinking through his surprise. 

“How long has she been training?” 

“As long as she was able to,” Kuiil said with a small chuckle. “As a child she used to run in here and ask me to spar with her.” 

Din’s mouth quirked upward. The image of a tiny version of you bouncing around while Kuiil tried to work felt like a soft caress to his conscience. 

“She thought that since I made the weapons, I automatically knew how to use them,” Kuill looked out the window, his expression betraying the nostalgia of the memories. 

“Her father wasn’t an easy man to deal with. She rebelled against his wishes at any given time, but learning to fight was the first rule she defiled for her own sake.” 

“It doesn’t seem like anyone here liked that guy,” Din said. 

“He was a different man when the Queen fell in love with him,” Kuiil said with a shrug. “She was still Sorgan’s Princess at the time. But once she was crowned and began ruling the nation, his demeanor changed.” 

Din suppressed a head roll. Power hungry. Typical. 

“I hoped he would change when Her Highness was born, but if anything-” 

Kuiil stopped. Din stared at him as his eyes filled with sadness. Just how much dysfunction has he witnessed in this family, Din wondered. Kuiil stayed as still and silent as the stars beyond his sight for what seemed like an eternity before he sighed and took a sip of his tea. 

“He grew envious. Of his own daughter.” 

Din’s brow furrowed as he digested the statement. 

“He had trouble with how much the nation took to her. They loved her the same way they loved Her Majesty, and because it was harder to be accepted for him, he struggled with that. He started enacting more restrictions on the nation, sometimes even going over Her Majesty’s head.” 

A nasty sensation settled in Din’s gut. His hand clenched around the bronze teacup. To disrespect the crown was one matter, but to disrespect the women that man should’ve been devoted to was a whole separate one. 

In Mandalore, that man would’ve been swiftly brought to trial and punished. 

“Lucky neither Her Majesty or Her Highness were to be trifled with. He made their lives difficult but they made sure to bite back just as hard.” 

Din wasn’t sure what to say. Images of you flooded his mind, the information basking you in a new light; your confidence, ferocity, and courage were worn around you, like a suit of armor that protected you from the harm your father tried to cause. 

Yet through the cracks and crevices, you still bled love, compassion, and empathy. They were present in everything you did. It was all at once confusing and astounding. 

Din couldn’t help wondering how many more layers laid underneath your shields. 

He and Kuiil carried on smaller conversations, long after both teacups had been emptied. Every other person he encountered in this palace had him freezing up with anxiety, but Kuiil had so easily broken down that barrier, letting Din stretch his muscles and be more carefree. 

Friends weren’t something anyone had in Mandalore. Personal connections such as those got in the way of progress, of duty. Din wasn’t sure if this was a friendship, but this would likely be the closest to that he’ll ever get. 

And he wouldn’t need to worry about that getting in the way while he was here. Not as long as he still got the job done.

~~~~

“General Kryze, a moment of your time.” 

Bo Katan turned on her heel as Paz jogged down the corridor to catch up with her. 

“What can I do for you, Commander?” she asked, her tone sharp, betraying her impatience. 

“I have to ask,” he started, falling into step beside her. “Was sending Djarin on that job truly the best way to deal with the situation with Sorgan?” 

“It was,” she said, “The entire council agreed with my idea.” 

She stressed the last two words, as if daring Paz to question her methods again. 

“Of course, I mean no offense,” he said, “but considering how they dealt with your sister…” 

A deliberate pause. One that got Bo Katan to stop in her tracks and turn towards him. He let out a small huff that sounded almost like a chuckle. 

“I figured you would want to make them really pay for it.” 

The two of them stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity, visors locked in their narrow gaze, like a mental game of tug-of-war that neither end was willing to lose. 

Bo Katan broke the tension with a tilt of her head. 

“What else do you suggest we do?” 

~~~~

“Wait – this is your horse?”

Mr. Vaun was pulling the gray steed from her stable, giving her snout a pet as he did so. He turned to you with a nod before proceeding to attach his saddle. 

“She is.” 

“She’s beautiful.” you said with a smile. “I was actually admiring her the other day – her coat is lovely.” 

Mr. Vaun’s movements stilled. You walked up in front of the horse, looking her in the eye before slowly lowering your hand onto her snout. She let a puff of air out of her nostrils and leaned into your touch. You giggled. 

“What’s her name?” you asked. 

 He stared at you for a moment before returning to his task. 

“Her name is RC.”

“Hello, RC,” you cooed, moving your hand up to scratch between her ears. “Aren’t you a sight.” 

After giving her some more love, you left Mr. Vaun alone to ready her just as Fennec walked your horse up to you. 

“Hey there, Fifi,” you said as you took the reins in hand. Along with Fennec, Mr. Vaun, and the rest of your midnight crew, you walked out of the stables and into the misty night. 

You and Fennec led the way towards the clearing. The ride was mostly silent, giving way for the winds of twilight to chime their presence and send a shiver down your spine. The trees ate up your view of the sky once more, though a few shimmering pecks of stardust made their way to your eyes through the branches.  

When you reached the clearing and dismounted your horses, you thought about what sort of activity to engage the group in this time. But for the first time in a while, there were no pent-up frustrations for you to settle. 

You were looking forward to your trip; the planning and preparations had you shaking with anticipation most nights, your dormant soul eager to venture out into the world once more. A smile grew on your face just from the thought of it. 

“What’ll it be, Your Highness?” Sir Fett asked. You looked up at him, your grin widening. 

“Free choice tonight,” you said, “mainly because I’m really feeling like letting Fifi run loose.” 

“Go on,” Cobb said, waving you towards your horse. “We’ll look after you.” 

You nodded and made your way back to Fifi, remounting him and snapping the reins. He took off, speeding down the straight of the field before turning the corner. You relished in the sharp bites from the wind against your face, the sprinkles of frost scattering about in your hair. 

The moonlight guided you through the grass, its sheen bright and glowing against the greens. And when you looked up at the trees around you, it bounced off them and left its presence behind. 

You smiled. Pretty soon you’d be on the road, your view of Sorgan’s gorgeous skyline unobscured. 

~~~~

Din was mesmerized. 

His eyes followed every movement your horse made, each one graceful and deliberate. The moon bathed you both in its light, much like the rest of the field.

But you made it glow. 

You were smiling, big and bright, as the wind whipped past you. The moon must’ve been afraid to touch you directly, for its light was hovering around you instead, like a cloud: a dusty halo that made you shine brighter than the stars in the sky. 

“You comin’, bud?” 

Cobb’s voice broke Din’s trance. He whipped his head around to see Cobb walking towards the entrance of the field. Din nodded and jogged to catch up, the heat of embarrassment threatening to overwhelm him. Just how long did Cobb observe him staring at you?

The two of them made their way to the rim of the field and began to walk around, watching for danger. 

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking out for?” Din asked. 

“Anythin’ and everythin’,” Cobb said. He made a sweeping motion with his arm.

“These woods connect to other parts of the capital. After people started using them to sneak onto palace grounds and come after Her Highness, we had to cut ‘em off. That passage we use is the only way in and out of the woods from the palace.

But just because it’s largely blocked off doesn’t mean some wise-ass can’t still find his way around. We keep watch to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Din nodded. A strange, foreign sense of guilt stung in his chest; he was the one they were meant to be watching out for. Yet here he was, learning their secrets, getting close to them. 

And letting them get closer to him in turn.  

He inwardly groaned. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t meant to feel bad about a job. He needed to start taking steps away if he wanted to keep his head. 

But for now, he let himself indulge in the memory of your moonlit radiance.

~~~~

“Looks like you’ve been practicing.” 

You relaxed your stance just as Mr. Vaun pulled back, planting the end of his practice spear on the ground. 

“Sure have,” you said, still trying to catch your breath. 

Two weeks had gone by since your first lesson, and you’d been in this room practicing your blocks each day in between. It was difficult to grasp your improvement until you had an opponent striking something at you. 

Mr. Vaun was right. With each blow you blocked, you felt more confident and secure: essential mindsets in combative situations. 

“I still felt some gaps in them, but at least you didn’t hit me this time,” you said with a laugh. 

He tilted his head down with a small grin. 

“That’s because you’re focusing your blocks on the right places. You’re knocking off my weapon’s balance and diverting the blow.” 

He went into a deeper explanation, pointing out how each block position he taught you set you up to strike against the points on his weapon where the majority of the force was coming through. 

“This transfers to most circumstances. People have a tendency to strike with similar areas of their weapon in close combat.” 

You nodded and studied your positions with greater attention, watching whenever he struck you to try and find those high-pressure points. 

The two of you continued the gentle spar, Mr. Vaun giving you room to recognize his blows before slowly increasing his speed to test you. 

You did your best to match him, watching his every move and timing your blocks to them. 

“Very nice,” he said after a particularly hard hit. 

Mr. Vaun went on to show you more stances, and had you practice charging forward with your weight while blocking instead of backward. You hung on his every word and followed his instructions, excitement bubbling inside you. 

It was fascinating; he turned into a completely different person in this room, one who spoke more than two words at a time and kept his gaze on you for longer than a second. Confidence oozed from him in here, as he moved and spoke, and you couldn’t look away.

An hour passed underneath your nose when Mr. Vaun called it a day. 

“Already?” you asked. 

“This was a long one,” he said as he placed his spear on its mount. “And you have more to work with now. Your blocks look good, but until you’re moving forward with them instead of back, we can’t go on.” 

You let out a sigh and nodded. Despite your eagerness to keep going, he was right. 

“Did you have any questions?” he asked, wiping his face down with a rag. 

You followed the movement with your eyes, taking in the way his bicep flexed before you shook your head and reached for your own rag, the sweat coating your brow suddenly feeling heavier. 

“No that I can think of,” you cleared your throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed you staring. 

“Thank you for today, Mr. Vaun.” 

He nodded. 

Silence fell over you both. You grabbed your practice spear and headed for the wall to remount it.

Once it was in place, a sudden chill trickled down your spine. There it was again – that strange sense of danger that Mr. Vaun carried with him. Another thing you only seemed to feel when you were here, alone with him. 

Every instinct told you not to turn around. But at the same time, you couldn’t help being curious. Just what was he doing to set off your body’s alarms? You took in a slow breath, and turned your head to the side. 

You could hardly make out his figure in your periphery, but he was behind you. Little space separated him from you – enough that you couldn’t feel him, but not so much that his presence went completely undetected. 

Just as you were about to fully face him, his arm appeared beside your head, spear gripped in his fist. He murmured an ‘excuse me’ as he mounted the spear beside yours and stepped away.   

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I didn’t…” you paused to take a breath.

“I didn’t realize I was blocking your way.” 

“No problem,” he said. His tone was perfectly even, as though nothing unusual had happened. 

But there’s no way you imagined that, right?

You sighed and let your mind distract you. It wandered to your schedule for the rest of the day: a meeting with the armed guard, sparring with Sir Fett, finalizing travel plans with Fennec, and tea with your mother. 

You were especially looking forward to planning your trip. You and Fennec had decided to arrange the week-long trip to take place in a fortnight, which gave you ample time to make the final arrangements. So far, it’d be you, Fennec, Koska, and Cobb. You wanted to bring along two more, but you struggled with who to pick. 

You looked up to see Mr. Vaun fanning out his tunic before replacing it over his undershirt. A lightbulb went off in your head. 

Strong, skilled, and smart. If he could make you feel that powerless in a moment’s notice, he could do that to anyone. He was perfect. 

“Mr Vaun!” you called. It echoed through the room. 

He jumped as he turned around, shock and confusion painting his face. You bit down a grin and apologized. 

“I have a request for you. You’re more than welcome to say no, but would you accompany me on my voyage around Sorgan?” 

Mr. Vaun’s expression grew tight, brows stitching together. 

“I am taking a small group with me to ensure my safety, and I think you would make a perfect addition to it,” you gulped and took a step closer to him. “Plus — you said you were new to Sorgan. There’s so much of it to see, this would be the perfect opportunity.” 

He stayed silent, his hands clenching in and out of fists at his side. The Mr. Vaun you knew outside of this space was back: broad and still, with few – if any – words to spare. You fiddled with your fingers as the silence grew too thick. 

“You don’t have to answer yet,” you said, holding up a hand in front of you. “Can’t officially offer you anything until I talk to Kuiil, anyway. Wouldn’t want to take away his best blacksmith if he needs you!”

You let out a nervous chuckle and took a few steps back, feeling behind you for the door handles.

“Just think about it! I’ll see you later!”

You wasted no time getting out of there, meeting Fennec’s confused gaze just outside the doors before continuing down the hall with her on your heels. 

You couldn’t get that look out of your head. Mr. Vaun looked frazzled, yes, but also worried. Distant. 

It weighed on you; you’d hoped to be closing the gap between you both, but maybe this request was too much for him. As you thought about it, it did seem more and more like a lot to ask for someone so new to the palace. 

“... You want him to come on the trip, don’t you?”

You huffed at Fennec’s question. Sometimes you wished she couldn’t read you so easily. 

“Gotta clear it with Kuiil first. But regardless, we should be ready for him to say no.”  

~~~~

Din was frozen in place, eyes glued to the sweatroom door. 

You hardly gave him room to breathe before fleeing, let alone think. He scratched his head and let your words replay in his mind. 

You wanted him, of all the capable candidates in this palace, to come with you on a trip around the nation? The very thought of it had his skin tingling, as though he’d break into hives. 

This was bad. You were never meant to trust him. You weren’t meant to ever even speak to him. He’d already broken too far away from his own philosophies, there was no way he could go on this trip. That would just be another large mistake to add to the pile. 

No, it ended here. He’d do whatever it took to get out of it, and instead use your time away to his advantage: to plant the perfect trap for you to fall into upon your return. 

And then his work would be done and he could return to Mandalore, and never worry about compromising himself ever again. 

~~~~

Din wasn’t sure which deity he’d pissed off to this degree, but here he was, standing before your wagon with a packed satchel.

He was shocked at how quickly Kuiil approved of his involvement in your travel. With the amount of jobs Kuiil gave him each day, he’d thought the old man would want him to stay and continue working. Even when Din conveyed his explicit desire to stay, Kuiil was persistent. 

‘I have spoken,’ he’d said. ‘It’s quite the honor that Her Highness thinks so highly of you. It’d be wrong to deny this request. Plus, you may not get another chance like this to see Sorgan.’

That was a point so many had brought forth: seeing Sorgan. Just what made it so special, Din wondered. What about it made it such a big deal to see? He supposed he was about to find out, whether he liked it or not. 

It did pique his interest, but not enough to balance out the conflict of interest this trip brought about. That seemed to be an ongoing trend around you. 

Din sighed as he watched your other companions load the small pile of supplies in the back of the wagon. He’d be among you all, without pause, for seven days. 

This would surely be… interesting.

~~~~

You walked the last of the chosen horses to the front of the wagon and secured its reins. Mr. Vaun’s figure caught your eye as it made its way to the back. His steps were a bit wonky, his jaw tight, brow narrowed. 

A pang of guilt ran through you – it was obvious he didn’t want to go. He’d been in the back of the artisan’s hut when you talked with Kuiil, and you saw the color drain from his face upon hearing Kuiil’s enthusiastic approval. You’d talked to him a few times over the following weeks, giving him subtle opportunities to drop out. 

But he didn’t.  

Maybe he just didn’t catch onto your intentions, or maybe he didn’t want to be rude. Or maybe the pressure from Kuiil was too much. Regardless, here he was. Your reluctant companion. 

Once the horse was secure, you caught up to him. 

“Mr. Vaun, a word?”

He nodded before dropping his satchel and following you off the dirt road and into the surrounding grass. 

“Look, I know this is a lot. And I would never make you do anything you weren’t willing to-”

“Your Highness,” he said, holding up a hand. “I’m honored you want me to come along. Please don’t worry about it.”

His tone sounded solid, final, as if he’d resigned himself to the circumstances. It did little to ease your guilt. 

Regardless, the six of you were situated and on your way off palace grounds an hour later. You leaned out the window and waved at the crowd that had gathered to see you off, your mother and Sir Fett standing at the palace steps. 

Koska and Cobb took the first driving shift, leaving you inside the wagon with Fennec, Mr. Vaun, and Omera. It had taken some convincing to get Omera to join you, despite even Winta’s encouragement. 

She may be employed as your seamstress, but Omera was the greatest archer you or your mother had ever seen. And it wasn’t until both of you pointed that out that she caved. 

You smirked, seeing her now, sitting beside Fennec and gazing out the window. You assumed a large part of her apprehension came from this proximity with Fennec, no matter how much she’d insisted it was about leaving Winta. 

You glanced at Mr. Vaun. He was sitting at your side, a small gap separating his body from yours. He was looking out the window, his hands fidgeting in his lap. The sunlight outlined him, an orange silhouette that accentuated every bend and curve of his features, every wavy strand of his hair. 

You looked away and sucked in a breath through your nose, a grin cracking onto your face at the muffled sound of Cobb and Koska’s banter. You searched your mind for a way to break the silence among your own little group. 

“Omera,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’m sorry, by the way, that we won’t be able to stop at your village.” 

“It’s no problem,” she shook her head. “It’s pretty far out anyway.”

“Where is it?” Fennec asked. 

“Out towards the west,” she said, tone listful. “Past the Great Forest.” 

The nostalgic look in Omera’s eyes while she spoke of her home sent a wave of warmth rippling from your heart. You’d only seen her village once, but it was evidently well-loved by all who lived there. 

Mr. Vaun had turned his attention to the conversation, eyes trained between Fennec and Omera as they spoke. His expression betrayed little, but his eyes glowed with curiosity. It made you glad that Kuiil had insisted he come – this was just a small taste of how much he was going to learn. And you couldn’t wait to watch it happen.

~~~~

The first day was fully taken up by travel. Your group reached the inn hours after the sun had already set, and wasted no time getting to the rooms for a decent rest. 

Din sat at the window of his shared room with Cobb while the latter snored away. Clouds obscured the sky above, tiny droplets of starlight breaking through on occasion. The cool air hugged his exposed cheeks – a sensation that still felt foreign, despite him not having worn his helmet in what seemed like a lifetime. He leaned into it as the day played back in his mind. 

You and Omera were the only members of the group who were originally from Sorgan. It surprised Din how much trust you put into folks from other nations; it’d be unheard of in Mandalore. 

Hearing about Omera’s home village led to the two of you discussing similar areas around the nation, and Din couldn’t help his surprise as you described how diverse they were. No two villages were quite alike. 

It had him wondering what else there was to learn about this place, to find out more about the different cultures and lifestyles that came together in one place. 

But that was bad. 

‘Mandalorians are not meant to question,’ the Queen’s voice boomed in his head. ‘Only to obey.’ 

He sighed and leaned further out the window. Mandalore seemed so monochromatic, so stale in comparison to what he’d experienced during his short time in Sorgan. Though the more Din thought about it, the more he realized there was so much of Mandalore he had yet to see. 

Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe that’s why the idea of seeing Sorgan was so strange; no one ever encouraged travel outside of Mandalore’s capital. He ran a hand down his face and thought about the job.

He looked up. Your room was just above his; he could easily climb up and be rid of you right here, if he wanted to. The stone slabs that held the building together were easy enough to scale. Assuming Fennec was in the washroom or otherwise absent, or even asleep, he could slip in through the window and it’d be over within minutes. And Cobb would never notice he was gone. 

He could squash this growing plant before it had a chance to bloom. 

With a deep breath, Din shut the window. 

~~~~

The darkness seemed to move before your eyes. Shifting violently back and forth, like you were being shaken awake. 

But you were still. Pinned in place by a pair of dark, menacing eyes that peered down at you between the shadows. Bit by bit, as the weight of your disorientation pressed down harder and harder, a broad silhouette began to draw itself. 

A man. Wielding a long weapon.

If you were able to feel your throat, you would’ve screamed. 

The man lifted the weapon high above his head, each slow movement scratchy and glitched. A gutteral battle cry rang out just as he swung down towards you– 

Your eyes jolted open, a gasp forcing air into your lungs. The light of early morning draped its dull presence in through the window, a calming blue; the sun had yet to fully awaken.

You were clutching the blanket with a vice grip, your knuckles paling from the force. A harsh tingle strangled each of your muscles, preventing you from shifting positions. As each slow moment blended into the next, you forced your lungs to take in more air, your static-filled mind slowly coming into focus with each one. You looked around the small room. 

Fennec’s cot was already made, and the door to the washroom was shut. Always the early bird, that one, you thought.

You finally managed to untangle your nerves and sit up, taking a big, slow breath. Fennec shot you a grin when she popped back into the room.

“Sleep well, Princess?” 

You shrugged and stretched. Maybe it’s best you keep your nightmares to yourself. 

~~~~

The first village on your route was only an hour’s trip from the inn. The people were more than hospitable, welcoming your entire ensemble into their cottage-filled town. You spent the whole day talking with various villagers, playing with the children, and listening to concerns. 

It was so refreshing to be in this space – no one running after you about one meeting or another, no diplomats to meet with, no empty formalities to follow. Just regular conversations with regular people. 

Fennec stayed by your side while the others wandered about. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Cobb and Mr. Vaun with a group of children; they were gathered around in a circle, and it looked like Cobb was telling them a story. Mr. Vaun wore a smooth expression, though his eyes displayed fascination. You smiled before following your current companion into a nearby cottage. 

“Our biggest worry is access to medicine,” she said while serving tea. “Our population is growing, and the supply can’t keep up. With the harsher weather on its way, we fear not having enough for everyone.” 

You thought through the supply route in your head; most of the nation’s medicine was made in the north. It would make sense that a south-bound place like this would receive slower, fewer shipments. 

“We’ll be heading up north during this trip,” you said, “When we get there I’ll make sure that shipment quantities for this region are increased. That way, you’ll be able to have more on hand from each delivery.”

The woman smiled and took your hand. 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

When the sun began to set, the village came together for a group meal. They’d spent the day preparing the feast, with which you were eager to help where you could. As you sat at the long table and took in the sights around you – all the smiling faces, the mountains of food, all outlined by the surrounding trees and violet sky – your heart was full. 

Fennec and Cobb sat on either side of you while Mr. Vaun, Koska, and Omera sat across the way. Everyone at the table dug into the food without question, except for Mr. Vaun.

He looked at the plate of food before him with apprehension, watching others eat before trying small bites of each sampling. You wondered how diverse his meal options had been before coming to Sorgan. 

You watched him bite into a small fruit. Seeing his brows shoot up before he took another, more confident bite had your grin widening. 

~~~~

You sat by the dying bonfire that night, taking in the uninterrupted view of the night sky. The others were mingling about with the villagers as they packed up the wagon, their conversations a muted lull in the background of your mind. Your group would be heading out soon in an attempt to thwart any potential bandits that may have gotten word of your travels; you took in the calmness of the night while you could. 

The stars sprinkled across the indigo sky came together in a brilliant light show. By the millions, they twinkled before your eyes and seemed to enter a dance the longer you stared. You took a deep breath, relishing in the way the chill of the night mingled with the soothing scent of burnt wood. 

“... Your Highness?” 

You turned to see Omera standing behind you, another woman and a young child beside her. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but this little one has a gift for you.” 

“No need to apologize,” you said with a grin, turning to face them and giving the child a smile. 

“What can I do for you, buddy?” 

He gazed up at his mother before walking up to you, hands clenched in front of him. He opened them up when he reached you.

“... This is for you.” 

In his hand was a leather bracelet, decorated with small pieces of teal fabric and finished with a silver clasp. Your heart swelled with joy. 

“Did you make this?” 

He nodded with a small smile. 

“It’s so beautiful, thank you very much! Will you help me put it on?” 

You held out your wrist and he happily hooked the bracelet around it. You admired it with a grin before giving the boy a hug. 

~~~~

Din couldn’t stop thinking about the scene. 

He never realized anyone could have this great a capacity to care. The way you spoke with that child with such kindness and grace, it was as though he were your own. You treated that entire village with the same compassion you gave to everyone in the palace. Many of those folks were meeting you for the first time, and yet you treated them as though they were family. 

He thought back to what he’d learned growing up: that the other nations only had the interests of the elite in mind. That Mandalore operated more fairly and provided for its citizens while the rest of the world hung theirs out to dry. 

But every single thing you’d done since he met you was the direct opposite of that. It made his head spin. 

He sighed and glanced around the wagon. Cobb and Koska were fast asleep across from him, their snores penetrating the otherwise quiet night. You were facing the other window, your head leaned on the back of the seat. Guessing by the even pattern of your breathing, you must’ve been asleep as well. The child’s gift was still wrapped around your wrist. 

Din returned his gaze to the world beyond his window. The stars reflected off the trees and nearby river, making the entire scene shimmer. A quiet conversation between Omera and Fennec could be heard – something about how lovely the night looked, and a question about being cold. He took a breath and settled further into his seat, eyes growing heavy. The wagon bumped along the road, the cradle-like effect soothing his senses. 

A sudden weight on his shoulders made every hair on his body stand at attention. He looked over to find that you had slid to the side, your head now resting on him. 

Din’s heart began to thump in his throat. There were multiple layers of clothing between your skin and his, yet it felt as though you were touching him directly. His skin burned all over. 

He didn’t want to risk waking you by trying to move you, but how was he meant to rest in such a position? 

How long had it been since he was this close to someone who wasn’t about to die by his hand, or someone he was physically fighting with? He couldn’t recall. Any time not spent working or training in Mandalore was spent alone, where he could have his helmet off in peace. There were few opportunities for domesticity within the capital; Din never sought them out. All he knew was his work. 

He gulped down a breath in an attempt to steady his breathing, and slightly leaned forward to look at you. 

Your eyes were shut, peaceful and still, your lashes fanning over your cheeks. Your brow was turned inward, as if you were contemplating something in your sleep. A small smile pulled at Din’s lips. 

He sucked in a breath and looked back out the window. Can’t be doing things like that, he thought to himself. Must’ve just been the fatigue setting in. He crossed his arms over his chest, doing everything in his power to ignore the wave of staticy warmth your proximity brought. 

But the imprinted image of your sleeping face in his mind’s eye coupled with the weight of your presence on his shoulder made that very difficult.