#BEFORE YOU SAY IT I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT GHOSTS

[captainadwen]

When the portal first turns on, all the lights in the apartment flicker. Later, they will cause the largest blackout in Gotham's recent history. For now, the momentary darkness is illuminated by a sputter of green. Danny's shitty miniature closet, now covered in metal gadgetry and wires, crackles with contained lightning. Their breaths catch.

And then - silence. The lightning zaps against metal. Green fades out, and the lights turn back on.

"No," Danny breathes out, stumbling into the portal as if to grasp the swirling ecto with his hands. He fails, same as when he'd tried to rip open a portal through his own powers, and his gloved fist slams against the metal as he lets out some truly vitriolic curses. Gotham had been educational in that regard.

For her part, Jazz's knees go limp and she slums to the floor. Her teeth bite into the meat of her cheek and she listens, mind blank, as Danny paces.

" - the safety switch is on, I'm not that dumb. Voltage was good - maybe the building cables are too old? How are we supposed to replace that?"

"It wasn't the cables," says Jazz, finding her voice calm. "We bypassed into the grid - "

"I guess we're going to have to change that back before we get found," Danny rubs a hand down his face and sprawls beside her, staring up at the portal's ceiling covering his closet. His voice is small as he admits, "I don't know how I fucked up."

He'd grown up so much this past year, his voice deepening and stubble needing to be shaved off with such frequency he'd spent a week preening about it. In the mirror he looked increasingly like their father, shoulders broad and strong. Jazz stretched out beside him and grabbed his hand, and together they numbly observed their hopes and dreams sputter around them.

"Do you think this is how mom and dad felt when their portal failed?" Jazz asks.

"Theirs didn't fail," said Danny. "The safety switch was turned off."

"Ambient ecto levels match Amity," said Jazz, forcing her brain to think mechanical analytics instead of psychoanalyzing herself and her brother, or worrying about going back to their boring, unfulfilling waiter jobs as they hustled for money.

At least they'd see the Wayne family again. Maybe if they were stuck here she'd flirt back for real.

"It's not enough," said Danny. "It was never enough to be a power source, that's why they blew out all the blocks. The calculations don't match - I know the blueprints of the portal and I know I matched it. Maybe they added an extra power source besides electricity?" He starts muttering calculations and possible fuel sources. Jazz tunes him out when he starts wondering where to get uranium.

A horrible thought had occurred to Jazz and she squeezed her little brother's cold hand tightly. It wasn't only ghosts who existed in the Infinite Realms, but they made up a majority of the creatures found. How did they get there? Ambient ecto, strong emotions -- that created shades, like the countless they'd encountered in Gotham. How did they cross over?

This dimension had been thrilling and concerning all at once. So many heroes, and so many insane villains to match, and aliens and gods and the safety of the planet got threatened every other week. At least it didn't fall to Danny to fix things, but. She's pretty sure at least some of those doomsday scenarios involved odd magics that sucked out the soul to power something else.

"Does death give off energy?"

Danny cut himself off and gave her a look. "Duh, ecto."

"There's the missing link," said Jazz. "It's gotta be, right?"

"What, death? I can't exactly build this on a graveyard. Can you imagine the headlines? Actually, can you imagine the bats?"

She sat up. "I mean. You."

"Me," said Danny. Then, "Oh." A nervous laugh escaped him, eyeing the portal in his closet the same way a mouse watched a feral cat. "You think. I created the portal?"

"You must have," said Jazz. The triumph of certainty forced her to stand up, pulling Danny up and clutching both his hands now. "That's the missing link. The extra energy!"

"And how is that going to help us?" Danny cried, giving their clutched hands an incredulous shake. "Do you want us to kill someone just to get back home?"

That snapped her triumph back to reality. She and Danny stared at each other. "And what if you're wrong?" Danny's eyes gleamed green around the edges. "We'd have just -- I refuse. I can't. And I can't exactly die a second time."

He paused. "I mean, I probably could, but - "

"No," said Jazz sharply. She was not as strong as Danny but he was unresisting as she hauled him out of the portal. His room was a mess of abandoned clothes around their packed belongings, strewn with metal parts and tools. They went to the very edge of the room, to the curtained window, and she spared a thought to hoping the green glow and flickering lights hadn't been spotted. The last thing they needed was the bats descending upon them now. Not when the portal was done. Not when they were so close.

"Maybe I'm wrong," said Jazz. Her body was between Danny and the portal, and it's gaping maw was not, objectively, hungry. It was just a trick of the mind. Her own racing heart acknowledging mortality. "And I mean, there's no guarantee it would work again the same way."

"It probably would," Danny muttered, looking out the window. "I did die again, before, when Sam - it worked again. And there's Vlad."

"Okay," said Jazz. "Okay. We can - "

"We won't," said Danny, sharply.

"Of course we won't," said Jazz. "But if we don't, then - "

"We could ask the Justice League for help ," said Danny without much enthusiasm. They shared a mutual grimace. "Like, 50-50 odds they do help us out. Batman isn't as much of a creepy fuck as he seemed at first. And Superman is downright cool! And an alien! They got to understand wanting to return home."

"And what are they going to do?" Jazz crossed her arms. "Stop saving the planet from Darkland - "

"Darkseid - " Danny corrected.

" - Just to help out two random people who can't even prove they're from another dimension punch a hole in reality? I refuse to be to be stuck here labeled as a supervillain just because there are actual curses on this horrible city with fantastic welfare resources that makes everyone with ambition go evil!"

"Shh," said Danny. He pushed the curtains to more fully cover the window. "Don't tempt fate. Or the bats. Or like, Justice League Dark."

Silence filled the apartment. "It's not the worst thing," said Jazz. "Being stuck here."

"Bats haven't yet figured out it's me doing lowdown vigilanteism," said Danny, without enthusiasm.

"You can get your GED!"

"I think American History is different here and I'll fail miserably."

"You can study for your GED," said Jazz, pointedly. "And me too. And Gotham U has pretty good scholarships."

"I bet we can seduce the Wayne's into paying tuition."

That made Jazz laugh. "We could. I think they've offered it, actually." She'd pretended at ignorance the first time, then demurred the next. They hadn't offered thrice, but it was only a matter of time.

"I can convince them to give me a job at Wayne Tech," said Danny. "Behold: I build portals that don't work."

She elbowed him lightly. "No guys in white to hunt you down."

"No crazy ghost hunting parents," said Danny, but his voice wavered.

"Yeah," said Jazz. She turned back to the dark, silent portal and bit her lip. "No parents."

"No friends."

"We haven't been very friendly."

"I miss them," Danny's voice cracked. "I miss them so bad. I want to go home!"

Even though he was taller than her now - an absolute travesty of genetics - he burrowed his face in her shoulder as they hugged. "We will," she murmured fervently. Maybe there was truth to the curses driving people evil here, because an insane idea took root in her mind. "We will. I promise." She hugged her little brother tighter.

When they separated and she calmly walked into the portal, Danny said, "What are you doing?"

"Turning the safety switch off," said Jazz, doing just that. It was a small thing, nothing like the original portal. Danny kept all the cables securely tied to the sides. After the accident he'd always been careful about lab safety protocols.

Accident. She can't call it that anymore.

"That's probably smart," said Danny. He rubbed his fist over his wet eyes. "I'll just. Unlatch from the power grid before someone realizes what we did."

"Okay," said Jazz. Her fingers were tight against the switch. "Hey Danny?"

"What?"

"I love you."

"Jazz? Jazz!"

The portal switched on. The swirl of green caught her abdomen, turning her entire body weightless. Then, the next second, while her senses struggled to reorient and her stomach realized it abruptly did not exist - displaced, moved into another dimension, ecto filling her senses like she could taste the color green - the electricity hit.

When she comes to, Danny is hunched over her. Her ears keep ringing long enough for him to start crying, and Jazz lifts a tired, heavy arm to wipe his tears away only for her hand to pass through his flesh. Her skin was blue, tinged green from the light of the portal behind them. He'd pulled her out of there. He'd pulled her out of the portal.

"It worked," said Jazz, her voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "It worked!"

"You fucking idiot!" cried Danny, dripping snot at tears all over her. "You - you - "

Jazz's tired hand falls to the ground. She can't feel her heartbeat. Her entire body aches, nerves dull and firing at the same time. A faint scent of pork mixed into the ecto in the air like an army of ecto-weenies marching out of their fridge. Maybe she'd gone full ghost and her body was still in the portal, eternally suspended in the ecto with electricity running through it's veins: the conduit. The missing link.

Was it like this when her little brother had died?

"We can go home," she told Danny. It was what mattered now. He'd have to carry her body into the portal, but by all the Ancients, they could go home.

"You died!"

"So did you!" Jazz forced her upper body upright. "Come on, Danny." If she was a ghost, why did her limbs have to ache so much? "Hey, how do you 'go human'?" A nervous laugh of pure hysteria escaped her. "I mean, I should probably check - "

Danny sucked in a large, desperate breath. Then he cracked again. Jazz ached to comfort him. She focused on the humanity of him - slipping back to life, her heart beating in her chest, the exhaustion in every one of her muscles -

The window shattered. Her elbows slipped and cracked into the floor, through the floor, and half her body followed until Danny's arms hauled her back up and pressed her to his chest. Past his shoulder she could barely see the dark shadow of one of the local bats, illuminated by the green portal light because every other light was dark. Could barely hear those affected gravely voices say, "Holy shit --? Danny? Jazz?"

"Don't come closer!" ordered Danny through the snot and tears, hauling her further upright and ready to bolt.

The sudden movement reminded her of her stomach that didn't exist anymore. Her body fought between passing out and throwing up.

And it was that: the darkness tinging her vision that forced her out of it, less a gentle slide into being alive and more like tumbling down a slope. Gravity slammed into her and forced her back down, her hair turning red again, skin going from hypothermic to pale.

"Fuck yeah, I'm not dead," wheezed Jazz, newly human and alive again, and then threw up at the mouth of the portal her death created.

"What," said the bat. "The fuck."

Danny: Ugh, they're back again

Jazz: Don't make that face at paying customers. Do you want to make a portal back home?

Danny rolling his eyes: Yes

Jazz: Then we need to get enough money to buy the parts. If that means waiting tables at a barely legal dinner, where idiots hit on us, then we wait those stupid tables. Now go over there and get the Waynes to leave us a 200 tip.

Danny: Fine, but only if you do too!

Jazz: *Tighten her apron straps into an hourglass figure* Way ahead of you.

Danny: *Rolling eyes but does the same*

Meanwhile with the Waynes

Bruce: It's so nice to go out to eat with you all

Alfred: Indeed. It's a nice change, don't you agree, children?

Wayne kids: *hyperventilating*

Bruce Not looking up from his phone: The Fenton siblings?

Alfred: Indeed, sir. It seems like Master Dick, Master Jason, and Miss Cass are going to attempt to speak to Ms. Fenton today. Master Tim, Master Damian, Master Duke, and Miss Steph don't seem mentally ready to look Mister Fenton in the eye. Bets?

Bruce: Dick chokes on his fork again. Tim face plants on the table, and Steph once again speaks in gibberish after forgetting the entire English language.

Alfred: Very good, sir.

[aimfor-theheart]

oh cielo!! happy new year!! i'm so glad we've met in this vast internet space and i'm sending you so much love for the coming year as well ��� if you're still playing, how about fake dating with vi?

FUJI BELOVEDDD!!!! i am also so glad that we've met on this strange internet space and i am sending you so much love and joy and success this 2025!! 💗

i am still playing and i have been waiting all day to sit down and write this one. was SO EXCITED to see this ask...thank u for giving me the opportunity to write about vi 💗

fake dating au + vi

Someone's following you. Their footsteps echo behind you, reverberating around inside your head. You're keen, ears pricked, as you glance half behind your shoulder.

Their shadow in the fog is a ghost that's been haunting you.

Your heart ticks up, your steps lurch; you move a little faster.

Vi should be close—

The footsteps quicken. So do you.

You round the corner and yelp when you crash into a solid form.

Hands on you, wide and warm, steadying you. Eyes like a crystal sky finding yours. "You alright?" Vi asks and your heart swells, relief floods you.

You glance behind you and perceptive and sharp as always, Vi peers into the city smog, too. She sees the shape of someone and knows. Knows danger. Knows who it might be. Her body tenses, hackles rising.

Then her demeanor shifts.

"Been lookin' for you everywhere, princess." And suddenly her arm is around you, pulling you into her. She's warm and solid and you can feel the press of your bodies together, the way you fit together. You try not to startle or pull away.

Your cheeks warm. Vi is your bodyguard assigned to you after this stalking started, not—

You swallow hard, uncertain. "Um—Vi?"

Under her breath, she says, "just play along."

And with that, she sweeps you away, tucked under her arm. The night is brisk and damp, but Vi's body, shrouding yours, keeps out the chill. You walk in step. Your follower perseveres.

As you near your safe house, you watch Vi's mind work.

Between one breath and the next, you're pressed up a back alley wall. And Vi's pressing you there, against you, her hands on your waist.

"We need to ditch him before we reach the safe house." She says lowly, lowering her face towards you. "Just—follow my lead."

As the footsteps approach, Vi dips her face to the crook of your neck. Warmth floods your system and instinctively, you grab for her, fisting one hand in the front of her shirt, the other looping around her shoulders.

You must look like lovers. It strikes you like lightning.

And when the footsteps round the corner, Vi suddenly grabs your chin in hand, and kisses you soundly on the mouth.

You make a noise of surprise, which she swallows. And you think she's only going to stay like this, unmoving and kissing you for appearances, but she suddenly deepens it.

Her tongue presses along your bottom lip and you part for her, almost out of surprise, which she takes advantage of eagerly. With your alarm, mingles a strange glow and flutter of desire. You feel it, tender and terrified, in the pit of your stomach. It spreads it's wings.

Your hand disappears into the hair at the nape of her neck and she gets a thigh between your legs. You gasp.

When she hears your follower near, she pulls away—lips spit slick and chest heaving a little, hair tousled, eyes fever bright—and rounds on him.

The man startles.

And Vi plays sleazy well when she swipes at her bottom lip with her thumb. Gone is your dedicated bodyguard, replaced with a heated fling you may have.

She asks, "You got a problem?" And now she sizes him up. Squares her shoulders. "Can't we get a little privacy?"

He falters, uncertain, eyes bouncing to you and then Vi.

"Fuck off," Vi snaps, "and get lost before I do something I regret."

He scurries away and the moment he's far enough away, Vi is reaching for your hand, engulfing it with hers. "Come on, we gotta go—" and she pulls you along, as if she hadn't just kissed you senseless moments ago, and you disappear down the maze of alleyways with her.

"Nice acting," she smirks, "who knew you had it in you?"

Send me a trope/gennre + a character and I'll write a drabble for it!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Good Fortune pop-up event.

Hawkins, Indiana: Birthplace of Corroded Coffin

Prompt: Fortune #7 - A single kind word can keep one warm for years, Mouth & Thirteen | Word Count: 2025 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sexual Content, Alcohol Use | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Future Fic, Reconnecting, Old Friends to Lovers, Eddie & Gareth are Best Friends

The lights are bright and the crowd is loud, and he's just a little bit buzzed from the shots before they took the stage, but Eddie is absolutely certain that three rows back, dead center, is Steve Harrington. There's no way it isn't him. Even older, even if Eddie hasn't seen him in years, it's him. It helps that he's standing next to Henderson, for the love of god, and a whole slew of other familiar faces that Eddie mostly hasn't seen in years.

He's sure he's not seeing ghosts. Just old friends that have traveled from all over just to see them here together tonight. 

And that's all Eddie can think about during the whole show. He tries to shake it off, tries to act like it's completely normal to have that many familiar faces in the crowd watching them perform, but it's not. In fact, it had never even crossed his mind when they landed in Indianapolis that this would somehow be a hometown show.

Eddie didn't invite anyone, didn't draw attention to it, because they don't claim Indiana. It's not home, not anymore. Hawkins told them to fuck off, and they've decided to say it right back. Hawkins can't stake a claim on them now. If they didn't want them around back then, if the majority of the town would have preferred to see Eddie dead, well, fuck them. They don't deserve to have them now that they've made a name for themselves.

Maybe that's petty. But Eddie stands by it.

He'll never set foot in that town again. Not for anything, or anyone.

Wayne understood, and washed his hands of Hawkins, too.

So, they kind of avoid Indiana in general, and aren't exactly in contact with the majority of Hawkins these days. 

Sure, Henderson and the other sheepies have made shows here and there all over the country, but going home? To that hell hole? Absolutely not. 

But seeing them all in the crowd, together again, just to see him? Fuck. It does something to Eddie that he can't explain.

After the show, Steve picks Eddie up and hugs him, cracking his back in the process.

Eddie laughs.

Nobody treats Eddie like this anymore, except for Wayne and the other guys in the band, so it's a nice change of pace to know that Steve still sees him as Eddie. Not Eddie Munson, business commodity. 

"How are you man? How's the high life?" Steve asks, and Eddie tosses his head back, laughing. Steve hasn't changed. He's a little dorky, and a lot good dude. 

"Good," Eddie says with a smile, "I'm good. How're you?"

"Good, good. I'm good."

"Still in Hawkins?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods.

Eddie doesn't see how Steve can do it, but of course they didn't try to hang Steve in the town square. Deemed guilty by the court of public opinion before the blood he didn't spill had even dried.

This is Steve Harrington, Eddie's sure he's an upstanding member of society.

"Want to get a drink?" Eddie asks, because he can't in good conscience let Steve disappear that easily. If Steve came all this way, Eddie at least needs to keep him a little bit longer.

Two drinks turn into wandering hands, and when Steve corners him in the hallway of the hotel bar back by the bathroom, Eddie leans into it. Presses against Steve, straddling Steve's thigh, grinding against him. 

"Fuck," Steve says, and that's definitely the idea, as far as Eddie's concerned. They try to keep their hands to themselves until they're in Eddie's hotel room, but then all bets are off, clearly.

Eddie couldn't have dreamed of this, even if he'd been making unattainable wishes.

It's fun, and familiar, even if it's not anything they've ever done together before. 

Eddie needed this. Needed to laugh, and fuck, to just unwind with someone he trusts with his life, not to mention his body.

Steve Harrington wanted to have sex with him, as familiar, old friends. Because, yeah, clearly they have some mutual attraction, but that's not unusual. Eddie's been attracted to lots of people over the years, and he's fucked more than he can count. Men, women. They don't mean anything, but tonight Steve crawled in his bed because he likes Eddie as a person, knows him, and trusts that they'll have fun together, not because he's famous. That's a gift. One Eddie hasn't gotten in a really long time.

Eddie rolls onto his back, and opens his thighs. 

"What do you need?" Steve asks, looking up at him with those warm eyes. And it is a need, not just a want. He's right about that.

Everything. He wants everything.

"Your mouth," he says, then, "your cock." He can't decide. 

Steve laughs, then says, "Deal," with a grin.

Eddie throws his arm over his eyes, and then realizes he doesn't want to miss this, he wants to see it all. And he knows that was a great decision, when Steve takes him into his mouth.

Holy shit. Steve Harrington, with his hair falling over his forehead, is sucking his dick, and goddamn well.

"Goddamn, Harrington," Eddie teases, and Steve pulls off just long enough to smile a smile that settles between Eddie's ribs and takes up residence.

Eddie hasn't done this in forever, but he melts into the sheets as Steve fucks his fingers in and out of his body. He's ready. He's so beyond ready for Steve to fuck him.

"Steve, now," Eddie says. 

And Steve nods, and Eddie watches as Steve rolls a condom down his impressive cock. Then he's lining up and pressing inside. A slow, steady slide. He's open, and oh so fucking ready. His cock is hard, laying against his belly, a sign of trust, of pleasure, that he doesn't take for granted.

Steve Harrington won't hurt him. Steve Harrington saved him once, and goddamn, he might be doing it again right now.

Eddie groans. It feels so good. He hasn't trusted anybody to do this for him in a long, long time. But he knows that Steve will take real good care of him. Steve always takes good care of everyone.

And tonight is no different. Steve builds a rhythm, finding all the right places in Eddie's body, in his heart, and when Eddie comes, he laughs. He's gonna chase this particular high for the rest of his life, guaranteed.

It's morning, and the plane leaves in an hour. Flying private does save time, but he's pushing it.

Steve leans over, dressed, ready to go, and kisses him goodbye.

"It was good to see you. Maybe don't wait another dozen years," Steve says, and then with a smile, he's gone.

Another month of shows, nothing out of the ordinary, but it's been so fucking rough. Eddie can't even explain why. Nothing has changed. They've been in the swing of touring for a very long time. But he suddenly feels like he's lost all his mojo. Like he's trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

He's frustrated. Musically, and sexually, if he's honest. Nobody is holding a candle to a night with Steve Harrington, and he wishes he was surprised by that.

"Go."

Eddie jerks his head up, "What?"

Gareth smiles, "You heard me. Go."

"Go where?" Eddie asks, fiddling with the strings of his guitar, just for something to do.

"Go home. To him," Gareth answers, and Eddie knew that's what he meant.

Eddie sits there for a moment longer, and Gareth shoots him a look, "Go." 

He goes.

Their chartered plane is tied up elsewhere, so it takes waiting in an airport for nearly a day, with flight after flight falling through. Holiday travel has the airports busy, and the weather is keeping flights delayed.

He's in a private lounge, so he's not being bothered by anybody, but it's making him nervous, and a little bit crazy. He wonders if he should hit one of the pay phones and call Steve, warn him that he's coming in.

He doesn't. He thinks, no matter how this goes, that Steve will be happy to see him if his reaction after the show is anything to go by.

But he's going home for the first time in over a decade, because he wants to see Steve. Needs to. Because what he felt that night, seeing him again, isn't something he's felt in a very long time.

Steve doesn't seem all that surprised to see him, but he welcomes him with open arms.

"I can't believe I'm back in this town," Eddie says. "How can such a shithole have you in it?"

Steve laughs.

"At least they took down the fucking sign declaring Hawkins the birthplace of Corroded Coffin. Like hell it is."

Steve smiles, a twinkle in his eye.

"Come with me," Steve says, and Eddie follows him out the back door and towards a little shed. He can't imagine what Steve needs to show him out here, but after Vecna, and all the shit that happened in the Upside Down, if Steve Harrington says jump, Eddie will only ask how high.

The shed has three padlocks, and Eddie is suddenly scared he's gonna be a headline. He doesn't really know Steve Harrington anymore. He could be a serial killer. 

He laughs to himself.

"It's not a serial killer shed," Steve says, as if he can read his mind.

"I didn't think that," Eddie says.

He totally thought that.

Steve unlocks the last padlock and swings open the door.

Eddie's stunned. 

There's at least a dozen road signs, all proclaiming Hawkins, Indiana: Birthplace of Corroded Coffin.

Eddie laughs, cackles, honestly.

"You didn't?" he asks, and Steve grins.

"I absolutely did. Every last one. They finally stopped putting them back up. They blamed the kids wanting them for souvenirs, not the middle school phys ed teacher stealing them because I knew how much you'd hate them."

Eddie loves him more than he's ever loved anyone, he's pretty sure. He can't believe Steve did this for them, he wasn't even in contact with any of them. 

"How did you know…?" Eddie trails off, not sure how to word it.

"That you'd hate it?" Steve asks.

And Eddie nods.

"You never came home, and for good reason. They didn't deserve to say you were theirs. You were always ours, though. We're really proud of you."

Eddie barrels into him, hugging him tight, "Thanks, Steve."

"It was nothing," he says, and then he grins, "Robin helped."

"Hell yeah, Buckley did."

Ten Years Later

"It was go," Eddie says in the interview chair that he's been in for hours. Press junkets are the fucking worst. 

"Go?" the interviewer asks.

Eddie nods, "You asked for the kindest word I've ever been told. Go."

"Do you want to elaborate?" she asks, trying to probe.

"Not really," he says, but offers a smile, and she returns it.

It's his secret. His and Gareth's, he supposes, but it changed the whole trajectory of his life. Warming up all the coldness that he hadn't even realized he was feeling until Steve Harrington waltzed back into his life.

Gareth told him to go, set him free, trusting that he'd return back to the band better than he left it.

He did.

With Steve, he's better. Happier. Their music has only gotten better with Eddie settled into his own skin, his own love. He has a home, even if god-fucking-forbid, it's in Hawkins, Indiana: Birthplace of Corroded Coffin.

Once word got out, they put up another sign.

Eddie stole it. The very last sign Hawkins ever tried to put up.

They arrested him, and he smiled for his mugshot.

Eventually the charges were dropped. They were far too embarrassed to actually try him for stealing his own sign, unwilling to put him on the stand to ask him why.

He'd love to tell him.

So, Hawkins has left him alone, and he's made peace that he may never forgive and forget, but Steve's whole life is here, and that means Eddie's gonna be here, too.

They let him keep the sign. It's in the shed with the other thirteen.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: I'm always such a sucker for Eddie making peace with Hawkins stories. They probably don't deserve it, but he does.

[mitsiepitsie]

I went ahead and ran with this. Just a small little blurb, unproofed and everything, but enjoy anyways.

Father's day

When she comes into the world, sticky and red and screaming her indignation, Sylus knows he has never known love before. He'd thought he knew, the moment when you'd stared at him one lazy afternoon, eyes suddenly brimming with tears, and he realized you'd remembered. He'd thought he knew, then, when he breathed his last, and your - the other you - tears fell unbidden, showering his cheeks with grief.

But now, as years of love fell from your exhausted eyes as you looked at him holding your newborn daughter, and he stared down at the bundle in his arms, still screaming at the top of her lungs, only now does he feel he truly knows.

And, instantly, he also truly knows fear. Inwardly frantic but outwardly composed - or so he thinks- he carefully pushes at the the tiny hat they put on her up and off, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the soft skull. He breathes a sigh of relief as he finds nothing but the still sticky, downy hair, and quickly pulls the hat in place again.

—---------------------------------------------

Quietly humming, you sit on the edge of the pink little bed, littered with all the plushies the both of you have ever won, the tiny body of your two year old in your lap as you sit brushing her silver hair, already falling to her shoulders. You notice his shadow as he leans against the doorframe, gazing at his world before him.

Your daughter suddenly cries out in pain as you pass the brush over the top of her head, and Sylus nearly bowls you over in his haste to inspect the source of her discomfort. He coos at the little girl in your lap, consoling her as his fingers card gently through her silvery locks, probing her scalp. You look on, amused at his reaction.

“It's just a tangle,” you say, bemused, as you pick up the brush again, apologizing to your daughter for pulling at said tangle.

“It would appear so,” he says, the tone of his voice hard to read despite your years together.

—---------------------------------------------------

“I swear, all she lacks is a pair of horns,” you exclaim in exasperation one day, as you're venting about her toddler antics while he cooks up one of your favorite dishes.

The pan clatters to the ground, oil splattering the cabinets as Sylus whips towards you, a look in his eyes that you haven’t been at the receiving end of since your first meeting.

“What did you say?” he growls at you, and it's as if the light flees from his presence as he rounds the kitchen island, towering over you, eyes glowing.

You retreat against a wall, shocked by his sudden enmity. “It's just an expression,” you growl back, fighting to overcome your flight response.

He snaps out of it just as suddenly. “I'm sorry, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear as he draws your rigid form into his arms, “I don't know what came over me.”

He makes it up to you, with dinner and at night, but his burning eyes linger in the back of your mind.

—-------------------------------------------------------

It takes a few instances like that for you to catch on. Every bump on your girl's head is rigorously inspected, and your little thunderstorm gets more than her fair share. You assure yourself she gets that wildness from him.

Then, one day, you hear Kieran call her “a little fiend”, and all hell breaks loose. It takes Luke and your unified strength to pry Sylus off Kieran, who flees the scene as soon as his boss's hands leave his throat.

You send Luke off with your girl, telling them to go watch TV or something as you confront your husband.

“Care to fill me in?” you ask icily, glaring down at him on his spot on the couch.

He glares right back up you as you stand in front of him. “He has no right to call her that,” he all but snarls.

“What, a fie- oh…Oh.” It clicks.

The worried looks, frantic searches for some non-existent bumps. The explosions at the simplest, most innocent comments.

You straddle his legs and take his face in your hands. “She's not you, Sylus,” you say gently, “Though she tries her damnedest.”

His head rolls back onto the couch as he covers his eyes with one of his strong arms. “I know,” he rasps, a fragility in his voice that you have only seldom heard, “but, what if-”

“Then we will figure it out,” you murmur as you gather him to you, “like we've done before.”

—‐----------------------------------------------------------

The years go by, and Sylus manages to somewhat lessen the intensity of his reactions to anything horn related. Or curse related. Or fiend, or dragon, or…He tries, in any case, you think, as you carry a tray laden with breakfast up to your bedroom, your daughter scampering up the stairs in front of you, excited for Father's Day and the gift she crafted at school.

You smile from the doorway as she jumps onto the bed where Sylus is pretending to be asleep, exaggerated snoring coming from the heap of covers and cushions. Squeals soon replace the snoring as he reaches out to grab your daughter and drags her under the covers.

“No, no, Daddy!” she cries, indignant, “I must give you your present first, and then you must eat breakfast!”

“Oh?” he rumbles, “Did you make it?”

“I made the present all by myself!” she exclaims as she throws the covers off of them both.

He exclaims in appreciation before his gaze falls on you. “And the breakfast?”

She pouts slightly. “Mommy helped.”

He chuckles at your sigh of exasperation. “And to what do I owe this offering?”

She giggles at his forgetfulness. “It is Father's Day, Daddy!” she says as she pushes the gift into his hands.

He opens the gift, a paper bird with a little picture of his little girl, the writing on one of the wings saying ‘Owl love you forever’. “Why is the owl black?” he asks, as he idly unties the string holding a rolled up drawing together.

“Miss Johnsons made us make an owl, but I wanted a crow,” she pouts, “it's Mephisto, daddy!”

“Of course it is, sweetie,” he says, the chuckle drying in his throat as he unrolls the drawing.

You place the tray on the foot of the bed and walk over to where the both of them are staring at the glitter embellished paper, one proudly, the other aghast. Your question dies on your tongue as you look at the drawing your daughter has made.

On it are three distinct figures, one on the ground and two in the air. Bright red wings sprout from both their backs, black scribbles from their heads, as the figure on the ground waves at them.

“What a lovely picture,” you say as you sit beside them and gently try to pinch Sylus out of his stupor, “will you tell me about it?”

She nods excitedly and starts pointing at the figures. “That's you, Mommy, and this is Daddy with his dragon wings, and that is me!”

“But you don't have wings, honey, and neither does Daddy.”

She exclaims in all the frustration a toddler can muster. “Not right now, but he can magic them back when I grow up and grow mine!”

Sylus trembles, trembles besides you, and you hug your daughter for him, thank her for her wonderful gifts, tell her that Daddy likes them so much that he can't speak right now, but that he will take her out for ice cream later to thank her, and send her off to put on her shoes and wait for him.

You watch as she streaks from the room, silver hair whipping behind her. Sylus softly chuckles beside you, drawing still held reverently in his quivering fingers.

“Leave it to out treasure,” he mutters as you turn to him, his red eyes glossy, “to figure it out for us.”

Imagine Dragon Sylus having a kid and constantly checking to see if they've started growing horns, because he's so scared they'll be cursed like him.

Until one day the kid asks when they'll get horns, and Sylus realizes that his kid doesn't see it as a curse, and wants to be just like their dad when they grow up

[whisperofwonder]

Tipsy

Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader - 790 words

Ushijima is an affectionate drunk, confirmed.

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, obviously. Reader wears a dress, but no pronouns are used. Very slightly suggestive.

There are certain things you've always assumed you'd never experience in your lifetime. A 10 million yen inheritance from a great aunt you never knew existed. A smart house like the one from that movie you saw as a kid. The heat death of the universe. A drunk Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Except maybe you were wrong about that last one. You're out with the Adlers, a celebratory dinner at a nice place. Your meal is delicious, and you're having a good time talking and laughing with Waktoshi's teammates and their partners. Suddenly, you pause mid-sentence, biting back a squeak. A warm, large hand has worked its way under the hem of your dress, and is now pressed firmly against your thigh.

Kageyama gives you a strange look from across the table. You laugh it off with a wave of your hand, saying you'd lost your train of thought. When the conversation moves on, you turn to Wakatoshi.

"Toshi," You murmur under your breath. He looks at you then, eyes slightly unfocused, and for the first time you notice the slight flush high in his cheeks. He doesn't move his hand. Oh. Your gaze goes to the empty wine glass by his plate.

-

"How many glasses of that wine have you had?" You ask softly, gently shifting his hand out from under your dress.

His brow furrows in thought, and he doesn't answer right away. "It's nice wine," He says finally. You look at the bottle, and to your surprise, there's only an inch or so left. He slides his arm around the back of your chair, fingertips grazing your shoulder.

"Well, maybe you should stick with water now," You suggest.

He only hums in response, lips close to your ear. It's certainly not inappropriate, but such closeness in public like this is so unlike him that you still feel your face heating up. "I'm glad you could come tonight," He says in a low voice. "That dress looks incredible on you." You can feel his breath ghost across the shell of your ear. It's all you can do to keep your jaw from dropping open.

"Thank you," You reply, flustered. "I'm glad, too." You furtively glance at the rest of his teammates, but they seem too caught up in their own conversations to notice anything odd. You're glad for that, because the next thing he does is press a kiss to your temple.

"We're in public," You remind him.

"I'm sorry," He says, still just a little too close to your ear. Luckily, the night is soon drawing to a close. The dessert plates are being cleared away, and Kageyama is getting antsy to leave, suggesting it to his girlfriend in a tone that isn't as low as he must think it is. It wouldn't be out of line for you and Wakatoshi to leave as well.

"Are you ready to go home?" You whisper, and at the suggestion, he focuses on you again.

"Yes," He says decidedly, just a little too loudly. It draws the attention of some of the others, who look at him curiously. His hand finds its way to your thigh again.

"Okay," You say, a little too loud yourself. "Let's get our coats, then," You prompt. When he gets to his feet, it's with a slight wobble, and he looks at you in surprise, angling towards you for support.

"Wakatoshi isn't drunk, is he?" Hoshiumi asks in disbelief.

"It appears that way," You laugh, shifting slightly under his weight. He's leaning on you just a little more than is comfortable, but when he feels you move, he shifts more of his weight to his own feet.

"You good?" Hirugami asks, and you nod. Wakatoshi may be tipsy, but he hasn't drunk that much. After bidding farewell to everyone, he insists on helping you into your coat, hands on you perhaps more than necessary. You make your way to the car, getting him situated in the passenger seat before you get in the driver's side. The moment the car is running, his hand finds its way under the hem of your dress again, thumb grazing your skin.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drink that much before," You muse, looking sideways at him.

"I don't think I have," He rumbles, rough fingertips tracing shapes onto your skin. "The wine was nice." He repeats his statement from earlier.

"Maybe I'll have to get a bottle for our anniversary next month. We can make dinner at home." Your suggestion isn't selfish at all.

"I'd like that," He murmurs, your suggestion seemingly prompting a thought. "When will we be home?" He asks, giving your thigh a squeeze.

"Soon," You promise, gripping the steering wheel just a little bit tighter.

[impactrueno]

throwing my 2 cents into the ring here: i liked the maitlands enough that i was legit pissed they only got a throwaway line in beej beej as to why they weren't around. could afford to claymate the goddamn pedophile but couldn't spare a few bucks for like body doubles we only see the backs of for the maitlands? fuck off.

i definitely agree we saw too much of jeffrey jones' face which i've hated even before i even found out what he did (charles is also my least favorite character in the first movie by far) but charles' death is THE reason why the deetz women go back to winter river in the first place, and delia's whole arc is about mourning him and then reuniting with him, so his character (to my chagrin) was a lot more relevant to the plot than the maitlands could've been. this movie is ultimately about the deetz women, not the maitlands.

i mean no offense to you or anyone who feels this way, and i get being disappointed, but being disappointed is one thing and then there's being angry. i'm actually surprised that people are legitimately pissed that the maitlands aren't in the sequel. they couldn't have been, because ghosts don't age and the actors did (and unlike michael keaton, they won't look the same under layers of makeup and wigs.) alec baldwin has also been disgraced ever since the Rust incident, a lot of people seem to forget that.

the maitlands were also allowed to move on in the afterlife, which (unknowingly to lydia and the viewers at this point) introduced the soul train concept. yes, lydia's explanation felt like a weird handwave but the movie is self-aware about this having astrid sarcastically say "how convenient." this interaction also adds to her growing skepticism about her mother's ability to see ghosts, which is an important plot point, so it's not just a weak handwave explanation.

i also thought the cameo in the model was cute (i gasped and pointed at the screen when i saw it in theaters lol)

at the end of the day i think they did the best they could with what they had, without derailing the movie or piling even more stuff onto it (the movie is already PACKED with characters and subplots, all of which have a purpose and are essential)

so like i said, i'm a bit taken aback by people's angry reactions. me, personally. i don't understand the venom for these decisions.

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of honey (Geta love story)

Summary: Geta is recovering from his injuries. Lucius must go to war again.

Previous parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, Part 4, Part 5, part 6

"Who is Arishat?"

Lucius blinked. Slowly, a pair of intense brown eyes swam into view. He had not regained full awareness of his surroundings, and it took immense effort to translate his thoughts into words.

"Mmm." Lucius groaned softly as he turned on his back and stretched out his arms above his head. Of course, Geta did not know about her. Who would have told him?

"You... said her name. In your sleep," Geta clarified.

Lucius nodded. "She was my wife. She died in the invasion of Numidia." He rubbed his chest. "She was shot. In the ribs. Drowned soon after."

Geta stayed silent for a while. Then, quietly, "I'm really sorry, Lucius." Something in Geta's tone surprised him and made him turn his head. The sincerity in it. Perhaps he recognized, remembered the feeling of loss.

"It's okay."

There was a time he would have blamed Geta for killing her. But knowing him and his brother for longer, he understood the way they ruled. Like kids. Ignorant, with no idea of the consequences of their actions nor the lives lost and affected. Bitterness still filled his heart remembering how he had felt.

Geta shook his head. "It is not. And I am sorry."

Lucius could feel his throat close up, so he just gave a nod, quickly blinking away tears.

"What was she like?"

Lucius did not reply right away.

"If you want to share, of course."

"It's okay." He frowned. "She was... strong. Independent. A great fighter." He stared at the ceiling. "Never allowed me to protect her."

Geta's fingers slid into his curls, stayed there until he began playing with them. It startled Lucius; Geta had not done this before. Never touched him in such a way.

"It, ehm..." He cleared his throat. "It drove me nuts, to be honest."

"That doesn't surprise me," Geta said, lazily winding a curl around his middle finger. "You miss her?"

"Very much." Lucius looked away from him. He could feel Geta's eyes burning in the back of his head.

Geta came closer, his warm breath fanning over the side of his neck. He then ghosted his lips over the shell of Lucius' ear.

"I can't bear it when you're sad," he said, his voice solemn and low. Then he sighed and lowered his head, tucking it between Lucius' chin and shoulder. Lucius did not know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything, just focused on Geta's heartbeat drumming against the side of his ribcage.

"What about your brother? How are you coping with his absence?" Lucius asked, feeling guilty he’d gone so long without asking. Geta said nothing for a long time.

"I feel half-human without him."

Lucius squeezed his arm.

"I'm sorry too."

Geta nodded. Then he added, "I know you were right when you said he would kill me if it came to it." Geta turned his face inwards, talking to the skin of Lucius' neck. "I knew you were right, and that's why I struck you." Geta was crying now.

Lucius nodded. "I assumed so."

Geta swallowed. "I would have never been able to kill him. Never. Not even if I would lose my mind."

Lucius nodded again, looking down at him. Geta was softer than most people gave him credit for.

"How are your wounds?" Lucius asked after letting him cry for a while, changing the subject. "Are they still hurting badly?" Geta nodded without looking at him. "Sometimes less than other times."

"When does it hurt the most?"

"When I sit up, or when I accidentally turn on my stomach."

"Can I see?"

"The wounds?"

"Mm-mm."

"No."

"Why?"

"It's ugly. I don't want you to see it."

"Do you think I care if it's ugly?"

"I care. It looks gross."

"It's not healed yet."

"It will scar. Pius said the scars will be the size of my hand."

"It bothers you?"

"Yes. It does."

"It doesn't matter to me."

"It's not about that. I liked the way I looked. I liked my skin. It will never be like that again. Every time I see my reflection, I will be reminded of terror. It bothers me."

Lucius propped himself up on one elbow, searching Geta's eyes. "I'll teach you how to fight. We'll get you healthy again." He insisted.

Geta shook his head, his cheeks still damp from previous tears. "I will never be the same again. I'll never walk around these halls the same man."

Lucius frowned. "You don't know that."

"Mmm. I do."

Lucius adjusted so he was in the same position again, with Geta's head resting against his shoulder. "We'll take it a day at a time, alright?"

Geta sighed and didn't reply. When Lucius looked down, his eyes were closed again.

"You want to sleep?"

"Yeah."

Lucius brought his hand to Geta's face, letting it rest there protectively. "Sleep then," he said.

Geta murmured something unintelligible. Lucius adjusted a little and yawned himself, letting his eyelids close too. Unexpectedly, he was off in a heartbeat.

When he woke again, it was hot and early in the afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the open window, and his thin tunic clung to his damp torso. Geta’s arm was draped across his chest, his body tucked gently against him. He was lying on his side, deeply asleep. That was good—he probably needed it.

Lucius carefully lifted Geta’s arm off his chest and slid away from him. Geta's breathing remained heavy, his arm falling limp on the bed, palm flat against the mattress. Lucius pressed a kiss on his arm before standing up, leaving him to sleep undisturbed. It had never felt right to leave him, but it was becoming harder and harder the more time he spent with him—like a fabric being pulled tighter with every thread.

If he could, he would have stayed with him all day, all week, making sure his heart kept beating steadily, kissing him, caressing him. But this was not the time. Geta needed his rest to recover, and Lucius had a battle to plan.

----

That night Lucius entered the dining hall. Geta was already sitting at the main table, clearly just awake, looking a bit disheveled with his hair sticking out all over the place.

"I will leave in two weeks," Lucius said, sitting down.

Geta looked up with sleepy eyes. "How long will you be gone?"

"I expect around three or four weeks."

Geta nodded. "Okay."

"When I get back, we’ll start our training sessions, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. In the meantime," Lucius added, "I want you to be careful and stay in bed most of the time. You can have my quarters to yourself. If you’re in pain, tell one of the guards and they’ll get Pius or Ravi. I know you’ll get bored, but please do not go roaming around the gardens or do anything Pius hasn’t advised you to do."

Geta grinned and took a sip of wine. "Okay, father."

Lucius shook his head. "I’m serious."

"I know you are. When are you not?"

"Mmm..." Lucius knitted his brows together. "True."

"I like your solemness. Don’t worry."

Lucius took a bite of his food. "I’ll make sure you have enough to read. I heard you like to read."

Geta nodded, letting his teeth sink into a piece of chicken. "I do, thank you."

Lucius smiled. Watching Geta eat was one of his favorite things in the world.

They finished their meal in a comfortable silence.

After dinner, Lucius went looking for Marcus for the most recent reports on developments along the trade routes.

The news was not good. The Phitians were closing in on Rome’s lifelines—grain from the north, salt from the mines, and trade along the coast. Without these, Rome’s legions wouldn’t march, its cities wouldn’t eat, and its people would face starvation and chaos.

Lucius asked Laurentius to find Mantius, the main military leader of the Roman army, who had replaced Acasius.

Inside, Marcus studied the map, his hand hovering over the grain routes. "They’ll strike here first. If they cut off the grain or seize the salt mines, the people will feel it within days. We can’t protect everything. Where do we hold?"

Lucius stepped forward, scanning the map. "The coast. Without trade, we can’t resupply at all."

Marcus nodded sharply. "And the salt mines?"

"Decoys," Lucius said, thinking aloud. "We let them believe we’re prioritizing the mines while fortifying the coast and the grain routes."

Mantius pointed to the passes. "If we control the high ground here, they’ll walk into a trap."

Lucius’s jaw tightened. "It’s not perfect, but it gives us a chance to keep the people fed."

He walked over to Laurentius at the door. "Could you please send a message to the local governors that I need to speak with them?" Laurentius nodded.

---

The next two weeks, Lucius spent preparing for battle and training his men. He and Geta slept mostly in separate beds, as Lucius often worked late into the night and Geta needed his undisturbed sleep. But when Geta’s nightmares became severe, Lucius would come to his bedside, rub his back, and whisper to him until his breathing calmed.

Sometimes his eyes would drift down to Geta’s full lips, wondering what it would feel like to kiss them, to slowly part them with his tongue. But he would quickly push those thoughts away. There was still a shyness between them—something Lucius wasn’t willing to break away from just because of impatience. What they had was delicate and precious, and he wanted to savor it. Savor him.

The evening before his departure, he went to find Geta. His horse had been readied, his men were prepared and had been spoken to. Geta put his hands on Lucius’ shoulders. "You will come back to me soon." It was a demand, not a question.

"I will come back to you, soon," Lucius nodded in agreement. "Remember what I told you. Be safe, ask for help."

Geta nodded. He was cold; the evening air left a wave of goosebumps on his arms.

Lucius sighed, feeling more reluctant than ever to leave.

"Lucius?" Marcus was standing at the gate, fully dressed in golden armor. He was too old to go to battle but had refused to stay behind. Lucius nodded at him before returning to Geta.

They just stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

"Okay, goodbye then," Lucius said after a moment.

Geta nodded. "Goodbye," he said, looking over Lucius' shoulder to Marcus, who had stepped outside. Lucius could hear Geta breathe in before he bent forward and pressed his lips to Lucius' mouth. It was a simple, understated kiss—a promise. Geta grinned when he pulled back, his big eyes devoid of any shyness.

"Now go, you fool. Don’t make them wait."

Lucius nodded and turned on his heel, walking toward his horse.

"Strength and honor!" Geta called after him.

Lucius looked over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Strength and honor."

Please let me know what you think in the comments!

Taglist: @potato1d-blog1, @joan2914

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - Nesting Suppplies (Bonus)

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to a cult

Author's Note: Um... hello, my 100+ followers... holy shit >.> Let's celebrate with a bonus part! Thank you all for being here <3 and happy new year, everyone!

<Johnny.

>L.T.

<Smartass. I need your help. <What the hell do omegas need for their nests? Pillows and blankets but what else?

>L.T. >Did you find an omega?

<In a way, yes.

>Did you go to Salvation?!

<Yes. There's a lot to it but for now I just need you to help me gather things for a nest. <We're going shopping.

>HELL YEAH!!!!! >I'll be at yours in about 15!

<Johnny, just meet me at the shops. <Johnny.

"Dammit," Simon grumbles.

The idiot already got in his truck, Simon's sure of it. Johnny may struggle with over excitement and ADHD, but he's anal about no phones while driving. He'll even make someone pull over so he can drive if he catches the driver with their phone. Even did it to Simon. Only once. Simon hasn't touched his phone while driving since.

As soon as Johnny arrives, Simon drops an extra bit of kibble and a few treats in Selene's dish before joining Johnny in his truck. The door is barely closed before Johnny's spouting off questions.

"Johnny! One question at a time," Simon snaps then takes a deep breath with his eyes closed. He hadn't meant to snap at the man; he's just overwhelmed as is. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. Apologies are still a work in progress for him.

"Nah, I'm sorry, Si. I can see how stressed you are," Johnny says with a concerned frown. "What's going on?"

As Johnny begins driving into town, Simon explains what he knows and the alarms that go off in his head while he's on the facility's property. For the first time in a long time, Johnny is quiet. Even when Simon stops talking, Johnny is deadly quiet.

"What's her name?" Johnny asks finally, eyes on the road and shoulders tense.

"I don't think she knows. Introduced herself as 'UK-009-0013' or '13' and said nothing about an actual name. She doesn't even seem bothered by being called a number."

"I see," Johnny says softly. "Well, let's make sure she'll be comfortable in her new home."

The two men fall into a thoughtful silence for the rest of the drive. Once they reach the shops in town, Simon seems on edge again.

"What am I even supposed to get her? I can't get her clothes, I don't know her size-"

"Just give her some of your clothes. At least to come home in," Johnny shrugs. "Maybe it'll make her more comfortable. Having your scent prior to arriving could make a difference. If you're worried about nesting supplies, that would be easier. For now, since you don't know her favorite colors or textures, just get colors that will remind her of you and stick to textures that are maybe even softer than you are comfortable with."

"How do you know these things?" Simon asks with a sigh as they enter a shop.

"Research," Johnny shrugs. "And both of my sisters are omegas. So I learned from seeing them grow up. Mum also taught me by dragging me along with the three of them to shop. Hated it at the time, but I couldn't be more grateful now," he says with a smile.

"And you don't have an omega... why?"

Johnny shrugs at his best friend's question.

"Just haven't found a good match yet, I suppose. What about you? You were almost against having an omega and now you've taken one in in far less than twenty-four hours." Johnny raises an eyebrow at Simon in curiosity just before smiling and waving at the shop employee that greeted them at the door.

"I guess..." Simon trails off, thinking. "I guess my instincts finally decided it was time to look. As for 13, specifically? I don't know. Maybe it's because there's something clearly wrong with Salvation and I can't stand for that treatment of omegas?"

"Maybe because deep down you know she's a good match, for some reason or another?" Johnny offers and leads Simon to a display with various blankets.

"Maybe..."

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname

[danwhobrowses]

Critical Role C3 Ep 118 - Initial Thoughts

Well guys I maaaade it

It's 8am (well 9 now) and frosty in England and I had like, 1 hour light snoozing, I'm currently basking in the delusional energy being sleep deprived sustains until the inevitable crash but for now, an episode happened!

First of 2025, first I could watch in full thanks to PTO and willpower, shivering with nerves all day so let's cover the thoughts I remember at least (was staying as still as possible to avoid making noise for the others sleeping, so couldn't do the clickety clacks - and as you can tell by my use of 'clickety clacks' that my verbage may be as loopy as a rollercoaster at times)

Spoilers for the episode

Adorable abnormally named animals that looked more like a pupper and a gerbil, Bandit was true to his name

Oh geez more fucking monologuing, even Sam had the cup thing for it XD

Remember that fanart of Laudna, Orym and Ashton kicking Liliana after verbally dressing her down? Well that but this time with Ludinus, loved the pressing

Got some mini Ludie backstory and it was 'my family died as collateral in the Calamity', it's so hilariously basic at this point he deserved every bit of Ashton's 'get the fuck over it'

Part of me also couldn't help but think of Istho, the reluctant to die Paladin of the Lawbearer imprisoned at the Bloody Bridge literally a year ago, they had the same mantra

Would've been cooler to get a bit more Lawbearer sauce before in this campaign but fairs enough

Fearne just wants to give everyone cupcakes and candy and treats being the vessel of the God Eater like winning the lottery and I love her for it

It's not lost on me as an Ashton fan that Ludie never asked them what they wanted. There's a gist yes of controlling your own fate but still, got a lil' under your skin didn't they?

Chet no, don't try to open the cascade of sigils!

HA! Poofed out of his second monologue

Braius don't call him, you're gonna call him aren't you?

FUCKING LYING WHORE CHEATER BITCH Azzy, how's the family?

Brennan is untouchable but Matt's Fucking Lying Whore Cheater Bitch Azzy M still gives me the feeling of 'you know all the right things to say but I can still hear your manipulation'

Family, Braius, is right here! I get he's been around longer but first it's 'chase away and I'll remain' now it's 'don't let it out', mixed messages

I probably would've laughed to death if Ludie got distracted by the toy, though I do wish it was an Intuit Charge

RAVENOUS VOID OFF THE FUCKING BAT?? I was literally looking at that spell a few days ago

The aoe and save was so fucking high too, and I could've sworn Ashton can't be moved in Titan form, and resists all but Force Damage

Oh shit the neck! The neck comes back around!

God the cast rolled so badly for so long, and he kept saving and using his resistance

Not the neck ladies, the body, da body!

PATE I LOVE YOU

Pate noooo!

IRAAAAAAA I LOVE YOU!

MISTERRRRRR! I LOVE YOU!!

ASHTOOOOOOOON I LOVE YOU! That is my motherfucking barbarian tank killing the concentration

OH MY FUCKING DAYS POWER WORD STUN IMOGEN I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

I was counting the damage, once you knew it was below 150 all it needed was the math

Bless Ashley for wanting to go big but couldn't because of aoe

It had to be Orym, IT HAD TO BE ORYM, how's that for resolve?

Ira laughing in Ludie's face was cathartic too

'I don't want to hurt anyone, or kill anyone' - SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE ASHTON HATERS IN THE BACK!

We were so fucking close though, so close to the 'we can't absorb it but it can't stay here' point, we could've had an option C like sending it to a Demiplane

Surprised me how much Laudna pushed for pro-Predathos, given Imogen's reluctance, and Orym just unable to argue it because it's been argued to death

Oh god is he not dead? Fuckery duck, Laudna you have that ghost tracking thing right?

'What did you do to me, I used to be fun' - you still are you just have mushrooms planned with Fearne for after

Imogen you talked a lot about being free to decide your fate and now you're literally walking towards what 'fate' planned out for you

We are LITERALLY approaching what Ludinus wants to do

Child's voice is a nope, like an absolute nope

Like a 'Guys did we not learn from the Dominox?' nope

Because GUYS DID WE NOT LEARN FROM THE DOMINOX??

Orym insight checked a God Eater, got a whisper, stepped between it and the Ruidusborns, and that was not a red flag??

The collective 'ohhhh' though

Like, I get hearing it out, trying to see if we've simply been misinformed, but the proof is kinda in the pudding and it is dessert time

It knocked Chet into a wall for opposing, that's a nope

Hey Matt don't you think the Primordials partly responsible for this cage would have some resonance with it since we're getting clips of Tengar and Orym's Wildmother vision for all to see?

Imogen and Fearne NO

Predathos the nice hot faun lady told you to wait

Fearne YES but IMOGEN NO!

Fearne Yes! ...right? Answer the question cliffhanger! RIGHT?

I mean she heard her, that's something, are we gonna have to give Imogen her first death in the campaign? Can that staff factor in at all?

Definitely peeved that Imogen went and pulled a Frodo right at the last moment, but like the One Ring in Mount Doom she is being lulled by Predathos muddying her instincts, so I can kinda see why she thought it the kindest option, also le drama I suppose, Laura Bailey had to put her own third wedding one-shot in jeopardy

I have to be at work next week and there's a likelihood that the worst ending happens and Ludinus didn't get his ancient elf ass handed to him permanently ;_; so the stage is different, the health and spell slots are lower, but the fear is the same and I can't stay up for it

Contrary to others though I do still want a happy ending, the Hells aren't bad or evil for what they were attempting; the intentions was still good it was just not right. Someone else would've come, if not Ludinus then someone else with the same plan, but this is why we should've discussed alternatives earlier, this is why a united goal is important and why the Arch Heart fucking up the plan with his visit rubbed me the wrong way

At least now the Hells are gonna be on the same page with Predathos, it's about saving your people - so, save your people

[moonyasnow]

SSR Tomoe Sakurada - Birthday Girl Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

PART 1 (PART 2) (PART 3)

[Ramshackle Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

NRC School Newspaper: A Birthday Interview with Tomoe

H-happy birthday...!

Thank you!

If I had to guess...you're here to give me my birthday interview, aren't you?

Um, yes!

Don't worry, I knew; I was just teasing. By all means, go ahead!

Right... Um...

What do you think of your birthday so far?

It's been very nice. It feels nice to be celebrated for a change.

And it's so nice to see some color in the Lounge; I truly appreciate Albert, Chester and Benjamin's help decorating.

Would we need to say those are the names of the ghosts...?

You just did, so I think that'll be enough.

But yes; I don't think we'd have gotten all the decorations up, particularly the ones affixed to the walls, without their help. Being able to phase through walls certainly comes in handy— for more than just spooking us, that is.

Um— how did you celebrate at home?

Since my birthday is on New Years— or as we in Japan call it, 「正月」— my family has a tradition of dressing up in our お振袖 and going to a New Years' celebration late at night on the last day of December. We would watch fireworks and eat festival food… Then I would open presents as we watched the sunrise together, and afterwards we'd go to a restaurant and have pancakes for breakfast.

My favorite part was always the fireworks as the clock struck 12. I always felt as though they were for me, to celebrate my birthday... It made it feel even more special.

...But I suppose there won't be any fireworks this year… I wonder if the town below the school will be having a New Year's Celebration…

Could I ask a bit more about what your family's like...?

Oh, of course! I'm always happy to talk about them. It's me, my mother, father, and my two siblings, and our cat Mochi. I'm the oldest of me and my siblings.

I have a younger sister by three years, and a younger brother by six.

My sister and I are polar opposites; she's in that teenage phase where you find your family boring and embarrassing, so she's almost always gone, spending time with her friends in a bigger city. We bicker sometimes because we're so different...but I wouldn't have her any other way. She's my sister, after all.

And my brother, oh he is adorable! He's still very much a mama's boy; though he actually prefers our grandmother most of the time. Part of why could be all the sweets she spoils him with. He's never been one to speak much, but so long as he can speak up when he's bothered by something, that's enough for me.

Translation:

「正月」 = Shōgatsu お振袖 = ofurisode = the Furisode is the most formal type of kimono worn by unmarried women. It's often considered the typical Japanese-style of formal wear. The 'o' added at the beginning is something that's done to indicate respect for the subject (hence it's often put before the words for 'mother' 'father', as well as other older relatives) or that it's important in some way.

I included a bit of a parallel to the first part of Leona's Birthday Boy vignette 👀

Tag list: @another-random-paradise @thehollowwriter @faefum @cactus13-rolloflammesimp @beneathsakurashade

@nyx-of-night @theolivetree123 @babyghoul138 @skibidibabygirl @screamintoad

@gingacat @buttholesparkles @scint1llat3 @jadelover69 @angelwishess

@crimsonrose34 @nerenda @chillygourami

Please let me know if you ever wanna be added or removed! ^^

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Dramatic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

Dramatic Ending Ch. 25

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

It was all well and good to declare a grand "end" and say "goodbye," but even I couldn't control dreams.

Azel: Suppose I’m still alive and dreaming somewhere.

Azel: Maybe our dreams are mixed together, and that’s why we were able to meet like this.

Azel: Assuming that’s the case, what would you do if you found me next time?

Emma: Of course, I’d demand compensation.

Azel: …Huh?

Emma: It’s a natural claim since you made me cry so much.

Azel: What if that debt was gone?

Emma: It would make paying off the remaining debt a lot easier.

Emma: I’d be happy to have it paid off, but I don’t think that will happen.

Azel: Why?

Emma: Because you’re good at making me go into debt, Prince Azel.

Emma: I feel like I’ll get another invoice.

Azel: …

Azel: Would you dutifully pay off a new debt too?

Emma: Of course.

Azel: Even if it’s a scam?

Emma: …I’d gladly accept it.

Emma: Because…

Emma: If I were to go into debt again, I think it would be Prince Azel's way of saying “stay with me.”

Azel: ............

Azel: That’s not true.

Emma: Even if it’s not… I still want to be with you from now on.

Emma: There’s no other reason for me to pay off a scam-like debt.

-

(Yes… because you said so.)

(This was an unavoidable accident.)

(I never intended to call you back to Tanzanite.)

(But if… if you came here on your own, then it can’t be helped.)

(You respected my wish until the end.)

(Shouldn’t I return the favor?)

-

Emma: Well then… Let's eat!

Azel: No, wait, that’s absurd!

I had been waiting for the right moment to jump out in front of Emma, but I never expected her to start eating the offering to God right in front of me, so I ended up jumping out.

I mercilessly snatched the skewer that was about to disappear.

Azel: Is it customary to eat offerings in Rhodolite?

Emma: Of course not, but I was about to tearfully eat it to lure out the Prince Azel who can't be honest.

Azel: Who "can't be honest"? I'm a ghost now, so I can't just appear before you easily.

Emma: So, Mr. Ghost can eat offerings?

Azel: I can. Didn't you know that?

(…Damn it.)

I was aware that I was sulking like a child, so I couldn't stand Emma laughing at me.

Emma: There are a lot of inconsistencies.

Azel: …Shut up.

Azel: I can't believe you actually came.

Emma: After all that appealing for me to come, I couldn't not come.

Azel: Who made such an appeal?

Emma: Prince Azel did.

Azel: I don't recall doing that.

Emma: I even brought all the letters.

Azel: I don't know what you're talking about.

Emma: …I thought you'd say that, so I won't mention it any further…

Azel: …

Emma: I do think you could have told me from the beginning…

(If I had told you, you would have insisted on staying by my side.)

(There are various restrictions on a dead god.)

(…What if I accidentally fell in love with you?)

Azel: Could I really say “actually, I’m not going to die” in that sorrowful atmosphere? Of course not.

Azel: Besides… I didn’t intend to see you either.

Emma: But you called for me?

Azel: I didn’t call for you, it was unavoidable.

Azel: …You said you wanted to be with me, didn’t you?

Emma tilted her head in confusion.

It seemed she didn’t remember the contents of the dream.

(………… You’ve forgotten that embarrassing display? That’s good. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.)

Azel: You heard my wish. So, I have to hear your wish too for it to be a fair trade.

Azel: This is my pride as a creditor, and it certainly doesn’t mean I wanted to see you.

(Yes, never…)

(I didn’t want to see you.)

Our eyes met, and before I knew it, our lips were touching.

(...Ah.)

(No, that's wrong...)

I came to my senses and tried to pull away, but Emma opened her mouth as if to accept me.

At that moment, all excuses flew out the window, and instead of the offering, I devoured her.

Once our tongues intertwined, it was strangely difficult to stop, and eventually, sweet moans escaped.

Azel: Could you put up some resistance? I won't be able to stop.

Emma: That's… impossible. I don't dislike it…

Azel: ……

As our breaths mingled, I felt a ticklish sensation from being stared at so intently.

It was a sweet, passionate gaze… like a weapon that could shatter reason.

(The truth is… I definitely wanted to see you.)

(Since you left, meals have been unsatisfying, and nights have been lonely…)

(Do you have any idea how much I've suffered?)

I pushed her onto the nearby bed and continued to kiss her relentlessly.

Whether it was due to the accumulated emotions or something else, I didn't feel like I could stop.

(…It’s your fault too for not resisting.)

Kisses alone gradually became insufficient, and I reached for the buttons of her blouse.

As I loosened her clothes, her hand reached behind my neck.

Emma: Is this okay?

Emma: …I’m expensive, you know?

(…That’s right.)

(Your worth is immeasurable. I don’t know how many invoices you would have to write…)

Azel: In that case, allow me to tell your fortune once again.

Azel: This time, not with the Standard Plan, but with the Professional Plan.

(You can charge me as much as you want.)

(If that means I can get back to my everyday life with you.)

....

––The curtain of night fell, and the divine moon ascended into the sky.

(But, what should I do?)

(This makes it seem like I'm the one who's fallen for Emma…)

(Wanting her to stay by my side and loving her are different.)

(…They should be different…)

(………… Please be different…)

I sat on the bed, at a loss for what to pray for anymore, when I sensed an unsettling presence creeping up behind me.

Azel: …What is it?

(Did I wake her up?)

Emma: I was trying to surprise you… That’s a shame.

Azel: ………… Sigh.

(…………… Why are you so cute in everything you do?)

Emma: Why are you so sulky?

Azel: I’m not sulky.

Emma: Yes, you are.

Azel: …

My face felt somewhat hot, and I averted my gaze, only to be embraced from behind.

(I think I messed up. What am I supposed to say in this situation?)

As I kept my mouth shut, she poked my cheek.

Even that small gesture made my chest tighten.

Azel: …I just don’t understand.

Azel: I don’t like you or anything…

Emma: If you tell me we’re “not lovers” after this, I’ll cry.

Azel: .......

Emma: Are we not?

Azel: ………… We’re not… Maybe…

(I have to admit that much, at least since I embraced her…)

(I have no choice but to admit it…)

Emma: In that case, there’s something I want you to say.

Azel: No.

Emma: I think you already know what I want you to say…

Azel: I don’t.

Emma: .......

The poking and poking became more intense.

I knew what Emma, with her mischievous grin, wanted me to say, but it was a cursed phrase I didn’t want to utter.

(Even if it’s your wish, I won’t grant you that.)

Azel: I’ll never say it, not even if my mouth is torn apart.

Azel: That I love you, or anything–

Emma: …Ah!

(…Damn it… I slipped up…)

Azel: Ah, no, that was…

Emma: That was?

Azel: …

Azel: ............

When I glanced at Emma’s face, it was shining with expectation.

Naturally, the only word that came to mind was "cute."

If I denied it here, she would definitely be disappointed.

(Oh, damn it…)

Azel: It’s not true, but it’s not untrue either, damn it.

(This is no good… I’m completely under your spell.)

(…I don’t think I’ll ever break free, what are you going to do about it?)

.

.

.

Dramatic Ending Epilogue

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[geekgirles]

Have you ever noticed how Double Cross My Heart, aside from the obvious similarities with Flirting with Disaster, also parallels Parental Bonding somewhat?

The first connection is fairly easy to make. After all, the episode was specifically designed to mirror Flirting with Disaster and Danny's budding relationship with Valerie while Sam stewed in jealousy from the sidelines.

An episode like that is a staple of romance subplots, and arguably a needed one. After all, the Green-Eyed Epiphany, that trope where someone realises their feelings for somebody else because of jealousy, is a classic for a reason, mainly because it works so well.

Double Cross My Heart, despite its flaws, is a classic role reversal where Sam finally got to experience what it was like to have a mutual crush on someone outside of her best friend, and the complications that come with it, while Danny got a taste of what it's like to fear losing your best friend, someone you subconsciously assumed would always be there for you, to somebody else. The fear of watching them close that door and move on from you while all you can do about it is seethe in jealousy because you don't dare admit your feelings out of fear of that ruining everything still.

Again, the similarities with Flirting with Disaster are crystal clear: the new love interest, the jealousy, the suspicious thing going on prompting one of them to spy on the other, the new ship sinking before it could even sail...

However, I think we're sleeping on the fact that it still shares a few parallels with Parental Bonding and Danny's other love interest: Paulina.

Specifically, I'm referring to this exchange from Danny and Sam's argument after he revealed he'd been spying on her and "Gregor".

Danny: Not you! I was spying on Gregor! He's so obviously working with the guys in white! Sam: Oh, so that's it! The only way a boy could like me is if it was a part of a plot to get to you? Huh? Ego much?

Sam wasn't just mad because Danny went behind her back to spy on her date, she was especially hurt because Danny accidentally implied nobody could ever like her for her and would have to have some sort of ulterior motive to show interest instead.

Now, why does that sound so familiar?

Ah, right. Because that's precisely what happened to Danny with Paulina in Parental Bonding. The irony being that he never even found out about it, since it's implied Sam kept it a secret to spare his feelings.

Sam: Hey, Paulina. Nice dress. Paulina: (Turns to her.) Yes, and it goes so nicely with your amulet, don't you think? Sam: My amulet? That's not my-- (Realization of Danny's plan hits her.) Right! Listen...my grandma gave me that amulet, and-- Paulina: Forget it, sweetie. I'm not giving up this trinket or your little boyfriend Danny. Sam: My boyfriend? Ha ha! And they say pretty girls can't be funny. Danny is not my boyfriend. Paulina: He's not? Sam: He's my best friend. Maybe that's why I was so hard on you. I didn't mean to call you shallow. Paulina: What a bummer! I only agreed to go out with him because I thought I was stealing him from you. (Putting amulet around Sam's neck.) Here, take your crummy amulet. (Walking away.) I'm going back inside to dump your dorky friend.

For all of the focus Danny (understandably) receives by virtue of being the protagonist and, hence, most people's target, the reason he ever got a "chance" with Paulina before she fell for the Ghost Boy was precisely because she was using him to get back at Sam for calling her shallow. Nothing more, nothing less.

In other words, he himself was a victim of what he was accusing Gregor of, and he doesn't even realise it!

And while Gregor was significantly nicer to Danny and Tucker (before he blew up at the latter and with it his cover) than Paulina or even Valerie ever were (Valerie has her moments, but since her arc ended up being tied most closely to Danny's, her interactions with Sam and Tucker were far and in between and not always friendly on either side), Danny ended up being right about him. Partly.

Because he indeed was a fake, only he was "just" pretending to have more things in common with Sam than he really did (and the whole false identity thing, which is kind of inexcusable, let's be honest), instead of working for the Guys in White to get to him. And that was that. Gregor was really Elliot and Sam was done with him the moment he was done with Tucker. Because her friends come first.

I suppose this all comes to show that Gregor/Elliot wasn't just a parallel to Valerie for the sake of a mirror episode and a new love triangle. He ended up being a perfect amalgamation of both of Danny's love interests outside of Sam. He genuinely liked Sam (like Valerie with Danny), but he was still being dishonest about it (like Paulina).

[scripts4dreamers]

Leave a light on pt. 4

AN: Aaaaaand we have part four! The next two chapters are a little shorter, but only because I'm ramping up to the Fade Jail thing. Hope you enjoy!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three One of the things Solas hated most about mortal bodies was hangovers. It was his own damn fault, of course. He could not reasonably expect anything else after drinking into the early hours of the morning with Amala but still he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself as he sipped his coffee and tried to focus on the book he was reading. It was nearly noon, by his reckoning. He had woken an hour or two earlier feeling more hopeful for the future of his relationship - if that is what he and the inquisitor had - than he had in years and had started the process of going about his day. He could hear movement from Amala’s room, so he knew she was awake as well and he found himself anxiously waiting to see how she would behave when they saw one another again.

The night before had been…intense. Some parts were clearer than others. Solas was still admonishing himself for the way he handled some things but, amongst the chaos there had also been moments of tenderness, brief flashes of intimacy that burned like a fire whose embers had never truly gone out. She had looked him in the eye! He had touched her, held her, told her he loved her. It did not fix everything. The ghost of Varric, of Lace Harding, of Corypheus, of a thousand little deceptions still lay between them, but it was something. He hoped that they could build on that. In fact, he had a plan to ensure that they did.

“Good morning,” Amala greeted, as she always did, her hair still wet from the bath.

He looked up and smiled at her, feeling the familiar stab of regret when she let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Every morning the routine was the same. She didn’t think he noticed or, if she did, she didn’t think he understood its significance, but he knew what that sigh meant. It meant that, just for a moment when she was walking down the hallway, some part of His Heart had been convinced that he wouldn’t be there, that he’d snuck away in the night and left her. Again.

It was a valid fear. He would be lying if he said he had not considered leaving, that he had not considered slipping away into the fade and freeing her from the blood soaked anchor that was tying her to this place, but he could never bring himself to do it. Not again. What had once felt like a selfless act, protecting her from the misuse he had suffered, now felt like the ultimate act of cowardice.

“Good morning, Vhenan. How are you feeling?”

“Ugh,” she complained, taking the seat beside him and stealing a strawberry from his plate, “Like death warmed up, you?”

“Better than Elgar’nan is feeling right now, but not by much,” he countered, pushing his plate closer towards her. Another part of their routine. “Do you have plans for the day?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up midway through her biting into a strawberry, a perfect picture of surprise.

“Um, no, I suppose not.” she said, “Do-did you want to do something together?”

Gods, he should have kissed her last night. He should be kissing her right now. If he just leaned forward he could pull her chair close and-

“You needn’t sound so surprised,” he laughed, “I merely thought we could visit that island you were telling me about last night.”

She perked up and his heart wanted to melt at how excited she looked, “The one with the bottomless pool?”

He nodded, “The one that is, what did you say exactly? Quite beautiful once you get past the Mythal of it all?”

She flushed, “I never said quite.”

“We do not have to go. We could stay here if you-”

“No,” she interrupted, “no, that would-I would like that very much.”

“Good,” Solas said with an internal breath of relief, “I’ll put together some provisions for us and we’ll leave as soon as you are ready.”

She nodded, still smiling to herself and they lapsed into comfortable silence as she finished her breakfast. At that point he knew reading was pointless, but he kept up the pretense so that she would feel comfortable. As soon as the last berry had been consumed she bounded back up the stairs to her chambers, and Solas couldn’t help but chuckle.

The walk to the island Amala had described was fairly daunting. Perhaps not to a highly trained assassin with years of experience balancing on rafters but for Solas, a mage who’s ribs had only just stopped actively hurting, it took a great deal of his concentration to navigate the intricate series of wooden planks, ropes and strategic jumps she had set up without plummeting into the ether. She tried her best to help him out but there was only so much she could do. It was worth it though. Not only was the island beautiful, but Solas had a legitimate reason to stare unabashedly at his Inquisitor as she did the thing she was best at. At one point Solas slipped and Amala grabbed his hand to keep him from falling. Once he was stable and she’d finished laughing at him, she’d laced their fingers together and they’d continued on their way, their joined hands swinging between them.The planks of wood could have been 3cm wide and no one would have caught Solas complaining.

Once they had made it to the main body of the island, Amala excitedly showed him some of her favorite places and they settled on a patch of thick, soft grass on the edge of the pool. Solas did remember this place. He and Felassan had spent many long afternoons sparring here, cooling off in the water and discussing their plans for the future and the things they would build together. His heart twinged. Oh, Felassan. Amala had also been right, there were a lot of statues of Mythal scattered around the place. He remembered those too.

They spoke about nothing of note for a while, reminiscing about their travels through the Hinterlands, swapping stories from their time in the fade and commiserating about how wrecked they both were after their night of drinking. It was so normal. It was almost perfect, but Solas could still feel the tension simmering just below the surface. He let it be for a time, settling down in the grass with his sketchbook while Amala tried her hand at scaling the crumbling walls. He traced the familiar lines of her body in charcoal, using his fingers to soften the edges and show her movement. There was something almost meditative about the process of seeing something, envisioning it on paper and then executing that vision. When he couldn’t describe the way he felt about something in words alone, he had found that he could usually depict it through his art, or through some combination of both. It was rare for him to go anywhere without a sketchbook. He had many full ones that he kept stored away to return to when he felt particularly nostalgic. He had burned many more.

Some amount of time must have passed, Solas was far too enraptured in his sketches to keep track of exactly how much, because when he looked back up, His Heart was naked. Alright, not quite, but before he had had the chance to process anything beyond the bareness of her stomach and the smooth line of her thighs, he had pointedly looked away, feeling the familiar lick of warm desire shoot through his stomach like an arrow.

Amala, who had removed her clothes in favor of a simple breast band and undershorts, laughed at his discomfort, though it wasn’t a truly mocking sound.

“Oh come now,” she teased, “I feel as though we’ve covered this already. Nothing you-”

“-haven’t seen before.” They finished in unison.

“It has been ten years, Vhenan,” he pointed out, “and you always did have a way of making me shy.”

She sat down at the water’s edge and slowly slipped in, making a sound of pleasure when the coolness hit her sun warmed skin that was so erotic that it bordered on torturous. She submerged her head under the water for a moment before popping up again and swimming over to the rocks near where he was sitting.

“Come swim,” she encouraged, “the water’s wonderful.”

“So I heard,” he said with a pointed look.

His instinct was to pull away, to politely decline and continue his drawings, but what was the point? Who did that instinct serve? So, instead, he got up with a sigh and started to remove his clothes, not bothering to fold them as they slowly came off, one piece at a time until he was only in his underclothes. Solas could feel her eyes on his back, tracing his spine, taking note of the places that were still tender and healing, cataloguing his new scars. He felt a slight twinge of insecurity, wondering what he must look like to her, if he measured up to her memories of their time together. He briefly felt the ghost of her hand brushing his stomach and sliding over his hips, but he pushed the feeling away and focussed on not twinging his ribs as he moved.

He slipped into the pool beside Amala, doing his best to look nonchalant and sighed with relief. The water really was magnificent. The water was also clear. Very clear. He had to fight to keep from staring at the flashes of Amala’s skin just beneath the surface. Her thighs were especially tempting. His mind helpfully providing him with the memory of just how soft they were beneath his palms, how her skin broke out in goosebumps when he ran his thumbs-

“Come, let me show you something,” he suggested quickly, crossing the pool in long, steady strokes.

There was a place, right beside the small, babbling waterfall, where the rocks formed a natural bench of sorts. It was long enough for several people and allowed them to sit in the water without needing to expend energy treading.

Amala gave him an impressed look, pulling herself onto the bench beside him and admiring the view it gave them “This is lovely. You must have come here often to remember it so well.”

“I did,” he admitted, “with Felassan. It had been so long since I had thought of it that I didn’t even remember until we arrived. It was part of a larger island that we used for training at the time.”

She hummed, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye that told him she wanted to ask something. His chest tightened. His Inquisitor was a smart woman. She would have put it together by now that he and Felassan had been close. That Felassan had been an agent of Fen’Harel. That Felassan was not around anymore. He ought to just tell her. There was no sense in hiding from the truth, but still, Solas shrank away from the idea. Something of his discomfort must have shown on his face, because Amala let it go and changed tack.

“So, what prompted this little outing?” She asked, her tone forcibly light, “You haven’t asked to spend a day with me since we arrived here.”

“I was giving you space,” he replied, giving her a grateful look, “but after last night…well, I suppose the idea of space from you has simply lost its charm. Plus, I had things I wanted to say.”

She nudged his shoulder with her own, a small supportive gesture that had pulled him back from the edge more than once during their travels together. It said ‘I’m with you if you need me’. It said ‘you’re not alone here’.

“Then say them,” she suggested gently, “I’ll listen.”

They sat in silence for a while, just soaking in the sun and enjoying the simple joy of being together. Solas was painfully aware of her thigh pressed up against his, of the warmth of her body brushing against his bare arms. It was equal parts teasing and comfort in the way only Amala had ever been able to pull off, and the urge to wrap his arm around her side and pull her close was almost irresistible. He glanced up at the unseeing face of Mythal from where she perched eternal, watching over the pool. It would have felt poetic, he thought, to have a real, flesh and blood woman who loved him right under the eyes of a memory of one who did not. But that wasn’t why he had brought Amala here.

“Do you know why I pushed you away when we first met?” He eventually asked, “Why I fought so hard to deny what clearly existed between us?”

Amala shrugged, “Nonsense reasons, I suspect. Not wanting to lie to me and all that.”

He let out a huff of fond laughter and reached out hesitantly, a question in his eye. Amala nodded, letting him take her prosthetic hand in his and turn it over so that he could inspect the palm, “Amongst other reasons, it was because, at the time, you were channeling the power of a foci. My foci. Every time you closed a rift or brushed up against the fade, without knowing it, you were the foci of Fen’Harel. That could have given me power over you, undue power, undue influence. I feared that I would turn you into a tool in my crusade. Like I had done to so many others and like so many others had done to me. I would have had the best of intentions, of course, but it would have been cruelty all the same. I never wanted to use my power to shape you into something you did not wish to be.”

The prosthetic hand was a work of majesty. It was made of silverite and gold and seemed to be modeled off the old elven sentries that used to stand guard in Arlathan. As Solas ran his fingers along the intricate metalwork, he felt the familiar hum of Dorian’s magic. It made him smile. He should have known.

“I was never romantically involved with Mythal,” he continued, “I loved her. Deeply. I know she loved me the same, but it was…different then. The world was younger. The lines between things were not so severe, things defied definition more readily. At the time I felt like I belonged to her, belonged at her side. I did whatever she asked because she was my liege. She was the person I had chosen to follow, come what may, and we were never equals. I was her second-in-command, her guard dog. I excelled at the role.”

Amala nodded. She already knew all of this, but it was clear that he was building to something.

Solas continued, “I never wanted to become, for you, what Mythal became for me in the end. I wanted us to be equals.” he paused, feeling the familiar rush of shame and self-loathing flow through him, “I failed at that. I used you.”

She sighed, her metal hand giving his flesh and blood one a gentle squeeze as she looked up at the statue of Mythal, “People use people, Solas. It happens.”

He shook his head, staring at their interlocked hands “I-I will not attempt to explain away how I treated you. It was unjustifiable, but the point I was trying to make is…” he flushed, suddenly shy, “I am new to this. I have had very few romantic relationships considering how old I am, and the ones I did have happened in less than ideal circumstances so-” he forced himself to meet her eye and let out a breath, “I have no idea how to do this.”

“Do what?” Amla asked with a gentle, affectionate laugh.

Solas gestured vaguely, “This. Be in a normal, healthy relationship where no one is dying or planning a rebellion or deceiving the other person. When last we were together, I was always aware that one day I would have to leave you. Our relationship was always temporary-”

“Not that I knew that,” she pointed out.

He gave her a sheepish look and sighed, “I do not know how to build something with you with the intention of it lasting.” He admitted, “And I do want this to last. I want to do this properly.”

She was silent for a moment. He felt the ghosts that they had both been fighting to ignore rise between them again. Varric, Lace, Flissa, Corypheus, Haven, Redcliff, Adamant. A million moments of terror, of pain and confusion and sacrifice. Every lie by omission. Every betrayal. Ten long years of loneliness. There was so much to consider that Solas instinctively pushed it away, shoved his feelings down into a box in his heart that could be dealt with on some other day.

“Well, I’m not the world’s foremost expert or anything, but usually the people in the relationship know things about one another.” Amala eventually said with forced levity, clearly having made a similar choice to ignore the obvious.

He knew it was wrong. He knew this fragile, unspoken agreement to not have the fight wouldn’t last, that it would only fester and deepen the hurt on both sides but, in that moment, he was so grateful to her for it that it made him dizzy.

“We know things about one another.” he insisted.

“We know the big things,” she agreed, “we know we would die for each other, and the worst things that ever happened to us, and how much pain we can each take before we black out, but life was so chaotic when we met that we skipped over all the small things.”

The worst thing that had ever happened to Amala was a direct result of his actions, he reminded himself, feeling the familiar twisting pain of self-loathing in the pit of his stomach but, again, he pushed it away. He tried to focus on the day, on the sunlight and the cool water and the intoxicating brush of her skin against his. It partially worked.

He nodded, his brow furrowed with concentration as he redirected his attention back to the conversation, “Alright, I suppose I can see the truth in that. What sort of little things should we know?”

Amala shrugged with one shoulder, something playful in her eye, “Oh, I don’t know, anything really. Like, for example, earlier when you said it had been ten years…you meant since you’d seen me without my clothes on, right? Not since you’d seen anyone?”

The tension shattered. The ghosts faded.

Solas flushed, rolling his eyes with faux frustration, “I hardly think that’s relevant, Vhenan.”

Her mouth dropped open, “Solas. No, be serious now. It cannot have been a decade since you last…”

“I have had longer dry spells,” he admitted, “I spent a great deal of my life either at war with the Titans or leading a rebellion.”

“And here I thought battle was an aphrodisiac,” she replied.

“Back then everyone was immortal,” Solas reminded her, “everything felt less urgent. As for my recent…activities-”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Or lack thereof,” he agreed with a chuckle, “it held no appeal for me.”

She continued, sounding genuinely stunned, “I just-I can’t even-why?”

Solas felt his face warming under her scrutiny, but he wasn’t truly uncomfortable.

“What use did I have for desire?” he replied, “I was preoccupied with my plans, and besides,” he let his voice dip low, “it would be unfair of me to lay with someone when my heart and soul had been given to another.”

If he could bottle the look of fond exasperation and pride that that statement brought to Amala’s face and drink it like water, he would.

“I can think of some uses for desire,” she countered, letting her hand rest gently on his thigh beneath the water.

Her touch was light, teasing almost as she trailed her fingers slowly up. Solas felt like a teenage boy, his skin flushing as desire sank even deeper into the pit of his stomach. His mind, desperate for Amala in that way it always had been, eagerly provided him with the memory of what it felt like to flip her onto her back and pin her hands above her head. It reminded him of the way her voice would catch on his name when he slid his thigh between her legs and kissed down her neck, how her eyes would flutter shut even as she fought to keep them open when he-

He grabbed her hand with his own, slightly shaking one, “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Inquisitor.”

She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes flicking to take note of the tremor in his hand before she allowed the moment to pass. Solas let out a breath, grateful for the cold water.

“Alright, you were celibate for a decade” she said, simply, as though nothing had happened, “that is something I definitely did not know about you. Something to keep in mind.”

He snorted, “I assume you were not similarly restrained in your affections then.”

“Of course I wasn’t,” Amala replied, still chuckling, “I was alone! I had just saved the world and been dumped by a god, of course I wasn’t celibate.”

A completely fair and valid point, he reminded himself. A truth he had always assumed existed, and yet…he imagined his Inquisitor tangled up with some faceless person, her head thrown back in ecstasy as they kissed along the column of her throat, and felt jealous. It was surprising, in a way, and completely unsurprising in another way. He had always been a possessive man, prone to bouts of obsession and groomed for devotion. He did not like sharing the people he loved. At the same time, he had always assumed that Amala would eventually move on from what they had. In those first dark days after he had left the Inquisition, Solas would lie awake and imagine her slowly falling in love with someone new. He would imagine their first tentative kiss, the flowers they would buy her, the ring they would use to propose. He would imagine their house and their children, and the smile lines by His Heart’s eyes deepening throughout years of joyous, blissful matrimony and partnership. He would imagine himself fading from a wound, to a scar, to the ghost of an old memory and comfort himself with the idea that that was a sort of death, a sort of apology for a millennia of mistakes.

So, yes, in the greater scheme of things, his jealousy surprised him.

“Who was your first?” Amala asked curiously, “I had always assumed it was Mythal but…”

Solas scrunched his nose, banishing the thought of the faceless partner to the back of his mind, and replied, “Her name was Valina. She served Mythal, like I did. We were both new to having physical bodies and the desires and urges that came with them so it was…a learning experience, to put it mildly.”

She groaned sympathetically and nudged his shoulder with hers, “So not even the immortal can escape that core experience. Good to know.”

“And yours?”

“Leonid,” she answered, “we had just gotten our Vallaslin and we snuck away in the middle of the night. It was quick and fumbling and very sweet.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Solas replied gently, “you deserve sweetness.”

“So do you.” she countered, equally softly,

“Maybe someday,” he conceded, slightly uncomfortable with the idea as he stared out over the endless fade, “but right now my sins are too numerous for that.”

Amala sighed and, before Solas could do anything to soothe her disappointment in him, he felt her lips press softly to his cheek. His heart stuttered. Time slowed to a crawl.

Touch starved. That was the phrase he had heard bandied about by soldiers, too long away from their wives, families and friends. Like so much else in his life, it had never made sense until he met Amala.

The kiss should have been nothing. It was quick and chaste, the kind of thing she had once done instinctively if they were going separate ways on a mission, or if one of them was heading out without the other. Instead, after so many years of solitude, it felt like the very first time. Warmth spread from where her skin touched his, his every nerve ending felt alive and he recognized that this kiss felt meaningful. It was a promise, a dedication to treating one another softly no matter how scared or broken they both may be from years of constant battle. It was an offering of better times ahead.

But what use is a general in peacetime? How could he give her better days when all he had to offer was dread?

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 6

Rating: explicit (smut, language)

Summary: Din has another special 'gift' for you-- and then some unfortunate news.

tags: I'm not giving any tags or warnings for this chapter. It's smutty and angsty. Beware. You are responsible for the things you consume.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you read this on ao3, no you fucking didn't. It's still unbeta'd, but proofread!! I did that this time!! I also am re-working the story slightly because I CAN. Spoilers to the show and the book of boba fet and maybe the next season because I helped J. Faveau write it.

The whole day was so much fun. So different than after your arrival yesterday.

Din showed you how to fix certain things on the ship should they break while he isn't here. He also showed you the beginning stages of piloting and flying the ship were you to ever have to do such a thing.

You hope not.

Din is being mostly nice to you, and is acting like he wants to spend time with you. It's a stark contrast to how he treated you before he saw your doodles.

Din never once laid a hand on you, not even a handshake the first night you met.

It's so very subtle, his touches now that you're back— gentle ghosts of the yellow leather across the tops of your hand when he's showing you the buttons on the control panel. He had placed a strong hand on your waist to ground you so he could reach around you from behind to grab something off of a shelf.

Not innocent touches by any means, but they were different from your dynamic when the lights were off.

Things felt good, almost like they did right before you went to go 'play Jedi' on a planet you had never heard of before you got dropped off on it.

You’re not mad he left you on Ossus. No. You wanted that. You wanted to live on that planet so bad you begged him. Basically told him that you’d stay there no matter what he said. So, he made it happen for you. Din spoke to Luke and Ahsoka privately while you and the child sat in the grass, watching from afar. It was scary not knowing what their answer would be. When Din returned he said that they would take you in, only if you trained with Ahsoka.

Which was a very sweet gesture. 

Until he left you there for two years. All you did was train! Not being a child meant there was no need for the schooling and the classes that the younglings took. You trained day in and day out. Like a Jedi.

Ahsoka was hard on you, trained you like you were already strong and powerful; you weren’t in the beginning and it was hard. So hard you thought you wouldn’t make it. You did make it though— made it out stronger and faster than before. Better on your feet and more capable than you ever thought possible.

Luke and Ahsoka were so smart— almost like they knew you couldn't resist him.

They are selfish and cruel for doing that to you and Din! Neither one of them even told you they were doing it.

There is still a part inside of you that's furious that Din didn't throw things around and demand to see you! He is a bounty-hunter in a metal suit! He could have made a couple dents and holds in that sex forsaken temple!

Din is the reason you didn’t get offered a lightsaber of your own. That's the only reason. It has to be, you were such a good Jedi outside of the fact that you spoke about Din to Ahsoka daily. All the time when you weren't running until your lungs gave our or being beaten with sticks!

Whatever. You don’t even really care anymore. Barely think about not being offered a lightsaber at all. Almost never.

Right this very second though… you’re looking at the amored man you’ve been pining after for so long, and he’s standing there in only his helmet and the black pants he wears under his beskar.

Getting ready to fight you .

You have nothing but your nightgown on! What does he expect you to do?

Din The Mandalorian shakes his hands out like he’s loosening them up. You’re unimpressed with this foolishness.

This is what children do and you and him are not children. It has absolutely nothing to with the fact that you might be nervous, the butterflies in your belly are going crazy right now. 

“You want me to…wrestle you?” You wrinkle your face up at him.

Din quickly shifts his body weight from foot to foot and holds his hands up to block— the Maker- loving helmet. As if his helmet wouldn’t completely crush every single bone in every single one of your fingers.

That is not even close to where you would aim, if you were to wrestle and fight with him, like he’s asking but you’re not going to. This is a ruse of some sort, you’re sure of it. 

“Yes.” Din’s two fingers pop up from his fist and he curls them to beckon you over to him. His helmet tilts to the side ever so slightly.

This cannot be happening. He is much bigger than you. Towers over you practically. His shoulders are so broad and he is so strong! If there was one thing you never forgot, even in those two long years, is how much he held back when he touched you! He can’t be serious.

You cock an eyebrow up at him, “In my nightgown?” Looking down, you hold your white nightgown up to him -like he can’t already see it. It’s quite thin, nothing you’d wear to fight in! The fabric goes all the way down to the floor, what does he expect you to do? Really fight him in it?

“It’s white and long. And I have nothing underneath,” your voice wavers slightly as you blink at him again, still not understanding why he wants to do this. You two were just cleaning up the ship together. Picking up after Grogu, who leaves a mess in his path no matter where he’s going or coming from. You follow him around all day and don’t understand how he gets into half the stuff he does.

“I know it’s white, and long." Din starts to circle you slowly. "I can see quite well in my helmet, did you forget?"

There is a weird bashfulness to you right now. It's hard to look at him because you can't fight the smile that's curling at the corners of your mouth, so you keep your eyes on your nightgown and don't even notice that Din has started to move around you slowly.

“It's pretty on you.”

That makes the heat creep up your neck and behind your cheeks. You try to hold back that smile but it’s hard.

“Why do you want to fight?” You look up and he’s two feet to your left. You turn to face him now, “I don’t understand. I don’t think I get anything about you.” You keep shuffling your feet to follow him as he keeps circling. Again so slow, you don’t even notice. He’s so smooth. So graceful.

“You don’t need to understand.” Din speaks calmly from behind the helmet. “You like making me happy. So c’mon. Take your best shot.” He takes one step calculated step forward.

The last two years flood back to you immediately at this sudden and familiar move. You bend your knees slightly and cover your face with your fists, your elbows are tucked neatly into your sides. Just like in training. You took enough rods to the sides and ribs and chest and elbows. You eye him carefully and shift your weight to your back leg.

“Good form," Din says, taking another small step forward.

You drop your right foot back and drag your left across the floor seamlessly an a slow and deliberate attempt to put distance between yourself and the metal man. You try and read him, but it's impossible with his helmet. Ahsoka told you to always watch your opponents eyes- they would tell you where they would try to place their attack.

“You have the upper hand with that helmet.” You start to side step slowly like he is. The tension in the room is palpable. You can drink it out of the air you’re breathing. “You better play fair. I’ll be upset with you if you don’t.” You’re waiting for him to make the first move but he wont. 

“I’ll be honest, I’m rusty with my hand to hand. It’ll be good practice.” Din snickers from the modulator. You raise an eyebrow. You’ve gone two full rotations around where you had been standing before. “But…I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold. Up to you.” You think you can hear the smirk on his face behind the helmet.

“Oohh. Warm or cold. So scary .” You mock Din teasingly. You’ve mindlessly coordinated it so that with every step he takes to his right, you take one to your right at the same time. You’ve synced up your movements with his, just like Ahsoka taught you how to do. You anticipate what he’s going to do even though you can’t see his eyes or face, which is where you should look if your opponent isn’t wearing a mask. If they are, you watch their muscles. Those will tell you where they’re getting ready to strike from.

You scan his entire body quickly. His shoulder muscles are tensing and he’s going to  come forward with his left arm, you can see it. His right leg flexes slightly. The whole thing goes through your brain in a matter of milliseconds.

That’s when he takes a step towards you with speed and his left hand opens and lightly comes around and tries to swing and graze your cheek or forehead or maybe your chin. You see it coming, anticipating it in your calm mind. The top half of your body leans back about four inches, just out of his reach. 

You’ve taken note this entire time exactly where you were going to go for if he made his move and while his arm is crossing over his chest you duck quickly, just below his arm. With a very flat and stiff right hand, you surge forward and connect with the pressure point in his left shoulder.

 Din’s left arm goes limp immediately, and he makes a sound of shocked pain from under that useful helmet. It didn't help him see that coming, it sure didn't. He drops his other arm from his hYou think about tapping him on the helmet with your fingers in his defenseless position but you think that would be rude. A real punch to his ego. 

“Wh-” Din’s helmet snaps between you and his shoulder twice. “You- How did you do that?” Din’s stunned. Can’t believe you just disabled him. You. The girl. The crier. The girl with feelings and all those things. Yeah, he can’t believe you just put your hands on him like that and it actually hurt.

“ Did you not want to fight ?” You smirk at him and stop moving. Din looks down at his shoulder for a long time. Then his helmet snaps back up to you. 

“I was going to go easy on you.” Din said, pointing to his shoulder. “This isn’t easy.” You shake your head at him and shrug your shoulders. You wish you felt bad for him but you actually feel a little better for the fact that he was so cold to you on your first meeting in two years. Even if you were cold to him. Why wouldn’t you have been? He abandoned you on a Maker forsaken planet covered in trees and shrubs and mountains. Okay. The planet was beautiful. A place you wish he would have dropped you off but regardless.

“How was I supposed to know that? You just said you wanted to fight?” You’re watching him as he rubs his shoulder gently and begins to move in circles in the socket. You’re still backing away from him slowly. It’s instinctual, you’re just taking small little shuffled steps back. 

“I said I wanted to spar .” Din’s hand fell from his shoulder and now his full attention is on you. It gives you nervous butterflies. You shake your head at him and point one finger in his direction. 

“You never said spar, you said fight and wrestle. So how is that the same?” You put your hands on your hips and watch him. You see Din’s legs flex and you know what’s coming; Din is chasing you. It makes your stomach drop and your feet dance on the ground for a second as he’s running. Quickly. You sidestep him and run in the opposite direction, out of the room you’re in and down the long hallway of rooms that have little meaning to you.

Besides that there are weapons in them. You keep the kid out of there. It’s been a pretty difficult task so far. Grogu has been the most fun you’ve ever seen him. He’s so independent and doesn’t really eat a lot of bugs anymore but, oh my Maker. The kid’s getting into everything. It’s blowing your mind. The Force is making him a pain in the ass. 

Din has to skip stop when you dodge him and turn in the other direction to chase after you but you’ve already turned into one of the unnamed rooms; a place to hide? You start to look. There is nowhere and now you regret coming in here because it’s just a flat metal table in the center with a bunch of guns on the wall. 

You turn around and Din is in the doorway. He’s blocking your only exit. His hands are on the door frame and he’s an X in the rectangle that leads you to freedom. His chest is rising and falling and his helmet is looking at the floor for a moment until he tilts it up to look at you.

“Hi.” You have a sheepish smile on your face. You’re standing on the far end of the metal table. Din lets his arms fall to his side and walks in, keeping his body between you and the door. His footsteps are slow. You have no idea what he’s going to do. Jump up on the table maybe?

“Hi.” He pant’s softly. “ Why’d you run ?” He’s standing on the opposite side of the table from you. You blink at him. 

“ You chased me!” You point at him. This is so much fun. You love floating in the stars, running around the ship. Watching him be like this around you makes you feel good. Makes you feel so special and your heart is racing because you’re nervous and you love this.

Din says nothing. He just stands there at the other edge of the table. His arms are at his sides and he’s not moving. He doesn’t even look–

The table suddenly and very quickly slides to your left with a jarringly loud honking, screech across the metal floor. You jump back in shock and alarm and you're pressed against the wall behind you, before you can react Din is taking forward steps towards you. You jump to the right and try to dodge him but the room is too small and he wraps his arm around you waist and pulls you into him

“That’s not chasing.” He rasps. 

“Oh my Maker. Yes , that is exactly what being chased is.” You laugh and turn so you can face him. Din’s helmet is tilted down at you. You can feel him looking at your face. You wish you could see him. So badly you wish. Even with all your Jedi training you still want selfish things and wish to see. 

“Do you remember what we did the other night?” He asks. You nod and raise an eyebrow. What new weird thing could this helmeted man want from you? You’ve loved every single one of his weird ideas though, so you look up at him dreamily. 

“I do.” You smile and bat your eyelashes at him. “Were you wanting to do it again?” You interlace your fingers and place them under your chin. You give him your best attempt at big saucer eyes but it does not work. 

“No.” He rasps, gazing down at you. You drop the smile and frown. "Something like that." You lift an eyebrow and look him up and down.

“Oh.” You pull away from him but Din holds you closely and tightly. “What do you want then? Always wanting.” You tease him, because he's a giver. A hard giver who doesn't ask for much in return and it's honestly felt almost too easy. Like, when is the other shoe going to drop. Why does he do that? Give give give. Din has the strangest requests of anyone ever. But you don't hate them.

“I give too. I want to give you something right now.” Din starts to rub himself through his black pants. 

Maker…is it actually happening? Is Din going to give it to you tonight? Finally?

“Will you get on your knees for me? Perfect, pretty little one–in her white dress. Please?” Why does he do this to you? His voice, even behind the rasp of the modulator is so mesmerizing, especially when he talks like that . You almost don’t even feel yourself sinking down to your knees. It’s like his words hypnotized you or put you in a trance. 

You look up at him while he towers over you with his big, broad shoulders. You can’t help but smile up at him happily, happy that you’re here. One of his big, strong, calloused hands touches your cheek softly. His palm connects with it. Maker, did you send him from flames ? Like from real actual flames because he is always so hot. It used to really worry you, but now, now it’s his familiar touch in the dark when you need him. But it wasn’t dark now. He wanted you to see, and he wanted to see you with no night vision. 

“Pretty lips.” His thumb starts to rub over them, dragging them along with his digit gently. “I thought about these lips every day. Kissing them. Licking them. Putting my cock between them. ” When Din says this, between your legs starts to strum happily, like he just started your engine. “I want to be in your throat. So badly. Perfect little one , so badly.” You love the way he’s speaking to you. So nice and sweet and kinda naughty. His thumb pulls your bottom lip down gently and then releases it back up to your top lip with the softest popping sound.

You take his thumb into your mouth without asking, without him offering it. Just suck it between your lips because you just want him to know what you’re willing to give him. You slide the soft warmth of your mouth over the rough pad of his thumb. Helmet never leaves your face. You start trying to Jedi force fuck him into taking if off but you know it’s futile, you don’t have the force in you. Not even a little. You do have his thumb in your mouth though and you're sucking on it softly, trying to make him give you the real thing. Din pulls his hand away and his thumb leaves your mouth with a sucking, wet pop.

“Maker. She is perfect and beautiful.” One hand finds your hair, fingers comb through it so lovingly. So carefully. Din finds a good handful right at the top of your head and grips gently. He lets out a sigh as his other hand leaves your face and pushes the front of his pants down. You’re eager to help, gripping the sides with your fingers and pulling them down to the middle of his thigh. 

“Can I, please?” You whisper, leaning forward towards his length but his grip in your hair tightens and he pulls you away. Din’s free hand finds his base and squeezes gently. “Please?” You can’t take your eyes off of it, like it’s casting a spell on you or something. “ Please?” You finally look up to Din who’s gazing down at you still. Once you look up to him, he moves his hips forward slightly. 

The tip of his cock presses against your lip as his thumb did earlier. Gently. The hot skin pulls your lips wherever it goes and you stick your tongue out to taste the leaking drop of precome from it. It makes Din’s whole body shudder as you flick the tip along his slit and wrap your lips around the tip. You use a little suction to pull him in and then you wrap one hand right above him and start to move it slowly back and forth.

Din groans softly and lets you. You move your hand and take as much of him as you can and then slide everything but the tip out and replace your hand, jerking him slowly while you suck and swirl your tongue around it, paying special attention to his seam. You can feel him trembling at your touch. Your fist never stops moving on his shaft. 

“ Fuck - ing– Maker.” Din breathes heavily. His hips start to buck forward ever so slightly as you start pulling him deeper into your mouth as you stroke him. “Yes. Yes.” Din’s raspy modulated moan is music to your ears as he moves his hand from the base so you can hold him there. You take him until he’s in the back of your throat. “Yes. Please.” It sounds like he’s holding his breath under that helmet again. But you tease him and pull away to just the tip again. He lets out a disappointed sigh. He was holding his breath.

You stroke him again, swirling your tongue. Then you take him into your mouth again, holding him at the base. The tip of your nose touches your fist.

“It’s so perfect. So good. Yes. Yes. So good.” Din strains them out from somewhere in his throat.  He starts bucking his hips forward like he can’t control himself. It makes you gag softly. “ Fuck it’s so good,” His modulated rasp groans come from deep in his chest. Din’s only moving a couple inches. Just fucking your face softly and you let him. Your other hand comes up and wraps around the back of his leg, pulling him into you gently.

Din’s engine must be back there because his hips start to thrust a little faster, the head of his cock slipping further and further back down your throat while his drives forward start a little more aggressive. You do your best to try and relax everything inside of you. Every ounce of resistance that you have, you try and make it go away because you want to make Din feel the way he makes you feel. Mind shatteringly good. 

“Oh fuck.” Din groans deeply, his fingers grip your hair tighter. “Yes. Little one, you like taking my c-cock like this?” You look up to his helmet and he’s gazing down at you. He’s got his free hand on the wall of the ship and he’s leaning on it for support. You nod as much as you can and moan a throaty sound of pleasure. It makes Din’s knees buckle. You do it again and watch as his hand starts to mindlessly search for something he’s not really looking for on the wall.

You pull him deeper, sucking gently on the hardness in your mouth. Your tongue ungulates against the veiny skin on his shaft. His searching hand leaves the wall and finds your hair. Din pulls you down onto his cock completely, entirely. You gag but you also feel warmth in the back of your throat. It makes you cough against him but he holds you down to his base with his hand. 

It’s like he’s choking you, cutting off your airway. You relax your throat as much as you can, even though it’s kind of scary and you’ve never really seen Din like this. It’s not bad, it’s not terrible. It’s a little jarring, but you relax and you take him deeper than you thought you could. Even though you're gagging around it a little harder. The head of his cock is nestled right in the back of your throat and he’s coming. It’s like Din couldn’t help it, the way he’s holding you down onto him. 

“ Ohh-fuck– Ohhh, l-little pretty one.” Din chokes out, his hips thrusting forward while he pushes and pulls your head to and from the base of his cock. “Throat s-so perfect…come inside it– fuck.” Din’s head falls back as you feel the length of him throb inside your mouth with each release.

You are doing your absolute best to take everything he gives you but it’s impossible, you have to push yourself off of him before you either gag too hard or choke on what he’s giving you. 

The minute your hands touch Din’s waist and press against him, the grip he has on your hair softens and he pulls his hips back from your face. His cock leaves your throat and mouth with the most filthy wet squelch you’ve ever heard and you drop to the floor, coughing and choking on everything that’s built up over this escapade that you two have been participating in; saliva, Din’s release.

There is so much of it. 

Tears come to your eyes as you try and keep everything in your mouth. You swallow it quickly and continue to cough, rubbing at the drool that’s dripping from the base of your chin with the back of your hand. That was rough. Very rough. So aggressive and unexpected. It wasn’t that you didn’t love it. It was just hard. And now you’re coughing so hard you feel like you might be sick. 

Din is beside you, pants up around his waist again. His hand is on your back now but the heat from his fingertips on your shoulders is making you sweat even worse. You are already so hot. From the activity, from the coughing. It’s so overwhelming. You shrug his hand off and crawl two inches to the right of him and try to breathe but it’s so hard. Tears are rolling out of your eyes and directly onto the floor below you. 

“W-wat–” More choking. You can’t even get words out but Din is already standing, running into the dining area to get you what you’re asking for. You stay on the ground, breathing in quick, shallow gasps in between fits of sputtering and wheezing. Din’s padded footsteps on the floor of the ship and then there is a metal canteen of water in front of you. You grab at it; the top has already been twisted off for you. 

You take the smallest sip and try to quench the itch making you unable to stop this fit. The water helps tremendously, you sip and then sip again. Cough and sputter. Sip and then gulp. More gulps. It’s so good. So refreshing. Everything about this is heaven right now. You sit back on your bottom, taking in another pull off the canteen before you stop. And gasp. For what feels like ten minutes

Din is beside you again, sitting, holding your shoulders and now his warmth feels inviting. You lean into him and he braces and supports all of the weight you decide to put against him, which is a lot. You’re tired and that was physically exhausting even though you feel like you sat on your knees the whole time. Din did most of the work. His fingertips are so soft when they graze down the side of your arms, he’s being so gentle. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, little one are you okay?” Din’s voice is so soft now, so caring and concerned for you. You look at yourself in the face visor and see your tear stained cheeks and how flushed red they are from everything you’ve been through in the last ten minutes. Your hair is a mess and your lips are puffy and red. Din touches your cheek softly and rubs his fingers over your bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

“ That’s what you wanted to give me?” Your voice is gravelly and deep. You have to clear your throat and take another sip of water. Din’s modulated chuckle makes you smirk. He’s gazing at you, his fingertip still touching and caressing your bottom lip while you stare into his face visor, watching his finger in the reflection. 

“I hope you didn’t hate it.” Soft. Apologetic. Sweet.

You shake your head at him and pant heavily. You didn’t hate it. Needed more warning from Din though. It’s okay. You’d do anything for him— you’re pretty sure as long as it didn’t kill you. You might though, if it meant keeping him safe. You want to keep Din safe, make sure that he always gets back on this ship with you and the green child. 

You proved to Din tonight that you could.

“You’re to stay beside me the whole time.” Din is placing Grogu's bag over your shoulder. “I’ll answer any questions you might have when we get back on the ship, alright? Try not to interrupt.” Din tilts the helmet down at you after he places Grogu in the bag.

Your head snaps down at him. “You’ve never seen me interact with one single other person since we’ve known each other. How would you know if I interrupted? I’m very polite. I wait for my turn.” You snip at him and cover the child with your fancy new robe you got from Ahsoka before you left. It’s got a nice hood that’s up over your face now. 

“Just please follow my instructions. Don’t make me regret this. You or Grogu," Din places both of his hands on your shoulders and touches the forehead of his helmet to yours. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. Please listen to everything that I tell you? It can be dangerous out there. I mean it. Listen to me.” 

Din leads you off the ship and it’s like a desert out here; so sandy and dusty but he’s parked the ship a ways away from a lake. It’s warm and the sun feels good on your face. You are enjoying all of the scenery around you.

Grogu is peeking out from behind your robe, you move the fabric a little so he can see better.

Something big, bigger than you could ever imagine breaks the surface of the water. You don’t even really see what it is. 

Just its back is huge. You could have landed the ship on the damn thing it was so big. It swims slowly and then returns back to the depth of the lake. You’ve stopped walking to watch and see that Din has not stopped walking, doesn’t notice you’re not beside him anymore. You see how close to the waters edge you are and you jog quickly to catch up to him, peering at the water out of the corner of your eye.

Din leads you into the mouth of a cave and you walk for a long time. It’s nice to stretch your legs, and Din basically told you to just shut up and listen to what he says. So you do. You’ll ask about the giant lake creature when you guys get back on the ship. You wonder where you are. Din didn’t say.

You both walk through the entrance to a large underground room. 

There are Mandalorian people everywhere. You’ve never seen this many before.

A couple in Canto Bight before Din, sure— but never this many. They’re all so tall and so intimidating in their helmets.

You try to keep your head forward and not look at any of them in particular. There is one of them standing on a platform above everyone else. They part for Din and watch as he passes. They look at you while you pass them as well. You hide Grogu behind your robe again. 

“Din Djarin.” The intimidating mandalorian woman speaks loudly. “You have removed your helmet. And what’s worse, you did it at your own free will.” 

What the fuck, Maker? Did you just hear that terrifying woman in the armor correctly? He took his helmet off? When the fuck did he do that? And who the fuck did he show because it most surely wasn’t you?

Grogu coos up to you from behind your robes— like he’s answering your silent question. Every bone in your body feels like it’s melting away and you’re having a hard time keeping your knees from giving out.

Din took his helmet off and didn’t show you? He didn’t let you see him?

You almost think about running back to the ship but whatever was lurking in the lake just outside the mouth of the cave makes you rethink.

You think you’re going to be sick.

Din and the woman are speaking and you’re trying to listen, like Din told you, but everything sounds muffled and you think your hands might be covering your ears but they’re still at your side. 

“I can visit the planet. I could bring you proof.” Din’s voice is clear in your head now.

Where is he going? Visit what planet? Why does he need to go there?

You tried so hard to listen but so many other thoughts were going through your head that it was hard to keep everything straight. “I’ll bathe in the living waters beneath the mine’s of Mandalore and bring you proof. Then by Creed; the decree of exile will be lifted and I would be redeemed.” 

Exile!? Redeemed?! What the fuck was Mando doing while you were gone?

The sand in this cave is so nice. You haven’t stopped looking at it since the woman Mandalorian said he took his helmet off. If you dare look up, the tears would roll down your cheek. This way they’re hidden in your robes at least. No one can see. 

“Then I will see you again.” Is the last thing the armored woman says!!

The long walk back to the ship is silent. A Mando specialty. Nothing but the sound of the green child babbling from behind your robe and the shifting of the sand beneath your shoes.

You cannot believe this. You thought–stupidly, it’s clear to you now– that if Mando was going to show anyone his face it would have been you. You feel so foolish. As foolish as you felt when you called him your friend after your trip to the market.

You are foolish, it’s obvious.

The ramp to the ship drops down, and you are the first one on. Quickly you're undoing your robes and letting Grogu out of his bag. You hold him in your arms for a while, looking down into his big eyes and at his wrinkly green skin.

You know Din took his helmet off for Grogu. It’s something you're sensing in your heart looking at him now.

If you wore a helmet and had sworn to do whatever Mando had to swear to wear it forever... you'd show Grogu too, for whatever reason.

That still doesn’t make this hurt any less. 

No words. No questions. Nothing.

You keep to yourself for the rest of the day, keeping busy sewing yourself a new nightgown. It was going to be short and cute for Mando but now you’ve decided to make it long. And down to the floor. Not cute. Just for sleeping. And it’ll be black. Hmph.

You sew so angrily that you stab your fingers more than once. You honestly aren’t even sewing, you’re just pulling thread through fabric with no reason or meaning behind it. You haven’t put a single thought into one stitch since you sat down. 

You hate him now. You really do.

When you thought he hadn’t shown his face to anyone it wasn’t a big deal but now…now you hate him.

It’s a tearing feeling right in your stomach. Every time you breathe or think, or even move it hurts. Brings tears to your eyes. 

Mando’s footsteps echo in the hallway towards the weapons room you’re hiding in after Grogu went to bed. You press yourself into the corner and hope he won't notice or isn’t looking for you when he walks in. 

“There you are," He rasps as if nothing is wrong. "Are we playing a hiding game?” He leans against the wall your back is on.

You shake your head side to side and go back to pretending to sew. You don’t look up at him. It’s obvious you’re mad. You haven’t said a single word to him since you got off the ship to go into that Maker forsaken cave.

Only to hear the worst news of your life so far; that he didn’t care about you enough. That you weren’t enough. 

Once you got back on the ship, you hid- just like he had said. A hiding game.

Fucking Mando!

A part of you-- it may be somewhere in your heart- is telling you to just be grateful for the man in the tin can suit who is standing in front of you.

Another part-- maybe inside your brain, as swirly and twirly as it is sometimes- is telling you to be negative. Telling you to be bitter and cold to him.

You’re jealous and feeling sorry for yourself. You know it. You don’t really care right now. Don’t know if you ever will care with how you’re feeling.

Nothing about this feels good. You had explained your feelings to him, told him how you had felt and he never mentioned any of this? Being exiled? Taking off that fucking helmet!?

Does he not remember the conversation before you left for Ossus' forsaken Jedi fucking temple!?

“I don’t feel well. I think I’m going to bed.” You stand up, gather up all your sewing in your arms and walk past him into the hallway.

Mando follows. “You’ve seemed quiet since we got back to the ship. I feared maybe you were upset with me.” Mando speaks at you while you walk into the sleeping quarters. “Are you alright? Can I get you anything? A warm compress? Water? Are you going to be... ill?”

He hesitates to say the word like it make you ill all over him!

You ignore him and instead of crawling into the bed you shared with him the night before, you set all of your sewing on your nightstand and get into your bed. The one you haven’t thought about since Mando carried you back into his bed last night.

“So you are upset with me.” Mando rasps, like he knew it all along and tilts his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m not upset about anything-- what would I even be upset about?” You bring the blankets up to your chin.

You didn’t even change into your sleepwear! Just crawled right into bed with the clothes you’ve had on all day! Weren’t even trying to seem unwell.

This is the worst.

Now you wish that he had just dropped you off on Cantonica at Canto Bight, or that some man with a face had tried to make you forget about Mando. 

“I assume what was spoken about within the clan.” He rasps softly. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know when would be a good time.” His stupid modulator is sounding so apologetic now. 

“I’m not upset. I don’t care. Show your face to whoever you want. Don't show it--- Doesn’t matter to me.” 

Mando sighs softly from under the helmet. 

“I did it so that Grogu would know how much I cared for him. So that he wouldn’t forget me.” Mando tries to help, but his explanation makes things worse.

“It’s fine. I said I don’t care. I get it." Your voice is snappy and mean. "We never talked about the night before you abandoned me with no timeline of when you'd be back."

Mando just watches you talk from behind his helmet, never saying anything-- as always-- and you once again, feel as though you may as well be talking to your reflection alone. It's quiet for a beat before you say anything else.

"We never talk about our feelings ever so you must have none! Unless it’s for the child. Which is fine, I feel the same for him. I just don’t care to speak about this anymore.” You speak so fast trying to get all the words out as a literal planet forms in your throat. Stupid tears burn at your eyes because you do care.

It’s hurting you so badly. 

“Was–Did you–...” You can feel Mando looking into the back of your head like he’s got lasers in his helmet. You turn now to look at him. 

“What?” You snap. “What could you have to say now?” 

“I made Luke and Ahsoka let you stay... because it’s what you desired. I made that happen for you.” Mando’s talking like you’re ungrateful for what he did for you. 

"Thank you. Thank you so much for that, I appreciate everything that I learned there. I am stronger, faster, a better protector of my the child for that reason-- and I have you to thank for it. Yes." It's hard to not sound unappreciative now, when you're on the verge of tears and angry about his lack of love for you!

Mando doesn’t speak, as usual. Just watching you talk and also, probably the tears welling in your eyes. 

You roll over to hide the wet, glassiness of your eyes, "I care for you so much, and you can't tell me the same? You don't feel it?" The heat pools behind your cheeks and down your neck and into your chest. "I thought you did once," you murmur, almost silently.

“You think I don’t care for you?” Mando sounds confused.

That makes you so your blood boil; what is he confused about? What could he possibly not understand? 

“You showed Grogu your face but not me... You obviously didn’t care if I forgot you. Despite what you said last night you didn’t seem to care if I knew how much you cared for me before you left for two years.” You keep your head turned away from him because luckily it doesn’t sound like you’re crying, but you’ve got endless tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“Mando.” His voice sounds reminiscent of a time when you only called him that. 

“Yes. Mando. Because your real name should be saved for your close friends, and the people you show your face to." You hiss. "I didn’t even get to hear it from you, I had to hear it from the woman in the fucking cave! I hate caves. I hate helmets-- I hate them all so much. Every single one.” You look back at him over your shoulder with tear stained cheeks and red eyes.

“You brought me here to watch the child and to touch me. I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore.” You say quickly, the pitch growing higher and higher as you speak.

Mando stands up from the side of your bed and says nothing. He just leaves the room without a word. 

This is it.

It’s actually coming to an end. Your time with him and the child. Officially over.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I promise the next chapter is satisfying and doesn't end on a cliffhanger- not really.

I'm still so uncomfortable tagging people in my stories, so like I said, please tell me to fuck off if you want me to stop. My feelings won't be hurt (yes they will), and it's completely fine (I'm a big girl and can handle it).

[notmaplemable]

Thoughts On 2024 & Plans For 2025

Hello folks, it's Mable.

It's been while since I've really done anything but random shitposts, so I wanted to just get my thoughts about 24 and my plans for 25 out of the way.

Honestly, 2024 was a bit of a rough year when it came to my writing and this blog too honestly. I feel like I started 20 projects, and dropped them after not even getting very far. And the projects I had before that were either barely updated or dropped entirely.

Now there are reasons I wasn't able to get as much done as I did in the year before. Mostly the new job I got in February taking up a lot more time than my previous one did. But there was plenty of time last year for me to get something done and I simply just didn't.

And I'm not happy about that.

I do quite enjoy writing, and I really do feel like I didn't do nearly enough of it last year. Really I feel like I wasted a lot of time chasing around random ideas rather than focusing on a few that I really liked or had really good potential.

So I'm going to do more this year. I'm going to be a little less lazy and, maybe more importantly, only focus on a few projects this year. With no new projects coming out.

Which projects am I dropping and which am I keeping? I'll let ya'll know in a few weeks probably. I haven't 100% figured that out myself honestly.

I will say that Ghosts of Summer and Norther Ranger will be kept.

As for my regular blog posts, I'll probably go back to what I was doing in 23 with timed posts instead of just posting whatever comes to mind when I feel like it.

As for the smut blog... I don't fucking know man.

My goal is to write at least 250k words of fiction this year, not including shitposts and the like.

I want to do better this year, for myself.

With that, I'm also taking a short hiatus to start planning things out. I'll be back on the 16th.

Though, even if I don't think I did as well as I could have over 2024, I want to thank everyone for sticking around. I hope you all had great years and I look forward to writing more bad lancaster fics.

See ya'll when I get back.

[hauntingthenarrativepod]

(this is qiqi) (look if it's an unhinged overly complicated response it's likely to be qiqi can we just pin that somewhere)

He's one of those adolescent German Shepherds with huge paws and ears that the rest of the body hasn't grown into. He's still cooking.

This is one of the greatest descriptions of Lockwood I have ever seen. I want this cross-stitched on a pillow somewhere. It's beautiful.

OK so let's talk Sykes a little bit cause I'm loving your tags there.

Sykes is just...not really talked about much, is he?

Timeline-wise, Lucy is 13 or 14 at her interview, and Lockwood/George are about a year older. 13 gives me hives so let's go with Lucy being 14 and the boys 15.

Lockwood says that the agency's been registered for three months, and he got his full licence (a.k.a. his Grade 4) 'last year'. Lockwood was apprenticed to Sykes, so Sykes must've been around long enough to sign that certificate. We know Lucy's interview is in May, so the agency was registered in February, so Sykes died sometime in the 13 months before Feb - when Lockwood is 13 or 14.

George moves in a year before Lucy's interview - so May the year previously. I tend to think that it makes little sense for George to move in unless he's working with Lockwood (his parents are from London), and he never mentions working with Sykes, so I think it's likely that he moves in after Sykes dies. (Probably they futz about as a freelance/independent duo for a while before deciding to set up an actual company, which may take some time.) But anyway, if George moves in after Sykes dies, this means that Sykes has to die sometime Jan-May of the year before Lucy moves in. And yeah, Flo implies that his death was nasty which means traumatising so...it's no wonder Lockwood didn't talk about him.

As you say in your tags -- it's likely that Sykes was an actual Gravedigger, which would imply extremely working class. Which...makes a lot of sense, when you look at Lockwood. He does a lot of borderline charity cases, especially in the East End (a traditionally very poor area of London -- somewhere I'd expect a Gravedigger to run an independent shop, though). He swears like a fucking sailor (so many 'short responses') and eats absolutely terribly (have you hung around middle class/rich people? They all eat like Holly, even the kids). He tries to fob off the hard work on everyone but him because he wants to be lazy and keep his clothes nice, but he's also not afraid of it -- he doesn't complain about having to crawl through muck or worse, it's just part of the job. And despite the fact that he obviously has money and resources, you don't really feel a class difference between him and Lucy or George. Yes, we are going to do a whole episode on class, but I think the text supports the idea that Lockwood was a middle class, rich boy who's family fell on hard times (he did a lot of odd jobs when it was just him and Jess) and then roughed it with the commoners for quite a while.

(And I love how you point out in your tags that yeah, working class tends to stand up for each other. I do think Lockwood wasn't taken in by the big agencies because he was too old, but Sykes would take him in because he had nowhere else to go -- and Sykes did right by him, because a 9 year old boy, all alone, big house in Marylebone? The vultures must have been salivating)

2) Lockwood and Forgiveness! That's a really nice point, that he's so unforgiving with ghosts, but so forgiving with people!! I will counter you though that by the time he 'forgives' Kipps in TCS quite a bit has happened to deepen their connection in a positive way -- a) Kipps follows George into the catacombs and tries to save him, b) Lockwood and Kipps work Aickmere's together and are partnered up, solo, in the dark (and in this particular scenario Lockwood probably got to see quite a bit of how Kipps handles his team -- I tend to think that Aickmere's is when Lockwood starts really respecting Kipps) and then c) they'd worked Guppy House together, where Kipps had demonstrated a good deal of respect for Lockwood and his team. I do think that TSS Lockwood would magnanimously piss on Kipps if he was on fire, but I doubt he'd go out of his way to help Kipps to the same extent as he does in TCS.

Thoughts?

It’s Boxing Day in the UK, St. Stephen’s Day in Ireland, and December 26th in the US, and there’s no way we’d rather spend it than discussing the beloved namesake of our series — the one and only Anthony J. Lockwood, Esq.!

For our third episode of Haunting the Narrative, we’re going to be digging into all things Lockwood. We’ll talk about his dark backstory and how that links to the core traits and motivations we see him display. We'll discuss his ambition, his relationship to his family, and his own search for meaning throughout the books.

Somehow this is our shortest episode yet, which is nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

Listen on Apple

Listen on Spotify

Listen on Amazon

Click here for the transcript!

Join us on January 8 for our next episode on the Problem Economy!