#Especially the somewhat gruff but kind-hearted ones

[ovwechoes]

another rarepair... but if you are not uncomfy with it, can i have sfw mauga x venture headcanons? :)

Rock 'n Roll / Venture x Mauga Headcanons (SFW) I'm always happy to write for rarepairs, even if they're ones I'm not too familiar with. They're under the cut, and thank you for the ask - enjoy c:

Who confessed? How did it go? Definitely Maugaloa - sorry but Sloan's a little baby when it comes to confessing, often struggling to find the right words and stumbling over their words. It would've started with Sloan attempting to confess, but stuttering so badly that they gave up. Maugaloa, on the other hand, would've been able to see exactly what they were trying to say and would flat out just say ‘I like you too’ in his usual, flirty tone, followed by him teasing Sloan. Maugaloa's more in touch with their emotions, and can easily read other people's but especially Sloan's. It was a short, but sweet conversation, with the two of them only really talking through their feelings and their position in each other's life now and Mauga doing everything he could to make Sloan's face cherry red.

What is their relationship dynamic like? Definitely grumpy and sunshine - Maugaloa's more serious, gruff and brooding whereas Sloan's more upbeat, cheerful and takes life with a grain of salt. Everyone around them can see it, too, with Maugaloa's demeanour often softening when Sloan's around, and Sloan's becoming more down when things between them and Mauga aren't in the greatest place.

How do they show their love to one another? Maugaloa likes to show his love for Sloan through words of affection and gift giving -he's a very charismatic, charming man and knows exactly how to say things to make his partner melt, with Sloan being no exception to that. He enjoys watching Sloan melt from his compliments and his softened tone when reminding them of how they look stunning in that moment, or how adorable they're being while rambling about artifacts or special interests of their own. Adding gift giving to the mix, something I've spoken about with Mauga before, is like adding fuel to the fire for Maugaloa. It's his way of emphasising that he really cares for Sloan, and that he values the impact they continue to make in his life. On the other hand, Sloan's definitely the type of person who uses physical affection to speak the words his mouth can't. They like to touch Maugaloa's chest, tracing their fingers across the spaces with his hearts, and likes to keep an arm resting on their shoulder when they're sat side by side. It's their way of keeping close to them, and showing that they're connected in a way that their words can't come close to. I like to think that Sloan's an actions > words person too, so physical affection is definitely their strong suit when showing love to Maugaloa.

What are their favourite aspects of one another? Sloan loves Maugaloa's ability to defend himself, and how well he can bite back at people who try to bring his ego down. Others find Mauga self inflated, but Sloan recognises that it's a way for Maugaloa to protect himself in a way. Sloan struggles with defending themselves properly, in a way that actually makes an impact and isn't shrugged off by the person insulting them. They, truthfully, want to fight back with kindness and can't bring themselves to be as brutal as Maugaloa can be. So, they find it admirable and fascinating to explore in meaningful conversations about their lives and how his experiences have shaped Maugaloa as a person. Maugaloa, on the other hand, loves Sloan's attention to detail - Sloan tends to become transfixed with things easily, and once they are they have to know every little detail about that topic or item or person. It's something Maugaloa's struggled with in the past and still somewhat does, often joking about his attention span when people call him out on it. So, when Sloan can point out tiny details that he's completely missed while watching movies, going on dates to museums or aquariums, things like that, it makes Mauga's hearts skip with admiration.

How often do they say ‘I love you’? Maugaloa's the type to say everything BUT ‘I love you’, finding it too special and meaningful to throw out there without concern for the value of the words. So, I don't think he says it as often as Sloan would like them too, but after he explained why he doesn't, they understood completely and respected it. Maugaloa will say everything but that one phrase, and will make it his mission to phrase it in other ways because he believes that ‘I love you’ has to be reserved for specific moments that truly deserve it. Sloan, on the other hand, says it more often, but more so as apart of his greetings - they were told by a co-worker that saying ‘I love you’ along with a goodbye is a good way to get used to it, after they asked for advice. So, when they said it the first time it genuinely scared Maugaloa but also impressed him as they were able to do it through their stuttering and flustered state. It's not something they say too often, with their actions speaking louder than words, but they like to at least before they go to bed or can't see each other again for some time.

Do they argue? How do they overcome them? You can't tell me they don't argue about the smallest of things like AC temps, hogging the blankets (Maugaloa's guilty of this), leaving lights on. It's their kryptonite in their relationship as they're both not used to not just living with others partially but being this close to another person in a meaningful relationship. They tend to let it die down and prevent the argument going further than petty insults from Maugaloa, and passive aggression from Sloan. They keep their space for a moment until the other apologises and they work through a compromise together. Sometimes, with them both being hot headed to a degree, they need that chance to de-escalate things between them. 

[maddmuses]

Barb (バアブ)

(art credit: jorongbak)

Date of Birth: April 4th Age 712  Place of Birth: Sector NW, Housing District 48, Planet Vegeta Species: Saiyan Height: 5’0” Weight: 110 lb. Family: Vegeta IV (Son), Vegeta III (Consort), Snip (Father), Anach (Mother)

Personality Barb has a personality that some would say is “typical” if she were a lower-caste saiyan, often being described as brutal, and deriving pleasure from inflicting violence. Destruction and suffering seems to be her favored way of getting what she wants, which is likely what suited her to become Queen Consort to Vegeta III. However, due to being raised around the elite caste, she has a bit more of a nuanced perspective. At her core, Barb is a protective being who wants nothing more than to do just that for those who she determines to be worthy, and her people broadly once she had become queen.

Generally speaking, she comes off as gruff and rough, but the reality is made evident when around her son Vegeta IV. She is often seen carrying him around, and lauding praise onto the child. Barb has also been known to have a tender spot in her heart for powerful saiyans (including one mid-level soldier turned general)… Which is to say, that her husband is not included in this spot. While she does respect strength, though, her tolerance for pompous behavior wears thin quickly, prompting her to not take the likes of King Cold, or Lord Beerus, especially seriously.

Fiercely protective and domineering as a mother, Barb rarely allowed anyone to hold either of her sons, and continued the habit of carrying Vegeta around even after he was able to walk for about a year. Though described as “doting” and “over-parenting” by those who would mumble about her in private, anyone who was dumb enough to say it within her earshot was promptly found dead at the palace’s gate, bloody and beaten.

Her tail is particularly expressive, being somewhat long for a saiyan of her stature already, it often is an indicator of the woman’s mood when not tucked as a belt.

Biography Born in the lower castes of saiyan society, Barb had not had her power level assessed by the Saiyan Military Office until she was already several months old. Her reading was considered highly anomalous for a saiyan in her caste, and a saiyan infant broadly, with a reading of 406; at this point it was the highest infant battle power reading on-record, beating out Vegeta II’s reading by 2 points. Arguments were posed that this reading was not equivalent, as the king’s grandfather had been read at days old, compared to Barb’s being more than two months at that point, but the fact was that her power level was far above the Saiyan Military Promotion standard.

This standard was put forth and established that any triple-digit power level in an infant was immediately appropriated from parental custody and re-homed to the custody of high-class saiyans, with an exceptionally high opposite-sex saiyan usually being reserved for the “Royal Consort Program”. Raised among saiyan aristocracy, Barb was taught the fundamentals of an upper-class saiyan, particularly including the use of qi to attack and fly. As a part of the consort’s program, she would eventually fight other potential mates for the future king, in an attempt to maintain the battle power of the royal lineage, even with an outlier like Barb.

Over the years growing up as an adopted aristocrat, Barb had met Vegeta III a few times, and was consistently unimpressed with the crown prince, not simply his looks, but also personality, and battle power. Still, despite this, her patriotism toward her planet and kingdom was what spurred Barb onward. Not only would she be the strongest of their kind as the queen, but she would be an icon that the rest of their planet looked to as a symbol of strength, and her line would be the greatest in Vegeta's history, even if it lacked her name as a significant punctuation.

When completing her adolescence, and nearly completing her growth spurt, the Queen's Contest was held. A battle royale among the most powerful of Vegeta III's potential suitresses from across the planet, including saiyans roughly his age, to those with extremely high battle power. Though if being a saiyan was merely about power level, there would be no need to fight. No, the greatest warrior would serve as the most suitable queen for the future-king, harkening back to their original "Kingship by Combat" traditions.

As typical, the contest dragged on for several days, with Barb the eventual winner, and her designation as the king's betrothed came with it. Standing above a small mountain of broken bodies, all injured, some even dead, was a sight that would remain in the saiyan's cultural consciousness for the remainder of Planet Vegeta's existence.

Almost over night she was seen as an idol on planet vegeta, and any other planets under saiyan control. Men and women alike wanted her, if not wanting to be her, and the affair made of her wedding to the crown prince was broadcast even into Cold's Empire as a significant event.

During the next two years, Barb was exposed to additional courtly training by various saiyan nobles whose status had, inadvertently, become beneath hers as a result of her position as Queen Consort. As she learned how a queen was expected to act, she often resented the instructors, who she felt had contempt for her; even as a powerful saiyan, to many who believed that castes should be based on blood, rather than power, she was still little more than a low-class brute who was simply learning their rules and behaviors as an act, not sincerely.

There was truth to this. Despite them being married, Barb felt little affection for the pathetic excuse for a saiyan she had been betrothed to. Vegeta III was a weakling of a king, but his own father, the still-sitting King Nero, had only been able to father the one. Despite being of the royal line, the different between Vegeta and his father was significant, and as a result they had hoped that his specific generational weakness was anomalous, and a particularly powerful queen might rectify this. Despite their hopes being on her, Vegeta was something of a cruel spouse, hitting her and speaking in a belittling fashion toward Barb, she assumed as an attempt to compensate for his weakness. But retaliation would have been a crime of the highest order, an act of treason that would earn an immediate execution, regardless of if Vegeta III was the crown prince, or the king.

Through this quiet mistreatment, and repeated indignity, Barb found comfort in different thoughts. When she was 18 and her "dear husband" was placed on the throne in the wake of King Nero's death, she began to plot. She had developed something of a relationship with Nappa outside of their marriage, a fine arrangement for both parties as Vegeta III was also known to seek the arms of other women, and his position as a general had given her ideas.

A coup. Navigating the different factions within the palace and military, Barb hoped to eliminate any dissidents who would attempt to stop her, or kill her, when she challenged him for his right to rule in combat.

But the plan was changed when Barb became pregnant. She had Vegeta III's child, during one of the rare nights they laid together with the intent to create an heir. And through Vegeta IV being conceived, then later born, the queen's demeanor changed wildly. Not only was she the new crown prince's mother, but she had something, someone, to live for. Flaccid, threats of a charge of treason meant little to the saiyaness now, their son defied all previously thought logic with a Battle Power of 500. If Barb wasn't beloved by the people of Planet Vegeta now, she was for sure. The mother of the strongest in history, and a proper queen who ensured that the kingdom would have another ruler to preside over their prosperous empire into its next stage.

Loving and protective, she would openly warn her husband of the consequence of mistreatment. If any harm came to her, or her son, or even his words were too cross, he would be promptly killed.

For the remainder of her time living, she was a loving and doting mother to Vegeta, though she would die not long after her second son, Tarble, was born at the age of 24. Her death would come roughly a year before the demise of Planet Vegeta, though she would not be joined in hell with her people, as she had not participated with saiyan raids broadly. She would be among the minority of her people who passed onto heaven, though she was privately convinced it was hell.

Skills, Abilities, and Powers -Saiyan Physiology: As a saiyan, Barb has grown up on Planet Vegeta in a 10g environment, making her superhuman without any sort of martial arts or qi enhancement. She loves combat, and if she were ever exposed to a non-brutal training method that doesn't amount to adults abusing a child, she would likely enjoy training as well. All of her physical prowess is considered at least 10x that of a normal human. This also includes an enhancement to her olfactory, and a generally more "animalistic" range of abilities. --Zenkai: Like other saiyans, Barb's Battle Power and Physical Stats increase as a result of battle and injury, with a greater degree of growth occurring the more traumatic the battle is. This includes other adaptations that must be made both during and after battle. --Tail: Barb has a prehensile tail that is functionally a third arm. Though most saiyans become weakened when it's wrung and hurt, Barb's reactions to it being touched are not as severe. --Oozaru Transformation: When under the full moon, or in similar degrees of blutz wave exposure, Barb transforms into a giant ape-like creature, while experiencing a Battle Power multiplier of 10 times. She has trained herself to control this state, as is standard among high-class saiyans, so that they don't inadvertently destroy settlements, and can shepherd weaker saiyans during the full moon of each 8 years.

-Chi Manipulation and Generation: Setting-typical, her Power Level was 406 as an infant, but as an adult her Battle Power was roughly 16,000. --Qi Blasts --Qi Detection and Sensing --Flight --Telepathy --Telekinesis --Mental Manipulation

-Techniques: TBL

[abnomi]

⚠️ HUGE SPOILERS FOR BEACON PINES

hi im shy but i want to share some writing i did using the dialogue in beacon pines as a base... just expanding on conversations that happened in-game so that i can start writing my own stuff later :-] i wrote everything aside from the dialogue between sharper and kerr! this is purely exploratory, i wanted to explore the dynamic between them further.

this is the walkie talkie conversation that Beck picks up on her radio in chapter 5... the exchange was so fascinating to me and revealed so much about Kerr and Sharper and their relationship. made me rip off all of my eyelashes kind of

Chapter 5 - Dangers Big and Small; Radio Interference

Too angry to sleep, Beck tried dialing in with her radio set to see if she could find something interesting after her disapproving mother left her room. She had scolded her for her freshly dyed blue hair only moments before, to Beck’s discontent. How else was she supposed to hide the new gray hair she had grown just earlier that same day? She thought it made her look like some kind of mature academic, or someone who'd been through a rough office job of thirty years in a twelve-year-old’s body.

After channeling through random channels for about five minutes, she picked up on a signal. Someone was talking. The voice through the radio was strangely familiar… a somewhat nasal voice that at least a dozen in town shared, all eerily similar.

“Mr. Kerr? Are you there?” A Clipboard was on the line, a concerned and somewhat urgent tone breaking through the static. What could he possibly be requesting for at this hour? The desperation in his voice subtly got more evident at his second attempt to call. “Mr. Kerr?”

“Yes? I'm busy. What is it?” An annoyed William Kerr finally picked up, carrying a dismissive effect in his speech. He hoped this would be brief; he didn't have time for nonsense, and his urging impatience shone through in the way he spoke.

“Apologies, I have the founder on the line.”

Immediately, Kerr's attention was piqued. “Patch him through immediately.” He felt much more alert than before, heart racing in his chest. Even a mere mention of him without a name being so much as uttered was enough to send him into a fit of anxiety.

“One moment…” the Clipboard meekly replied.

Trying to compose himself the best he could given the few spare seconds he had, the hyena affably greeted the founder who was now on the other line, gleaming a honeyed presence. The man was able to switch between masks so effortlessly; it was like second nature to him. His adaptability was one of the few traits that had consistently served him well, especially in urgent cases like these.

“Hello, sir!” Kerr chirped, “It's so nice to hear from you!”

There was a pause. Kerr's mind raced in the space between; did he say something wrong? Did his words not come through?

“Skip the pleasantries.” Sharper Valentine was very straight-to-the-point; a man who always took himself very seriously, abiding by the high standards he put himself upon. He held his ego up twice as tall, his dense assertive confidence obscured all else and mismatched his temporary small stature. The irony of his voice being that of a child’s was always uncanny in the way it never aligned with how he carried himself. It was just as raspy as it was before, due to all of the smoking he did on a regular basis, throat scratchy and gruff. “What's your report on our new Lead Researcher of Deep Engineering?”

Beck’s focus on the conversation grew more and more as she processed what was going on, now even more so that they were talking about her mom. What were they doing with her?

Kerr responded a bit flatly to match the atmosphere Sharper had created. “Nelly Moedwil seems to be integrating nicely.”

Her name. Beck hearing her mom's name felt like getting hit by a truck. Now there was no denying it; something was wrong. She might be in trouble. These people can't be trusted.

“At this very moment, she's working to help us meet our deadline,” Kerr continued. “She offered to work overtime before I even had a chance to suggest it.”

“Excellent,” Sharper emphasized his next sentence, “and you have faith that she's capable of finishing the work left by her predecessor? Her work must be complete before the festival.”

“I will make sure she stays day and night until it's accomplished.”

Beck had to refrain herself from saying anything; she was in a state of shock. Even if she tried to speak, she was already stunned into silence, her throat tight.

“Good. You know how I feel about loose ends.” These words implied some ominous undertones. What could he possibly mean by that? Beck had to ruminate on this later, listening comes first.

Grimly, Kerr replied. “Yes, sir.” He'd dealt with loose ends before. At least he knew what to expect this time.

“Once she has finished the work, we need to make a determination regarding her… long-term prospects in the company.” Everything this guy says gets more and more suspicious. Every time Beck thought that it couldn't get worse, it did.

“Immediately, sir?” Mr. Kerr sounded concerned, feeling unsure and hesitant. He didn't want to argue, but something was telling him the chances this would work out well were low. “I usually have more time to fully bring people into the fold.”

“We are in the endgame, Bill.” The only one who ever referred to Kerr by that name was Sharper. The only man who knew his true identity used a nickname for a fake name. A fake of a fake. “After your failures with Dr. Prescott, I can't afford to take any risks.”

The emphasis put on the word “failures” felt like a punch in the gut to Kerr. Fully obedient and submissive to Sharper, he was determined to never let anything like that happen ever again. It was a fault of his to allow it to happen in the first place, a permanent stain on his image; a stain on his image to the man who had promised him everything he wanted, no, needed, of all people. “Of course, sir. No loose ends, sir. Once she finishes the work, she will either leave the office completely committed to Perennial harvest…”

Beck held her breath.

“...Or she won't leave at all.”

She felt lightheaded. Blood drained from her face, causing a chill.

“Perfect.” There was a distinct satisfaction in Sharper's voice. Every conversation was like a competition to him, and he had won this one; just as he always did.

Before Sharper could hang up, Kerr timidly offered a proposition that he had been waiting to give. “Sir, if I might suggest,” He swallowed and took a quiet deep breath, trembling slightly. “Maybe we should delay. Just for a bit.”

“Oh?” Sharper did not sound enthused.

Kerr felt a sudden surge of dread and regret overwhelming him, but his mouth kept running. It was too late to back down now.

“It's just… we seem to be rushing to hit this festival deadline, and rushing into some things has caused some…” He was cautious with his next choice of words, making sure he wouldn't make any remarks that could be interpreted as an insult. “... issues in the past.”

Whenever Kerr spoke to Sharper, he felt as if he was tip-toeing around landmines. Anything could set him off; the threat of consequences always loomed over the subservient fraud.

“I see…”

Kerr winced, knowing it was too late to take back his request. In a pleading voice, he added, “Please understand that I just want what's best for you. I'm eternally grateful for all that you've done for me.”

“Bill, I'll make this very clear for you.” His words felt like weights being dropped. Disapproval was drenched in his voice. “I brought you in to make things run smoothly, not to have opinions.”

“Of course, sir.”

His reply to his boss must have sounded more defeated than he intended it to, because he responded with an unusually encouraging reassurance. “Chin up, Bill. You are only a few days away from having everything you've ever dreamed of.”

Drained from the emotional rollercoaster of speaking with Sharper, Kerr finished off with a “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

[oblivions-dawn]

Caw :)

12, 23, and 28 for Vigdis AND Serana. Have fun <3

The way I SCREAMED seeing both of them mentioned together AUGH MY HEART

✑ How long have they been around? Do you know their birthday? Is their birthday the day you made them or another day? What do they think of celebrating birthdays?

The dreaded birthday question . . . So, I imagine that the events of Petrichor took a year, maybe a year and a half. Vigdis starts out at 26, and by the end of Breathless she'll be 28. She doesn't know when her birthday is--she only knows that she was born in the winter during a blizzard. She was born under the sign of the Serpent--I know, cliché, but it works with . . . well, her. And her story. She doesn't mention her birthday mainly because it was something her dad did for her, and it always made him somewhat sad because her mother died in childbirth. So, naturally, her birth coincides with death. Symbolic, now that I think about it . .. Serana, on the other hand, I've deemed to be. 1000+. I don't have a solid age since there's a lot of speculation around how old she is [trust me . . . . I looked], so I just picked something that made the most sense to me. I imagine she was 26/27 when she was turned. I also don't have a specific birthday for her, but she was born in autumn under the sign of the Lady. I doubt her parents celebrated her birthday much once she reached a certain age, so she, too, isn't that keen on it. Plus when you're a vampire, age doesn't matter at some point. Especially after sleeping through the majority of it.

✑ How would you describe their voice? Can they sing?

Serana sounds like Serana! Laura Bailey my beloved <3 I imagine she has a good voice [I've been told she does], although I personally think Serana doesn't like to sing. She would probably hum sometimes, though. She's more of a dancing type. Vigdis, on the other hand, has a low, gruff voice. Her accent would be similar to Frea's, as her father was Skaal and so was influenced by his speech voice/pattern. I think Vigdis has a surprisingly good singing voice, meant for those velvet songs that hit just below your ear. She doesn't sing either, though, as she doesn't really know any songs.

✑ How do they show that they care about someone? How do they express that they don't like someone?

Oh god LKJDFLKGJKLDFGLKDFG the better question would be is there anyone Vigdis doesn't straight up hate at first sight WHEEZE Since Vigdis is cold and guarded and very shut off, it's hard for her to show that she . . . cares. Alas, she does--she has! It was subtle, at first, but as the story has gone on, it's gotten more obvious, even if she doesn't acknowledge/admit it. She's very protective, often grabbing Serana or using her body to block oncoming attacks. She gets angry at Serana, who she thinks is too kind and naive. She's even started getting Serana's attention by gently brushing the back of her hand. It's a slow process, as she says one thing and then does another . . . but she's getting there. Serana is sassy and sarcastic with people she doesn't like or agree with, as we've seen when she interacts with Vigdis. She also gets angry because she cares, and she's very much . . . she's touch-starved. We've seen her touch Vigdis in ways that our favourite redhead normally wouldn't allow from anyone else, which to me is so significant because it shows the immense trust that's grown between them also shows how much they actually care about each other. Is my rambling incoherent yet am I still making sense I JUST CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THESE TWO FUCKING IDIOTS

[expensivetinfoil]

The Pale Blue Eye is a perfectly mediocre film. The actors are great, the script is good, but the filmmaking is somewhat basic, never allowing the story to have a real impact. Cooper makes strange choices—often deciding to go at things from the side, from a medium shot profile, rather than letting his incredible cast (Christian Bale, Timothy Spall, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Gillian Anderson, Robert Duvall, and more) take us further. It all feels very perfunctory...or better yet, since it's a murder mystery, very procedural. Christian Bale has one of the most expressive faces I've ever seen on screen, he can go big or small but he always brings you in. Here, his gruff visage is often obscured or hidden in the corner of the frame and the turmoil of the character is only known, not felt.

This is generally fine. It's a good yarn. It's the kind of movie you might catch on TCM at 3pm on a Tuesday. You watch it, enjoy it, and never think of it again. The problem, of course, is that movies cost so much more to make these days and there is so much more competition when it comes to where we get our entertainment. In 1946, the year John Brahm's The Locket was made, the average movie cost $665,000, which is equivalent to about 10 million dollars today. The Pale Blue Eye had a budget of 72 million... In 1946, the only way you could watch a movie was to go to the theater.

What then is the answer for a movie like this? Where can it live so that it can be a somewhat financially sound endeavor?

The Pale Blue Eye was made by Netflix but I saw it on New Year's Eve in a movie theater. And while the filmmaking wasn't anything special, it was a beautiful movie. The candlelight was achingly beautiful, especially in the context of the dark and gray and snowy exteriors. I wanted more of Bale but when we did get to see him, it was extraordinary—he's actually allowed age onto his face and the lines of time looked heavy on him (he looked older than Robert Duvall in some ways). Those two things, which gave the mystery story its needed weight, would be lost on one's brightly lit television.

All I can think is that we need to be incredibly inventive with small amounts of money. We need to pull rabbits out of hats and reinvent. We need to play, need to experiment. How do we tell good stories with craft and care but without massive budgets?

Edgar Allan Poe is a character in The Pale Blue Eye and the title itself comes from The Tell-Tale Heart. It strikes me that in this moment of cinema Hollywood is not unlike the narrator of that story. Their greed and capitalistic methods killed what was special about going to the movies—35mm film projection—away. Then they made too much entertainment accessible in our homes. They killed the experience and buried it beneath the floorboards.

And we all hear it beating nearby.... It won't leave us be.

[karin-ko]

Sweet Bean by Naomi Kawase

The film Sweet Bean directed by Naomi Kawase, released in 2015, portrays the discrimination and prejudice against people with Hansen's disease, while also depicting the warmth of human connection and the essence of living. It well illustrates how ignorance and misunderstanding can easily lead to discrimination, and how beautifully life can profoundly change through human encounters and connections. Among the films I've seen in this class, this one is definitely one of my favorites. It's a beautiful piece of work that leaves you feeling warm and positive after watching it. The music video for Hata Motohiro's "Suisai no Tsuki" during the end credits, shot in the same color palette as the film, with lyrics that seem to echo the feelings of the character Sentaro, perfectly complements the movie and is truly lovely. I highly recommend checking it out when you have the chance. It reminded me once again of the importance of expressing our feelings to our loved ones, as we never know when they might be gone.

This film marks the final starring role of Kirin Kiki, who portrays Tokue, an elderly lady, with her real-life grandson playing the role of Wakana, a middle school student who frequents a dorayaki shop. Despite their familial relationship, they were instructed by the director not to eat lunch together, as their characters were meant to be strangers. Also, Masatoshi Nagase, who plays Sentaro, the owner of the dorayaki shop, stayed in an apartment set during filming, frequented coin laundries and public baths, and ate convenience store bento boxes to immerse himself in the role. The dedication of these actors contributed to their natural and lifelike performances, which felt as if you were watching real people.

The characters they portrayed were warm and endearing, and their interactions were heartwarming. The gentle and kind exchanges between Tokue, who listens to the "voices" of everything around her, and the somewhat gruff but genuinely kind-hearted Sentaro, felt like a parent-child relationship and were delightful to watch. It was evident how much they cared for each other, with Tokue seeing in Sentaro the son she might have had if circumstances were different, and Sentaro seeing in Tokue echoes of his late mother. Their joy while making the red bean paste together was especially charming, resembling a real parent and child.

Even though Tokue yearned to become something more but was never allowed to fulfill that desire, her gentle treatment of those who desperately sought to be found by someone, as well as the kindness shown by Sentaro and Wakana without directing any prejudice or discrimination towards her, illustrates the warmth embodied by all the main characters. Like the bird that Tokue let slip away, each of them shared a commonality of being unable to break free from their barriers, which perhaps facilitated a deeper connection among them. Through their interactions, they each found warmth and beauty in their lives. The time spent with Tokue must have been brief but undoubtedly warm and beautiful, like the fleeting beauty of cherry blossoms, for Sentaro and Wakana.

The interactions between Sentaro and the middle school girls were a good scene where you could feel his gradual transformation through his encounters with Tokue. The ending scene where he receives Tokue's feelings, along with various tools bearing her name, and sells dorayaki under the transient beauty of cherry blossoms like her with a smile and listening to various sounds, is exceptionally beautiful. Tokue's words that there is still meaning in life even if one cannot achieve something, as we are born to see and listen to this world, must have been what encouraged him.

Furthermore, contrasted with the dark ambiance of the scenes set at night, the overall tone of the film was gentle and soft, accentuating the warmth of the characters and the beauty of the surroundings. The lush natural landscapes and meticulous portrayal of the dorayaki-making process, using close-ups and long shots, were breathtakingly beautiful. The subtle portrayal of the passage of time through the changing seasons depicted by the cherry blossoms and the characters' attire, along with the use of actual locations where Hansen's disease patients were once housed, immersed viewers in the story. Also, the scene where Tokue appears as a vision in the forest after her passing, with her coat visible in her room earlier, made it instantly recognizable as her, which was a nice touch.

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO MARE COSMIA, FUUTA KAJIYAMA. 🌗

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: garth Age: 26 Pronouns: he/him, xe/xem, it/its, she/her ooc contact: sumetal (tumblr), heinously (twitter) other characters in xc: chuuya nakahara / bungou stray dogs, futaba sakura / persona 5 royal, caster (merlin) / fate grand order, denji / chainsaw man

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

Name: fuuta kajiyama. Age: 20. Pronouns: he/him. Series: milgram. canon point: trial 2. (up to date). app triggers: bullying, suicide, internet witchhunts/callouts

personality: 

Violent, brash and temperamental- it’s easy to get the ‘gist’ of Fuuta’s character from how he outwardly postulates himself. He’s impulsive and rough, loud-mouthed and emotional, and comes across brazen, bold and extremely volatile. Because of this, one might assume that Fuuta is nothing but a bully and a meathead, but this is far from the truth; he is perceptible and charismatic, able to pull people to his side with his natural charm and his extremely strong, pervasive sense of right and wrong- after all, who would decline the words of someone who is fighting for justice? And justice is exactly what Fuuta fights for: he vehemently loathes wrongdoing, believing that others deserve whatever karma comes their way for their (perspective) crimes.

However, despite his rough-and-tumble exterior and the loud, cocksure attitude that he comes across with, Fuuta is in actuality quite a coward. He peacocks himself to hide his timid personality, and though is truly impulsive and speaks before he thinks, Fuuta has a heart that burns for fairness and equality, and he only does what he truly believes is right, even if he comes to regret it later. He can be anxious and fearful, especially in situations he is not acclimated to, and he often takes on a role of caring for other people, even if his gruff exterior tries to hide this more nurturing side of himself. Despite his charm, he can be lonely and self-doubting, even despite the good heart that lay beneath his chest.

something your muse struggles with:

-His anxiety. Fuuta is an extremely anxious and timid person who covers his tracks with loud bravado; however, it’s not especially difficult to tear down his walls.

-His temper. Yes, he has anxiety. Yes, he’s still a bit of a smacktalker- this can make it hard to get along with the young man due to his habit of a rough way of speaking to others and flippant attitude.

-His guilt. It follows Fuuta wherever he goes- and he’s still not sure whether or not he’s guilty or innocent, right or wrong, deserving of living or not.

your muse’s greatest strength:

-His sense of justice. Fuuta has a very good sense of right and wrong and will not hesitate to fight for what he believes is the correct course of action.

-His caring nature. Fuuta is actually an extremely kind-hearted person and therefore is not the type to simply walk by someone in need.

-His creativity. Fuuta is a creative and artistic person with an eye for the aesthetic, such as street fashion and street art.

history / background: 

Fuuta lived a relatively normal life, according to himself. While his parents divorced when he was very young- and he had scant memories of his mother as a result- he lived completely normally with his father and his older sister, both of whom he cared for, though he had issues with his father’s timidness, a trait Fuuta himself would inherit.

Though he had an interest in sports, Fuuta ultimately found solace in online gaming and social media, a place he would find comfort in and also his greatest source of anxiety. It’s implied through MILGRAM that Fuuta formed a tight knit group of online friends that shared similar interests as him, and that the group engaged in social media and gaming together. However, the group began to gain notoriety as, through whatever means, Fuuta’s own infamy grew.

Whether it was because of his interloping in the business of others or because of his prowess in gaming, Fuuta seemed to have developed somewhat of a cult of personality, and because of this he began to retaliate against those he feeled had wronged him and others. Using and abusing his internet fame and following, Fuuta would use callouts to attack those he believed deserved karma and justice, postulating himself as a hero among the scum. 

Unfortunately, Fuuta’s penchant for witchhunts went too far; one day, Fuuta found out that a young girl he had attacked online had committed suicide after Fuuta’s following ganged up on her after him. 

As a result, Fuuta was labeled a murderer for his large part in the untimely death of the girl, and because of this he was transported into MILGRAM as a part to sing his sins. Unfortunately for the young man, Fuuta was found GUILTY in his first trial, denying him a sense of relief and amplifying his anxiety and internal self-hatred as a result of what he did.

It was after this first trial- and his own GUILTY judgment- that Fuuta was brutally attacked by prisoner 010; though he was protected by another prisoner, Fuuta’s brutalization was so severe that he likely went permanently blind in one eye, furthering his depressive spiral and his detachment from reality.

Though voted INNOCENT in the second trial, it isn’t clear what- or how- Fuuta will develop.

powers / abilities:

-N/A.

inherent abilities:

-Athletics. Fuuta is a naturally athletic young man, having an interest in soccer. He’s pretty fit and has a good wealth of strength and stamina.

items / weapons: 

-N/A.

starting ability: N/A.

starting item: N/A.

extra: short king. Can we please crack his egg or

discord id: 76.82%#8223

Passcode: dipping this sopping wet meow meow into the ocean. songs are bangers btw

[epicspheal]

Top three gym leaders of each generation?

Hi there @ladyseychelles! Favorite gym leaders...let's see here Kanto 1. Blue: not much surprise here, Blue's going to end up in my favorites for just about anything he's applicable of. There's something really cool about having a gym leader with no defined type. Not to mention just seeing the demeanor change from Gen 1 to Gen 2 was just so amazing

2. Brock: admittedly this is more from the anime, but I just really loved the big brother mentor vibes he gave to Ash, and then May, Max, and Dawn later on.

3. Blaine: Again this is mainly because of the anime, but his battle with Ash was easily the best of the original series Johto 1. Jasmine: If there was a gym leader I would love to emulate, it'd be Jasmine. I really love the "silk hiding steel" personality of hers

2. Morty: So um...I'm a Morty simp. He was one of my first anime crushes like ever. Also, he trains ghost types which is one of my favorite types so I have to stan.

3. Clair: She's a badass dragon tamer with a Kingdra. That's all I have to say.

Hoenn: 1. Norman: So the gen 3 games were the first mainline Pokemon games that I ever got a chance to play and Norman was absolutely so hard for me to overcome. It took me so many tries (because I was a noob who didn't know what she was doing). Also, there's just something really cool about having to defeat your own parent for a gym badge. And he's a top tier dad in the anime (we don't talk about Pokespe!Norman...fuck Pokespe!Norman)

2. Tate and Liza: This is pretty much mainly because I really enjoy double battles a lot and getting to have double battles against two gym leaders was just super cool

3. Flannery: I adore her so much. She's just a new gym leader trying her best! That and as a kid, I just adored her outfit (I still do honestly) and wanted to dress up as her

Sinnoh 1. Roark: He's an adorable rock nerd. I like rock nerds, I like guys that look good in glasses. Plus seeing baby Roark as a kid in the anime melted my heart but also his story with feeling like he couldn't get his dad's respect

2. Maylene: This is from the anime but I absolutely adored her arc about learning to regain self-confidence especially after what Paul said to her. Plus her bonding with Dawn over their shared issues was really sweet

3. Volkner: I really adore his relationship with Flint (especially in the anime) but also I can relate to him being burnt out and bored of life. And also he has a Luxray. I have to stan anyone with a Luxray. Unova 1. Lenora: One of the toughest battles of Unova but also I just adored her being a badass nerd who runs a museum and is happily married. Minus the whole mammy stereotype controversy with her original design with the apron it just really meant so much to me as a black girl into Pokemon to have someone who looks like she could be in my family. And that outside of the fortunate design she wasn't a walking stereotype. A smart bookworm who had a loving husband and was tough? I adore Lenora a lot. 2. Clay: Part of this is because he is a ground-type gym leader and there just aren't a lot of ground-type specialists in Pokemon. But also I like his gruff but still, kind personality and the fact that the English localization gives him somewhat of a southern accent makes me happy since I'm from the Southeastern United States 3. Elesa: I really appreciated not only her toughness in battle but also how she tried to help Bianca out when her dad tried to force her to come home. That and also I really loved both of her gym designs. Kalos 1. Grant: he was honestly the toughest fight for me in XY. HIs gym is also one of the most creative I've seen in the franchise

2. Clemont: This was mainly due to the anime but I just really adored this little nerd so much

3. Ramos: He's a funny cute old man and I really liked his gym Alola (I know there are no gym leaders but I'll do the trial captains) 1. Kiawe: I thought his little challenge with the dancing Alolan Marowak was super cute. But also in the games, I just really felt for him trying to make his dream of dancing come true and getting fired from the supermarket...ouch. And then his relationship with his baby sister in the anime is just the cutest

2. Mallow: I enjoyed her difficult Totem Lurantis trial but her anime depiction was what really sold me on her. Between her mom's death and her dream to open up a restaurant she just really endeared herself to me

3. Mina: I just really enjoyed her "chill go with the flow, low key kind of stoned" vibe. Galar (probably the hardest one to choose since I genuinely love all of the gym leaders there) 1. Kabu: I really loved his catching gym challenge, the fact that the inner part of his gym has a whole track (I'm a former track andfield athlete). Plus he's from Hoenn and I love the Hoenn region. Also I really just enjoyed hearing his of stories him just always trying new things and that even though he has yet to become champion, he's still really respected and seen as the first major roadblock in the league

2. Raihan: Again I'm a sucker for double battles, so getting a chance to do those for the entire gym was cool. Plus I just enjoy his character of being fierce on the pitch but gentlemanly history nerd outside of it all. Plus he's a dragon tamer and I'm just a sucker for dragon tamers

3. Opal: Oh my I adore granny Opal. I said this on Twitter but she's in my opinion of the best well written female characters in the series. She's a strong gym leader to have held the position for 70 years, she's funny and extremely insightful and I enjoyed the quiz format she had for her gym since there were consequences to getting questions wrong.

[insomniumstella]

i’ll fight for you, always

bucky x reader

summary: two idiots on a run (after civil war) are falling in love and there is no going back at this point

warnings: some violence, might see a couple swear words but i’m not sure

word count: 2,908

author’s note: it’s my 21st birthday today and due to all my friends + boyfriend being busy i’m celebrating alone so i wrote this. hopefully it’s not too confusing but if it is follow this font for memories/events of the past and this font for events happening now. also, follow the dates, they’re kind of important i guess. originally i meant for this to be a bucky x reader smut but i’ve been real sad lately so fluff it is haha, however if someone wants a smutty fic i could reuse the sex parts for a different story. oh, oh, i almost forgot, if you like to read with music in the background, favorite crime- olivia rodrigo fits this great, not because of the words necessarily but the sound and vibe kind of, i’m not sure anymore. oh, and till forever falls apart- ashe & FINNEAS (especially for the ending!) fits great too. anyway, hope you enjoy.

2016.12.17 11:36pm

The room is heavy with tension, thick and eerie, and strangely, she feels like prey being chased by a hunter. It’s silent too, as the man in front of her rummages through his bag like a mad man. His body is stiff and tense as he mindlessly picks up pieces of clothing, throwing one after another on the ground, neither appearing to be the thing he desires to find. Cursing under his breath, he raises his head to look at her, and a chill runs through her veins. His stare is so intense that when their eyes meet, she doesn’t notice her hands instinctively wrapping around her body tighter as if to hide from his gaze.

“I could switch rooms.” She suddenly blurs out, raising her eyes to meet Bucky's. He doesn’t say anything at first, examining her face, and heavily sighs.  

“Please don’t.” His voice is gruff and tired when he answers.

“It’s not-“ She stumbles over her words. “It’s not a problem, really.” James doesn’t answer for a while. Instead, he kicks the bag off to the side and sits down. The motel rooms they have to stay at are far away from the luxury of the compound she’s used to. It took y/n a while to adjust to the rusty showers and the unpleasantly hard beds, often littered with bed bugs, something so common in cheap motels, she’d wonder how these places are still operational. But their room for tonight is not that bad. Despite only having one bed, it doesn't smell heavily of cigarettes, the shower is clean for once, and upon further inspection, the bed appears free of bedbugs, bloodstains and is actually somewhat comfortable.

“Do I scare you?” 4 words are not much, but the amount of guilt and confusion they cause is unmeasurable. She knows James Buchanan Barnes is a broken man. He knows it too, but even though he’s not one to want pity, she can’t help but feel sorry for the soldier. Can’t help her heart twisting in sorrow each time she hears him screaming, shouts of terror and despair followed by shaky, shallow breathing as he rises from the nightmares. Can’t help the anger each time they’re out in public, and the eyes of strangers fill with fear when they catch sight of him. No chance in hell she can help the affection that overtakes her when she compliments him once in a while, and he blushes so hard, it’s impossible to refrain from touching his forearm as if to say “you’re safe now”. So no, he doesn’t scare her, but the Bucky she saw tonight is unfamiliar and maybe even a little intimidating. His stance is more firm than usual, taller too, eyes darkened with rage because he’s furious, and it shows, anger radiating off of him in long, dark waves. It’s clear he’s enraged from his taut muscles and his tightly closed fists. Evident from the shattered glass in the room next to them, the bruise on Sam’s cheekbone, and the mess of scattered clothing on the floor next to the bed they’ll be sleeping in. He knows that she knows he’s mad, so he makes no attempt to hide it; there’s no point to. She saw everything anyway.

“No.” She answers firmly. “Usually not.” This part she almost whispers. Not usually, no. Usually, Bucky is calm, collected, his movements calculated, and for the most part, he keeps to himself, only answering when someone asks him something directly.

“Usually?” He rises from the bed, taking his sweet time to walk up to her until they’re standing eye to eye and his tall figure dauntingly towers over her. His voice is so low and rough she feels insecure and small compared to him.

2016.12.17 8:43pm

“I don’t care, Buck. It’s not safe.” Steve’s trying to stay calm, but his furrowed brows tell a different story.

“It’s not your decision to make.” James glances at the shattered glass around them. He’d done something he’s vowed not to do; he lost control.

“Dude, leave it alone.” Sam sights, plopping down on the sofa.

“You’re not The Winter Soldier anymore.” Steve adds.

“Except for the part where I am.” James answers, turning a knife in between his fingers. Stopping for a moment, he throws it at Steve, missing the blonde’s face by a few inches on purpose, and watches as the knife sticks in the wall. “You saw what that therapist did, how he got inside my head, you saw it all, and yet you stand here talking absolute nonsense about how I’m not The Winter Soldier anymore when you damn well know he’s still in there.” Bucky’s mad, real mad. No part of his brain can wrap around the fact Steve’s not willing to let him fly to Wakanda for treatment.

“We’re criminals.” Sam chimes in, taking a swig of beer. He’s been nursing the bottle for a while, and with each passing moment, James wants nothing more than to smash the stupid bottle into the wall. “Every government in the world is looking for us. War criminals, baby.” Bucky doesn’t care about scaring Y/n. Not anymore, anyway. With a few long, committed strides, he’s next to Sam taking the stupid beer from his hands, he gives him a death glare and smashes it into a wall behind him.

“Usually you’re a little calmer.” To that, Bucky can only chuckle. He’s not sure about what to do. Without thinking the action over, James lets himself cradle her face in his flesh hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He’s so gentle and careful, you'd think that if his touch was a little rougher, she'd break into a million pieces.

“Usually, I am.”

2016.12.17 8:46pm

“I’m not doing this. I’m not losing you again.” Steve joins Sam on the sofa, rubbing his temples as if he’s in deep thought. “Not again.”

“The thing is, you won’t be losing me.” Bucky reasons. “We’ve talked about this before. You’ve agreed this would be a good thing for me before.” He loses his temper, accidentally raising his voice, before talking in a lower volume again. “I’ll be in Wakanda. It’s safe there, you’ve said so yourself.”

“Things have changed. You don't think a massive military plane wouldn't attract attention?”

And as if Sam couldn’t annoy him further, he speaks up before Bucky has the chance to reply.

“Drop it.” He says in a stern voice, standing up and walking up to Bucky. “You’re an idiot for even bringing this up.”

"I'm no idiot." Abandoning his morals, Bucky punches Sam in the face so hard he stumbles, touching his cheekbone, and notices drops of blood.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t switch rooms.” He tries to ask, but it comes out more like a command.

“I won’t.” She doesn’t mind him speaking in a more stern tone, in fact, it’s strangely welcome. The tension is so heavy once again, someone might as well be able to cut it with a knife. He withdraws his hand slowly to watch for any kind of reaction, but she just kind of stands there; her aura is calm and neutral. Her brows are not scrunched anymore, her lips not pressed together. Her eyes, however, do not dare to leave his, but they’re static and almost cold, so even though Bucky’s an assassin with years of knowledge about people's body language, he feels utterly lost and confused about y/n right now. She’s the one mystery he cannot yet solve. After years of abuse, touch is not something James finds welcoming, but somehow y/n makes him feel like a man so hungry, so ravenous he’d travel to the end of the world if that meant he could feel her skin on his. He hates admitting that y/n makes him feel touch starved, when most days, he won’t even let Steve hug him.

2016.07.29 2:11am

Bucky’s presence on the balcony is a welcome one as he joins her for a late-night cigarette.

“You know these kill you?” He speaks up, voice raspy and tired.

“Most things do.” She turns to look at him, throwing the put-out cigarette butt into the ashtray on the floor. His face is painted with sleep, hair messy, under-eye bags so heavy and dark she wonders if he got any sleep at all.

“Nightmares?”

“Something like that.” James leans on the railway. “It’s beautiful out there.” He says, and she loudly laughs, truly laughs, for the first time in quite a few months.

“I especially adore the trashcan over there.” She teases, lightly poking him in the ribs. “The raccoons next to it are a great addition.”

“Wasn’t talking about the backyard.” James whispers, a slight smile playing on his lips. She almost wants to say something snarky again but shuts up when his eyes leave her own to look down at her lips. Taking a shallow breath, she thinks for a moment before asking.

“And what exactly were you talking about?” He second-guesses his decision for a split second, but then his hands are on her waist, pulling her in closer. The touch of metal on her skin is so slight, y/n wonders if it’s even there, so she puts her own hands on his to let him know it’s fine; the metal arm doesn’t bother me, and yes, please pull me in closer. She moves her hands to his shoulder once he leans in, enjoying the warmth of his forehead against hers. Squeezing her waist slightly, he brushes his lips against hers, but the moment is cut short when his hands travel to the back pockets of her jeans, and James pulls out the pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Got it.” He holds them up, and y/n shakes her head in disappointment.

“Great.” Her tone is snarky again.

“We should go to bed.” She states.

“We should.” He agrees, but his words don’t quite match his actions as he moves in closer and glances at her lips. “Should get some sleep.”

2016.08.13 6:57pm

“This is your super-secret-magic spot?”

“My super-secret-magic spot?” Bucky chuckles, taking the helmet from her and hangs it on the motorcycle’s handle.

“Your super-secret-magic spot.” She nods.

“Don’t remember calling it like that.” He shrugs and walks up to her. Forest is all she can make out, wondering what makes this particular forest so special that Bucky wants to drive here most days. “C’mon I’ll show you.” Bucky takes her hand to guide her through a steep trail, letting y/n walk in front of him. He grabs her waist every once in a while when she trips, and she seems grateful for it every time, turning her head to look at Bucky, a nervous smile on her lips. When they finally reach the spot Bucky’s looking for, they’re standing on the edge of a cliff, and the most breathtaking view appears in all its glory. It’s all trees, and mountains, and beautiful flowers around them. She catches sight of birds freely roaming the sky, and a pang of jealously overtakes her because they’re free and nothing stands in their way as they fly around the tall trees and even taller mountains. It reminds her of her old life at the compound, when she too, felt like a free bird; able to go wherever, whenever, drive off to far, far away places, knowing her home will be there, the same place it always is when she gets back, and the people she calls family will be waiting, always happy to see her, and she’ll be able to immerse herself in the work she truly loves, especially since her work is important, her work saves millions of people and her work gave her a purpose in life. It’s the first time y/n realizes why she’s been feeling so dreadful lately; she doesn’t have a purpose anymore. It’s not a pleasant realization.

“Not a man to obey laws?” She gestures to the bright red 'DANGER! KEEP OUT' sign behind them.

“Suggestions.” He corrects, and she tilts her head. “And it doesn’t apply to us.”

“Why not exactly?”

“We’re superheroes.” Bucky blurts out in a sarcastic tone.

“Fallen ones.”

“Still a super-soldier.” He reminds her, and she punches him in the arm gently. The sky is painted with gorgeous hues of orange and gold, tones of red bleeding into the sky as the sun sets. The weather is pleasant too, as the wind on their skin is more than welcome after an excruciatingly hot day.

“Doesn’t make you immortal though.” Bucky shakes his head no, but his laugh gets stuck in his throat when their eyes meet. A slight smile plays on her lips, but she looks nervous and sad in a way.

“What?” He questions, and she quickly snaps out of it.

“Would be a shame to lose you.” She shrugs and looks at the sunset. He sits down on the gravel, legs dangling off the edge of the cliff, and she glances at him wide-eyed before she abandons all inner security systems and sits down herself.

Taking her arm, Bucky wraps it around his waist, to which y/n can only chuckle. “You won’t.” Placing his own arm around her waist, he looks up to meet y/n’s eyes. “And now I won’t lose you either.”

“You’re aware that if we’ll fall, we’ll fall together?” y/n teases.

“I’ll catch you if you slip.” For the first time since she's known him, Bucky’s voice is playful and light. She scrunches her nose, and Bucky laughs, truly, loudly laughs as if he’s the same man from the 1940s, and y/n can’t help but relish in the beautiful sound of it. It’s the first time she’s hearing his true laugh, but she already can’t get enough of it. “You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Not sure if I can hold 200 pounds of pure muscle.” She teases him again.

“220.” It’s her turn to laugh now. “Super soldier, remember?”

“Should be in bed.” Hesitantly, y/n places her hands on his neck. “All nice and cozy.”

“Should be.” Bucky places his arms on her waist and pulls her in so close no space is left between them. “But if went to sleep right now, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” Y/n doesn’t have time to question what Bucky was talking about because he captures her lips in a kiss. As Sam said, they’re war criminals, baby, but Bucky doesn’t want to rush; he wants it to be slow and passionate, so he does just that. They’re always on a run and always out of time, but this is a special moment, a moment long overdue. The moment y/n has been anticipating for months, the moment she spent days dreaming and overthinking about. It’s everything they both imagined it too; well for the most part. They’re still on a run, still in a beat-down motel and still wearing dirty clothing because getting laundry done as a criminal is harder than expected, but the butterflies in her stomach and the comforting feel of Bucky’s warm body pressed against hers makes the bitter, the bad, and the ugly seem insignificant. Bringing his flesh hand to her face, Bucky deepens the kiss, licking her bottom lips slightly as if to ask for permission; without a doubt, the permission is granted, and his tongue finds its way into her mouth quickly. You’re all I want, she thinks when their tongues fight for dominance, until she ultimately lets Bucky win, and they pull back for air. James stops for only a moment before his lips are back on hers, moving in perfect rhythm again. The kiss is rougher this time, more passionate, with teeth clinking together, and Bucky can’t help the urge to bite her lower lip. He runs his tongue over her lip after biting, and she has to move one of her arms to his stomach for support because Bucky makes her so nervous and excited, her legs tremble slightly. When they pull apart for the second time, both of their hearts are beating rapidly, and Bucky gives her an unsure smile. “Wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

“No.” She shakes her head laughing. “Wouldn’t have.”

“Glad I did though.” He admits, stepping away completely.

“Yeah.” This time, she’s the one to bring him closer. Placing her hands on his chest, y/n looks up at him. “You’re all I want.” She voices her previous thought. The statement makes Bucky nervous and scared, but in all the best ways; she’s all he wants too.

“Be careful there, doll.” He gestures to himself. “This is the Winter Soldier you’re speaking to.”

“It won’t be easy.” She glances at her feet, and Bucky shakes his head in agreement. “And it might never get easier.” Her hands slide down his chest to find Bucky’s before she’s intertwining their hands together. “But I’ll fight for you.” And that alone makes Bucky’s heart twist. He’s not sure why either. “Winter Soldier or not, I want to try.”

“Good.” That is all Bucky can utter out. He almost tries saying something else, but deciding against it, Bucky leans down to capture her lips in a kiss again. “Good.” He repeats when they pull back. “Because I’ll fight for you too, always.”

[fireladybuckley]

It Isn’t in my Blood

Fandom: 9-1-1 Prompt:  Inspired by @kitkatpancakestack‘s “what if Buck finds the pamphlet“ post Pairing: Implied future Buddie - Evan Buckley (Buck) x Eddie Diaz Word Count: 2,330 Summary:    SPOILERS - A 5x01 missing scene - Buck finds the pamphlet on anxiety and panic attacks given to him by the cardiologist at the hospital and encourages Eddie to tell him what happened. Eddie breaks down and admits that maybe not everything is okay.

Beta’d by @firemedicdiaz​ Thank you babe <3

Read it on Ao3

             “I’ll just be a minute, you staying here?”  Eddie asked, hopping out of the truck and looking over at Buck.

              “Sure, sounds good,” Buck said, yawning.  Eddie nodded and closed the door, hurrying up the sidewalk as Buck settled back in his seat.  It had been such a long, chaotic shift and Buck was exhausted; Eddie just had to drop off a form at Christopher’s school and then they were going for breakfast.  Buck figured he had time for a short nap and shut his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come.

              After a while it became apparent that Eddie was going to be longer than he’d said, and Buck was getting restless.  He grew bored quite easily of late, so he began poking around Eddie’s truck - changing the radio station, fiddling with the air freshener.  Absently, Buck hit the button on the dashboard that opened the glove box in front of him and looked down into it, wondering if there were any travel brochures left in there from a previous road trip that he could look at.   Instead, he pulled out a very different kind of pamphlet that looked like it had been shoved in carelessly and as he read the front, his eyebrows contracted with a small frown.

              Understanding Anxiety and Panic Attacks - Recognize the Signs and Symptoms

              Underneath the pamphlet were a couple of folded sheets of paper.  Upon quick inspection, Buck saw that they were discharge papers from the hospital dated a few days earlier with Eddie’s name in the patient field.

              Buck’s heart squeezed painfully as he stared at the slightly crumpled papers and then back at the pamphlet, realizing what it must all mean.  Buck had been startled earlier in the shift when that doctor had called out to Eddie, but Eddie had been very resistant to talking about his trip to the hospital.  Buck had dropped it for the time being as they had been chaotically busy the entire shift, but he had always intended to grill Eddie about it later.  Now, he suddenly understood what must have happened.  He knew from experience how scary panic attacks could be, how they could feel like a heart attack, especially if a person had never had one before.  

              He remembered how uncomfortable Eddie had looked when Buck had tried to confront him.  Buck knew how much Eddie relied on everyone thinking he was this stoic, unmoving rock, because it allowed him to hide his feelings and keep everything bottled up.  Buck was well aware that he himself and Bobby were the only two people that Eddie ever opened up to, and it made Buck’s heart hurt as he considered how shaken up Eddie must have been by the whole incident to be so resistant to telling him about it.

              Buck sighed, wishing he had known, thinking about how he could try to help Eddie as he skimmed the pamphlet.  He wanted to help, hating the idea that Eddie could be going through this alone.  He distinctly remembered how Eddie had tried to drag Buck out of his horrible depression and anxiety after the fire truck had crushed his leg and he wanted to be there for Eddie in turn.  Buck knew that Eddie had Ana, but if Buck was right about their relationship, he suspected that Eddie would be uncomfortable talking to her about his emotions.  He’d always had the feeling that while Eddie clearly liked Ana and they got along well, their relationship wasn’t particularly deep and Buck knew that Eddie had to really trust someone before he would open up.

              Lost in his thoughts, Buck was still looking at the pamphlet in one hand, the discharge papers held loosely in the other, when Eddie returned.

              “Alright, that’s all done, let’s go t-- Buck, what the hell?”

              Buck jumped as the driver’s door opened and Eddie swung himself inside, only to freeze when he saw what Buck was holding and reading through.  Buck started to stammer as Eddie snatched the papers and pamphlet out of his hands and threw them back into the glove box, snapping it shut and staring straight ahead, his chest rising and falling quickly, his jaw set.

              “Eddie, I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop, I just found that in the glove box and I couldn’t help looking at it…”

              “It’s fine.  It’s nothing.”  Eddie’s voice was clipped, and Buck could tell he felt vulnerable and was not pleased about it.  

              “I mean, it’s not nothing,” Buck replied cautiously in a coaxing tone.  He hadn’t been planning on talking to Eddie about this before breakfast, but then there was no time like the present.    “Is this why you were in the hospital the other day?”

              Eddie shot him an annoyed look, because it was obvious that Buck had seen the discharge papers so the question was redundant, but then he sighed and nodded.

              “Yeah.  I’m fine though.”

              “Eddie… you’ve been through so much.  There’s no shame in having a panic attack--” Buck began, but Eddie started the truck and cut through his words sharply.

              “I don’t panic.”

              Buck frowned as Eddie pulled away from the curb and began to drive without saying another word.  Deciding to give him some space for a few so he could collect his thoughts, Buck stayed silent as they moved through the streets.   To his surprise, Eddie pulled up in front of Buck’s apartment building and parked, still looking straight ahead.

              “I… thought we were going for breakfast?”  Buck asked slowly, not sure what to expect.  Eddie seemed to steel himself, then glanced towards the building and shut off the truck.

              “I know you’re not going to let this go, and I don’t want to do it in public.  Let’s go up to your loft.”  

              Eddie’s voice was gruff, but Buck was grimly pleased that he wasn’t resisting.  Buck knew that Eddie knew Buck would not let this slide, would not let it rest until he was sure that Eddie was okay.  Taking his lead, Buck agreed and hopped out of the truck, following Eddie up to his building and then leading the way into his apartment.

              “Let’s get this over with,” Eddie said in a resigned voice as he moved into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, Buck pulling himself up and sitting on the counter across from him.  “What do you want to know?”

              “What happened?” Buck asked simply.  “I know you went to the hospital, you were seen by a cardiologist, and now you have a pamphlet on panic attacks.  What actually happened?”

              Eddie gnawed the inside of his lip, still refusing to look at Buck as he mulled over what to say.  He was staring at the lower part of the counter in front of him, Buck’s shoe dangling in his line of sight, though he wasn’t seeing much.  All he could see in his mind was that damn suit store, the feeling of the tightness in his chest making him feel claustrophobic and deeply uncomfortable.

              “I don’t know.  We were trying on suits, and then I just… collapsed.  I thought I was having a heart attack,” Eddie summarized it as succinctly as he could, but he knew it wasn’t going to be enough for Buck.

              “Okay, but what triggered that?” Buck asked, his voice gently prodding.  “Did something upset you, or…?”

              Eddie shifted uncomfortably, and Buck’s lips curled in a small, sad smile.  

              “Eddie, it’s just me.  You can talk to me.  You know you can trust me.  Please tell me what happened.”

              For a brief moment, Eddie lifted his eyes and met Buck’s gaze.  Buck’s expression was earnest, concerned, and Eddie knew he was right.  If there was anyone in this world he could trust, it was Buck.  Still, he hated talking about his emotions, especially ones he felt like he couldn’t control.  And yet, he felt like if he didn’t share it with someone he may explode because he was starting to seriously wonder what was going on in his brain.

              “I… you know I’m not good at this,” Eddie muttered, and Buck nodded.

              “I know, but… you were there for me when everything with my parents was going on.  You told me it was okay to feel what I was feeling, and to share it.  I want that for you, too,”  Buck told him gently, and Eddie sighed.  He felt like a hypocrite; he had told Buck those things, and he had meant it.  But for some reason when it came to himself, he had different rules.

              “The last time Chris and I wore suits was at Shannon’s funeral,” Eddie said, averting his gaze once more as he began to speak.  “I guess that was already putting me on edge.  I couldn’t stop thinking about her death and everything that had happened right before she died.  I just wanted to get out of there.”

              Eddie paused but Buck didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt.  Buck had a feeling that if Eddie stopped talking he wouldn’t start again so he waited patiently, keeping his mouth shut.

              “I think Chris was feeling it, too, but I was too distracted to notice.  And then… then the sales guy called Ana Chris’s mom.”

              Buck tilted his head to the side, looking over at Eddie, slightly confused.  Eddie and Ana had been together for nearly six months, it was only natural that at some point she would be mistaken for Chris’s mom.  But Eddie seemed shaken and Buck wasn’t sure he was going to continue.

              “What happened then?” Buck asked quietly, trying to gently prompt Eddie to speak again without spooking him.  Eddie had gotten a somewhat haunted look in his eyes and Buck could tell he was getting upset.  He was tempted to tell Eddie to stop, not wanting him to be distraught, but he sensed Eddie really needed to get it out there, so Buck would do everything he could to coax it out.

              “I- I genuinely don’t know,” Eddie said, shaking his head.  “Hearing that, it just… it intensified my thoughts about Shannon, and thinking of Ana as Chris’s mom is just - just so far beyond where we are in our relationship, and I- I…”

              Eddie was starting to get visibly upset and Buck slipped off the counter, moving over to stand beside him in case he needed support.

              “It made me realize that m-maybe I don’t want-- maybe things aren’t going so great, or something.  I don’t know.”

              “And then?” Buck prompted gently, feeling his heart break as Eddie glanced at him, clearly upset.

              “And then… I don’t know.  I don’t panic,” Eddie said stubbornly, though as he thought back to what had happened, he let out a long, unhappy sigh.  “But… I guess I panicked.  I don’t know.  I felt overwhelmed, and my chest got tight and I couldn’t breathe… I got really dizzy and fell over, I thought I was having a heart attack.”

              “Panic attacks can be really scary,” Buck told him, trying to reassure him.  “They can definitely feel like heart attacks.”

              “I don’t panic,” Eddie repeated, scowling at the floor.  “I never panic.  Not in the military, not when Shannon died, not when you nearly died several times…”

              “Eddie, you’ve been through a lot,” Buck reasoned, trying to brush off the last part of the sentence, as though it wasn’t a big deal to him that his near-death experiences were one of the things Eddie considered most upsetting.  “Do you think the shooting could be part of this?  Or is it just your relationship?”

              Eddie shifted uncomfortably again, not responding, and as Buck watched him, he saw tears start to pool in Eddie’s eyes, despite Eddie continually refusing to make eye contact.  

              “Are you okay?” Buck asked quietly, reaching out and touching him, gripping Eddie’s forearm lightly in a gesture of support.   This one little touch seemed to have caused him to come undone, however, and Buck saw his expression contort, his lips pressed together tightly as he tried and failed to stop himself crying.

              “No,” Eddie finally blurted out, seemingly completely against his will.  “No, I’m not okay.”

              Buck’s heart broke and he immediately reached out to embrace Eddie, giving him a chance to pull away if he wanted.  When he didn’t, Buck wrapped his arms around him and held him as Eddie choked into his shoulder, trying desperately to stop himself from outright sobbing.  It was rare that Buck had seen Eddie cry - he hadn’t seen it since Shannon’s death - and Buck wished he could take Eddie’s pain away, wished he could make the world right for him again.  

              After a few moments Eddie squirmed in his arms and Buck got the message that he was uncomfortable so he pulled away, but he didn’t go far.  Eddie seemed determined to not meet his gaze, furiously wiping at his eyes, and Buck gently rubbed his back, sensing that he really wanted comfort but was trying to stop himself from allowing it.  They stood like that for a while, until Eddie’s attempts at stopping his tears dissolved and he took a shaky breath, letting them slip down his cheeks as he pulled himself together.

              “It’s okay to not be okay sometimes.  You’re going to get through this,” Buck told him, his hand stilling in the middle of Eddie’s back.  “And I’m gonna help you get through it, if that’s what you want.”

              Eddie swallowed, sniffing, as he listened to Buck speak.  He’d always gone through things alone.  He’d always thought that was the best way to do it.  But in that moment, standing there, knowing he had Buck’s full love and support behind him, Eddie started to wonder if maybe having Buck at his side would be a much better option than going it alone.   Eddie nodded slowly, glancing at Buck for a moment before looking away, nodding again.

              “Yeah,” Eddie took a shaky breath and looked over at Buck, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope in his heart.  “That’s what I want.”

-----------

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[emeraldhazeart]

For the farming sim game: 🥔, 🍋, 🍅, aaaand 🍐 for FoMT and Stardew! (I had a hard time picking questions lmao these are all really fun)

Aww, thank you 💕 I'm glad people are enjoying them.

🥔(Potato) - Favourite non-romanceable character

FoMT:

Is it any surprise that I pick Harris? 😅 He was just another NPC to me originally, but over time I've really grown to love this big Teddy bear.

If Harris was a bachelor, though, then I'd choose Barley/Mugi. He's such a sweet, kind old man. I want to adopt him as my grandpa, please.

Nearly everyone in Mineral Town feels like family to me, at this point 😅 I love (almost) all of them.

SV:

Kinda hard to choose just one, tbh. I like a lot of the side characters. Linus is a sweetheart, and Clint reminds me somewhat of Harris.

But I think I like George the best. Grumpy old man who warms up to you gradually as you show him kindness? Check. Tragic backstory? Check. Genuine heart of gold beneath his gruff exterior? Check.

🍋(Lemon) - Least favourite character

FoMT:

I'm sorry, I just don't like Won/Huang. His first event - where you meet him at Zack's, and he ogles Karen and gives her preferencal treatment because she's pretty - just left a really sour taste in my mouth. And it doesn't help that he's quite arrogant and so obsessed with money.

SV:

Does Morris the Jojamart manager count? 😅 No? OK, then.

Probably Mayor Lewis. He refuses to settle down with Marnie, even though she clearly wants to, because he's "worried about his reputation"?! Big red flags there, Marnie! And besides, what kind of mayor uses town funds to commission a golden statue of himself instead of putting that money back into the town through, say, repairing the bus service to the city?!

🍅 (Tomato) - Favourite and least favourite festival?

FoMT:

Since I've already talked about the Animal Festivals and the Horse Races, I'll mention another event I really love: the Harvest Festival.

The whole town getting together to cook a giant potluck, with everyone bringing something along, has such a warm, homey vibe for me. I really get a sense of community from this festival. I love it, and all its variations across the games.

Least favourite is probably White Day/Valentine's Day. It's a non-event if you're not high enough with anyone. And if you're high enough with enough candidates, you have to hang around on your farm most of the day waiting for them to arrive. I want to get on around town and the mountain on my daily routine, not sit around at home waiting all day.

SV:

I think the festivals are sadly lacking in this game, especially after all the interesting events that HM/SoS has to offer.

My favourite of the few available is the Stardew Valley Fair, because you can interact with a lot of the stalls, and because its the only festival where your farming actually comes into play.

My least favourite is probably Spirit's Eve: after you've done it the first year, there's really nothing to do in subsequent years.

🍐(Pear) - Favourite rival pairing (Canon or non-canon)?

FoMT:

Karen x Rick is a brilliant pairing. So is Gray x Mary. Both of them feel like they complement each other really well.

Non-canon: I'm really growing to like the idea of Ann x Kai. I feel like they'd have some really good chemistry.

SV: No rival pairs in this game, alas, so we'll have to go with non-canon.

I think Harvey x Penny would be a sweet couple. Probably extremely traditional and low-key, but I think they'd work well together.

I'll answer your other ask separately, since this has gone on quite a bit 😅

[monstersandmaw]

Tell us more about your inquisitor!! I would love to hear about him(?) and Dorian

Ok, here's the second of the two asks I got about Ciúin thank you thank you thank you (His name is pronounced like 'queue-inn'). I've talked about him a fair bit before, but I'll do a new post now for the sheer, self-indulgent fun of it! Thank you.

He, like Lein, means a huge amount to me for all sorts of reasons not really related to the game itself, and he's one of the few characters of mine who really does live rent free in my head all the time. His story has had a few versions over the years, but here's my latest 'canon' version, as of 2021.

(I've also written for him before, and if you want a sfw angst-fluff-fest story with him and Dorian, you can read that here on my AO3) Also the immeasurably talented @hanatsuki89 drew him for me and you can find that here Alright, here he is. For tonight's other post with more photos, see this one.

And a close up (please ignore the horrible Skyhold pyjamas):

Ciúin is quiet, reserved, and a bit gruff, but he has an affectionate heart and will laugh freely around people he feels close to. Outside of the limitations of the game's hair options, he has very long, black hair that falls almost to his waist, and no side-shave.

He's actually a quarter Tevinter, with his grandfather being a low-ranking (now-disgraced) Tevinter magister, who fell in love with an elven slave and risked everything to free her instead of selling her when he fell on hard times in the Magisterium, and had to sell almost everything. She was taken in by Clan Lavellan, and her son was born a few months later. Ciúin tends to keep his heritage quiet on the whole, given the distrust in the South of Tevinter in general.

His half-elven father died when Ciúin was quite young, and he was sort of raised by everybody and nobody in the clan after that. He helped out where it was needed most, and slept alone near the halla most nights. He’s a spectacularly good rider and loved caring for the halla. His Red Hart mount with the Inquisition is called Conker.

He was an apprentice with the Clan's blacksmith (hence choosing June’s vallaslin, the Dalish god of craftsmen) before his magic developed quite late at the age of 14, at which point he reluctantly began to train with the Keeper in his spare time so that he didn’t lose control of his magic and hurt someone. He found he had to become her First when he was 19, since they had no other mage and he was pretty talented.

As is the case for many Dalish clans, his clan was attacked a fair bit by opportunistic humans, which made him wary of them, but they continued to trade and interact anyway. Unless his life depends on it, he rarely uses his magic (unlike Dorian, who will happily use it for everything), preferring to do things by hand. Vivienne finds this provincial and endearing, and Dorian is somewhat confused, but they can both see that Ciúin’s not going to change his ways…

He's panromantic and demisexual, and before he unwittingly falls for Dorian, he's only ever had one relationship.

More miscellaneous facts include:

His vallaslin (tattoos) go all the way down the centre of his chest, branching out towards his shoulders, and down over his hip bones as well. He also has a similar design to the one at the centre of his forehead going right up his spine, from the small of his back into his hairline. He will freely admit that the most painful bit to have done was his lip and throat.

Prefers savoury to sweet, and doesn't like fish

Hates ale and beer but enjoys liquors like brandy, elven fruit spirits, whisky, etc. He's a truly miserable drunk though, so it's best if he sticks to his limits.

Gets on really well with Bull and the Chargers, and ships Scout Harding and Professor Kenric really hard.

He's very, very unapologetically Elven about a lot of things, especially about his beliefs/religion, though respects people with different beliefs. For example, he admires that Dorian considers himself Andrastian while simultaneously loathing the hypocrisy of the Chantry and all it stands for.

Ciúin's 28 at the start of Inquisition

He's surprisingly nervous of mabari (who adore him, especially the one Cullen acquires in Trespasser), but he kind of wants to adopt one anyway

At Skyhold, he helps Blackwall with his carpentry projects - making June puzzles for the children of Skyhold - when he gets (or needs) a moment to himself. He can also be found in the forge quite a bit, making new weapons and armour for his friends in the Inquisition.

Can't cook. Don't ask him to. You'll get charred sludge.

Any more questions, please feel free to ask. I will literally talk about him (and Lein) until I keel over.

I'm also probably going to do some writing based on my gameplay, so if that's of interest (it'll be a 'Lavellan x Dorian' story with lots of plot and ambient description because it's me), please also feel free to let me know. If not, thank you for tolerating this long post about my Dalish elf.

^him scowl.

Also boop the halla snoot for good luck if you made it to the end of this post :)

[doyelikehaggis]

"if you die, I'm gonna kill you" Jamie/John 😁

Seeing the look on Jamie's face, John rolls his eyes goodnaturedly and offers him his most assuring smile. Failing to convince him with that alone, he tacks on, 'It's going to be fine. You do trust me, don't you?'

Ever predictable, Jamie makes that same Scottish noise of 'Mmphm' then decides it doesn't get his worries across plainly enough.

'It's them I dinna trust,' he says.

Before he can get further, John swoops back in, 'With good reason, of course, they are, after all, trying to kill you.' Jamie opens his mouth again, presumably to further try to implore what a terrible idea he has come up with, but John shakes his head. 'Which is exactly why I'm going instead of you. They will not do anything to me in such a public setting, and that way, we can find out a little more about what it is exactly you have done to incur such a wrath from them.'

'I havena done anything to them,' Jamie protests, but his eyes dart away in uncertainty, a slight crease between his brows as he tries to recall if that's the truth or a mere hope.

John downs the last of his drink. It's settled somewhat better having him swished it around the glass for the last ten minutes, but it still holds a faint earthy taste that, combined with the slight gravelly texture of it on his tongue, he can't help thinking means the glass was not properly cleansed.

Still, the ephemeral burn is soothing to the system. Especially knowing what he's about to walk himself into. The things he's willing to do for Jamie Fraser. He should be glad that Jamie is not the kind of man to take that advantage and use it to his most selfish gain. No, Jamie has made it very clear, not just today but most definitely in the last few hours, that he would rather be run through a dozen times than ask more of John than what he thinks a friend reasonably should.

He sets his glass down and goes to take his leave. A firm, warm hand on his wrist stops him. He turns his head to look at Jamie and finds himself not wanting to leave the sharp blue gaze that pleads with him.

'Just...' Jamie grits his teeth and sighs through them so that it's nearly a low whistle of prickling irritation, disguising his concern. Badly. 'You'll be careful, aye?'

'Of course,' John promises. 'You know, this isn't my first time sneaking around in order to get information.'

'Aye, and I remember how terrible a spy you were when we first met.'

John chuckles, but Jamie's mouth only twitches. Covering Jamie's hand with one of his own, he gently says, 'I will be fine. If anyone has reason to worry, 'tis me, about you.'

At least that gets him a gruff, begrudging laugh from Jamie. His eyes seem to follow John's hand when he retracts it.

'If you die, I'm gonna kill ye,' Jamie promises firmly, his eyes twinkling with the sincerity. John has no doubt in his mind that he would find a way to bring him back from the underworld simply to keep his word and send him back after a few choice words. 'So, best come back alive, eh?'

John agrees. He isn't quite able to stop his own eyes from dropping to Jamie's hands when he lets go of his wrist and pats his chest like a fellow soldier sending him off into battle. Only, his touch lingers nearly as long as his gaze, and his fingers press hard enough into his coat that he can feel the pressure just over his heart.

'Midnight,' John repeats, and Jamie nods once, his expression sobering as he drops his hand back to his side. 'If I'm not back by then--'

'I'm coming to find ye,' Jamie finishes, a dark glint in his eyes that says if John isn't back in his sight by the agreed time, nothing will stop him from coming after him.

[bookishofalder]

Pretty Girl - Four

Summary: In which a call for help leads to Flip and Pretty Girl facing their feelings.

Warnings: Smut. 18+, NSFW, Swearing, PIV. WC- 5,506

A/N: Admittedly very excited to write the chapter. Suffered a few days of migraines this week, which now has me questioning every word I’ve written, but I hope you enjoy. To those who comment and follow regularly, you guys truly bring me joy and I appreciate you ❤️

Flip was dreaming in flashes. The events of the week prior, in the file room with (Y/N), replaying themselves over and over. Flash, her wide eyes. Flash, the way she wet her lips. Flash, the brief look of disappointment when they were interrupted. He’d been ruminating on that look, however neither of them brought it back up again-not after the meeting, where she’d sat next to him with her foot shaking uncharacteristically, nor on the silent drive home. It just...sat in the air between them, a balloon neither of them wanted to pop.

Already suffering from poor sleep quality, Flip was now sinking into a permanently exhausted state with the addition of nightly dreams that kept him on the edge of consciousness. His brain seemed determined to keep thoughts of (Y/N) at the forefront regardless of the time of day. He had been in love a few times in his life; with women who were kind, eager to become the housewife of a detective. But he never felt for anyone like he did for (Y/N). The protectiveness, the desire to know everything about her, to know what she was thinking...it was overwhelming. And so the dreams kept him tossing each night. And while he might have stayed like this, fighting them until he slipped into a deeper sleep, he was instead abruptly awoken when the phone next to his bed began a shrill ringing.

“Christ,” He mumbled, jerking up and rolling over. The clock on his bed stand read two-thirty in the morning. He grumbled in displeasure, intending on ignoring it. When the ringing didn’t cease, he groaned and reached for the receiver, his voice gruff with sleep when he barked, “Zimmerman.”

“Um, hi Flip.”

Flip immediately tensed, sitting up as the sound of (Y/N)‘s voice came down the line. His mind was already running ahead making the worst assumptions about why she would be calling so late on the weekend. It wasn’t a surprise when his voice came out slightly choked, “Pretty girl, are you alright? Are you safe?”

Her voice sounded somewhat strained with regret, “I’m safe, really. I’m so sorry to bother you so late-“

“Just tell me what you need, darling.” He interrupted, twisting to drop his feet to the floor and casting his eyes around the dark bedroom for his sweatpants.

She sighed, “The power went out here a few hours ago, and I’m not sure why. But with the weather tonight it’s absolutely freezing in here now. And my brother in law is away for work,” She took another breath, which Flip recognized was her attempt at hiding how cold she was, “I feel silly calling you.” He smiled, pleasure blooming in his chest at the realization that after her brother in law, Flip was the next person she trusted to call in the middle of the night.

Flip hummed slightly at her words, “No reason to feel silly-I’ll be over there in ten, take a look for you.” A voice in the back of his mind questioned whether this was a wise choice, but he pushed it back, ignoring it. She needed him.

“You don’t have to do that. If you could maybe just tell me what to look for on my, uh, breaker? Electric panel?”

Now he couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, “I’m coming over, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

A quiet thank you met his ears as he put the phone down. Flip switched on the light and stood, making his way around his room to put on his sweatpants and sweater before stopping in the bathroom to freshen up and splash his face with water to wake up. The combination of cold water and mint from his toothpaste helped accomplish this. Excitement flooded within him at the realization he would get to see her so soon.  

Pulling his shoes on, he considered if there was anything he should bring. He knew she probably had a toolkit but wondered if she would have a high powered flashlight. Deciding to lean on the side of caution, he grabbed his own from the kitchen drawer before sliding on his rain jacket, grabbing his keys and heading out into the cold night. It was rainy, a combination that meant the roads were especially tricky to drive on. His ten-minute drive was closer to twenty, tension building in his stomach the closer he got.

He was worried about being alone with her, of the risk of crossing a line. Worrying she would ask him what she had in the file room.

“Are you sure you aren’t keeping anything from me?”

How did you confess to loving your best friend, when they were the only good thing in your life?

When Flip pulled his truck onto her street, he noticed straight away that it was darker in her neighbourhood than on the main road. Glancing around at the houses, he saw no lights on, not even on porches. Parked in the driveway, Flip looked at (Y/N)‘s dark house as he stepped from his truck, then around the street. It was eerily dark, even the streetlights were out. So it had to be a power outage from the weather and not an issue with her breaker.

Hopping up her front steps, Flip rapped on the door softly. After a moment, the door opened to reveal his friend smiling shyly, a flashlight in her hand. “Hi Flip, come on in. Thanks for coming.”

She stepped back and secured the door while he removed his jacket and shoes, shaking some rain from his hair. “Hi, darling.” He looked around at her then, drinking in her casual appearance.

Her hair was falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her face clear of makeup. She wore a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms with an oversized CSPD sweatshirt. Flip felt his stomach fill with heat at the sight of her looking so...radiant. Innocent. Soft.

“Got some good news, and some bad, darling.” He said after a pause.

She gestured for him to follow her into the living room. Glancing around the cozy space, he saw she had lit a few candles along her fireplace mantle to bring some light to the room. Even in the dim light, he could tell the space was decorated entirely by her. Her personality shone through even in the choice of wallpaper.

(Y/N) leaned against the back of her couch, hands gripping it as she gazed up at Flip, “Always bad news first.” He wanted to reach out and smooth the little pucker between her brows.

“Well, looks like the whole neighbourhood is experiencing an outage, no lights-not even the street lights.”

She sighed heavily, “Great, so not something that can be fixed right now-meaning I woke you up for nothing.” Dropping her head into her hands, he heard her give a little grunt of despair.

Flip smiled down at her, amused. If only she knew he couldn’t sleep anyway. “The good news is nothing is wrong with your breaker. And now that I’m here we can get you set up for the night so you don’t freeze. It’ll probably be out for a while.”

She peered up at Flip through her fingers, eyes assessing his grin. “You’re not annoyed with me?”

Flip forced himself not to step closer to her, “No, darling. Now, let’s get a fire going.”

They worked in silence, the only sound the distant rain and occasional blasts of wind. Flip stacked the firewood, thankful her fireplace was large, while (Y/N) laid out the newspaper strips and kindling for him. Once he had the fire roaring, Flip assessed the room.  

The comfortable looking couch was set back from the fireplace, a coffee table in the centre. Standing, he dragged the table out of the way before coming to the couch and pulling it toward the fire. It took a minute, as it was a heavy son of a bitch, but after some finessing he was satisfied it was close enough without being unsafe for her to sleep on and keep warm. He’d wanted to avoid having her sleep on the floor.

While he’d been moving the furniture, (Y/N) had disappeared. He took a moment to survey the setup, then bent over the fire and took the poker to adjust the logs. She returned several minutes later, pillows and blankets in her arms. She dropped them over the back of the couch, then glanced up and met Flip‘s eyes. She paused, standing nervously, hands twisting together absentmindedly. “Um. Can I get you anything? Milk? Water?”

Flip probably should just thank her and make his way home, he’d done what he could for her. He could easily leave now. Instead, he nodded, “Milk would be nice, thanks.” Spinning around, she hurried away to her kitchen, leaving Flip alone again. He considered his next moves. He could just drink the milk in one gulp and then go home. Only...he wanted to stay. Even if just for a short while. The thought of spending time with (Y/N) that wasn’t during their drives to and from work thrilled him. It couldn't hurt to stay a little longer.

He settled himself on the ground, leaning his back against the couch and crossing his legs comfortably. The warmth from the fire was welcome; it was chilly inside her place.

(Y/N) reappeared, padding across the carpeting, “Here you go,” Handing him his glass, Flip took it and watched as she joined him on the floor, copying his pose so that her knee touched his leg. His heart rate increased.

He grabbed one of the larger blankets and carefully settled it over their laps. They sat in silence for several minutes, each watching the fire dance before them as they sipped their drinks. Flip heaved a sigh of content. “Always loved a good fire.” He admitted, smiling down at her.

“Mmm, me too. Listen, Flip,” Turning to face him, he saw her mouth pressed into a thin line. She tucked her legs back and propped one arm onto the couch. Flip met her gaze steadily, prepared for her to apologize. “I’m really sorr-“

Flip shook his head, cutting her off, “I’m glad you called. I don’t mind, and I can tell you’re more upset than you’re saying.”

Her eyes dropped, looking down into her drink before taking a sip. “I-I’m not a fan of the dark. Silly, I know.” She gave a little laugh that didn’t suit her. Flip could sense she was uncomfortable, tired and still cold. He hated to see her looking so self-conscious, unhappy. It lit something within him that was almost animalistic in its intensity.

“It’s not silly, (Y/N). I don’t like it much myself.” He replied, taking another drink of his milk, finishing it off. “You need to stop apologizing to me all the time, haven’t I told you I could never be upset with you?” When would she start to believe him? He gave her a reassuring smile while his hands gripped the empty glass, attempting to keep himself from reaching out to tuck her hair back or stroke her cheek.

The light of the fire revealed the way her cheeks flushed deliciously at his words, and suddenly she was looking everywhere but at Flip.

“I want you to know, Flip,” (Y/N) shifted, mirroring his position by gripping the glass she held, “You mean the world to me, and I’m thankful every day to...to call you my best friend. You take such good care of me, never make me feel bad...always know what I need,” Her words were rushing out, soft and breathless as she stared down into her drink, “Most men would have probably just told me to start a fire and go back to bed, but you just come straight over and-“ She gestured around to make her point. Slowly, her eyes moved up and met his gaze.

Flip turned her words over in his head, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. To stall for time, he reached over and took her glass from her hands. Setting both on the floor behind him, he came to a decision. Conceding to the desire to touch her, he took her small hands into his own. He ran his thumbs across the soft skin of her wrists, relishing in the contact.

“I like taking care of you, darling. You do so much for me and give yourself no credit. You worry every time you need something yourself,” He searched her eyes as he spoke, wanting to catch any expression that passed through them, “I like spending time with you. Making sure you’re safe, and I-well, you’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you.” He broke off when a hot tear slipped down her cheek and onto the back of his hand.

Her eyes were a storm of emotions as she looked at Flip, tears leaking out, her lips quivering. His whole chest tightened as he watched her. He automatically released her hands, raising his to cup her face. He brushed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears gently, before meeting her gaze again.

The air in the room seemed to evaporate around them. Electricity shot through Flip’s entire body, and he couldn’t have said who moved first, just that one moment he was looking from her (y/e/c) eyes to her lips, and then their lips pressed together. Flip felt like he’d burst into flames, and he gasped at the sensation.

(Y/N)’s hands had moved up from her lap, now holding the collar of Flip’s sweater and pulling him closer as they kissed. He gripped her face, fingers in her hair, nearly moaned at how soft her lips were against his. Instinctively, his tongue swiped across them, and she responded by parting them, allowing him to slip inside her mouth. He groaned loudly at the overwhelming taste of her, of the heat of her mouth. He'd never tasted anything so fucking perfect.

When she whimpered loudly, it caught Flip entirely off guard. Though heat pulsed straight to his core at the sound, it brought him back into his mind and he jerked back suddenly, breaking the kiss.

(Y/N) hadn’t been expecting his sudden movement, so when Flip had pulled back and her grip on his shirt didn’t loosen, she only ended up falling into him. Her eyes peered up at him, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as she leaned into his chest. She panted, “Wha-?”

Flip was trying to catch his breath, to clear his head. He’d just kissed his best friend. They were alone in her house and they had kissed, and the entire situation was terrifying to him.

He didn’t think he could stop if they kept going.

“I’m sorry, I-fuck, pretty girl, do you know what you do to me?” He growled, his hands still holding her face. Her eyes widened further as he spoke. “Do you realize how much I love you? How fucking perfect you are?”

She was trembling uncontrollably, “Flip, fuck I-did you say you love me?” Shock crossed her face, her mouth falling open into an ‘o’ shape as she processed what he’d said.

Damn it all, he thought. It’s out now. “Are you kidding me? Sweetest, most beautiful woman I ever met.” He huffed, never looking away, “(Y/N), I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you came out of that bathroom, afraid of that damn spider. Keep falling harder every day. You drive me crazy, pretty girl.”

His heart was in his stomach and his mouth had gone dry, but it felt good to admit it out loud, to tell her about the feelings he’d been holding back for so long. She was silent for a long moment, just staring at Flip in complete disbelief. He braced for whatever she was going to say, promising himself that he wouldn’t regret ever telling her the truth, even though his heart might burst right out of his chest.

He hadn’t expected her reaction; when her mind seemed to catch up with itself and the surprise disappeared from her face, replaced by something that had Flip catch his breath. And then her lips were on his again. She was released his collar to push her hands into his hair, whimpering as she pressed her body against his in a frantic flurry of motion.  

Flip, though caught off guard, wasted no time in returning the fervour of her kiss, deepening it by sliding one hand further into her hair and pressing her face into his. He licked into her hot mouth eagerly, enjoying the little moans and whimpers that slipped out of her as she kissed him back. After a moment, he dropped the hand that wasn’t woven into her soft locks and gripped her waist, tugging her closer. (Y/N) moved, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him fully.

“Fuck,” He growled when her hips, settled right where he wanted her, ground into him, desperately seeking friction. “Pretty girl.”

Another whimper, “Love it when you call me that, Flip.” She tugged his hair and Flip groaned again, his entire body on fucking fire for this woman. Did she truly not realize the effect she had on him?

He released his hold on her and slid both hands under her sweater, ghosting across her soft stomach as he continued to pepper kisses onto her cheeks, her jaw, down her neck. His hands climbed higher, brushing the undersides of her breasts, his dick twitching as he realized she wore no bra beneath the bulky sweater. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, to suck and bite marks into her skin as she moaned for more, but he needed to make sure, absolutely sure, she wanted this.

With a great effort, he pulled away, his hands stilling on her bare waist, and said her name. Before he could say more, she was cutting him off, eyes bright.

“You big, grumpy man. My rough, tough detective. I love you too,” She ground her hips down again, pulling a growl from deep within Flip. Combined with her words, the effects had Flip slowly coming undone, his clear mind fogging up with thoughts of her, her body, her pleasure. “I wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid of losing you. I think about you all the time, did you know that, Flip? Do you know I lay in my bed every night and picture you? Touch myself and it only takes a minute to-“

“Fuck,” He thundered, interrupting her and kissing her again, “Just tell me what you want-I’ll give you anything, everything. Tell me it’s okay-“

“I need you, Flip. I’m yours and I need you,” She accented the words with another swirl of her hips, Flip’s cock now straining against his sweatpants painfully, “Fuck me all night and stay in the morning, Flip.”

His heart filling with joy, Flip had heard what he needed. The next moments were spent frantically undressing one another-first her sweater; Flip’s eyes on her delicious tits as they bounced around while she stood and shimmied her pyjamas and underwear off. He drank in her beautiful, perfect body, all soft curves and flushed skin, as he kicked off his pants.

“Come here, pretty girl,” He rasped, pulling her back into his lap and groaning when her heat skimmed across his cock as she settled. Flip smoothed a hand up her back, bracing her carefully, and then lifted himself, rolling them so that her body lay on the blanket beneath them, her hair fanned out around her. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. Gonna taste you, okay?”

She whimpered her permission as he began his journey downward, taking his time to suck marks into her skin that he would lave over with his tongue to soothe. His hands found their way to her breasts and began to pinch and squeeze, rolling the peaks between a thumb and finger and groaning against her skin when she cried out in pleasure at the sensation.

“Oh god, Flip!” She moaned loudly when he took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue moving over it before he switched to her other breast. His hands slid to her hips, stilling their attempts to seek out the friction he was thus denying her. He trailed his tongue down her stomach, lowered himself to the ground between her legs and kissed the sensitive skin of her thighs, leaving more marks. He felt his cock protesting between his body and the floor but ignored it when he came face to face with her slick centre, already glistening for him. Framed with trimmed, soft curls, it was the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.

“So fucking wet already, barely even touched you,” Massaging her thighs, he tilted his head up and met her eyes over the swell of her breasts. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Now put your hands in my hair while I taste this perfect fucking cunt.”

Her hands had barely threaded through his locks before his tongue was licking a long strip from the bottom up. Flip watched in delight as her entire body jerked in response, her head dropping to the floor, back arching. A long, low moan escaped her, and then he dove in.

Flip hummed at her taste, perfectly sweet and entirely her, turning him on even more. He licked everything, sucked on her sensitive clit until her legs began to shake, and then repeated it all over again. Occasionally breaking away to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh and revelling in the way she cried out his name each time. He never wanted to stop.

More of her juices flowed for him as time passed, as he edged her closer to her peak and then eased her back, teasing her without remorse. He wanted to hear her beg for more.  He wasn’t disappointed when, after pulling away the third time, her head popped up, “Flip, please, please let me cum. I fucking need to cum, you’re so perfect, I’m so close I can’t,” She broke off with a desperate whine.

Flip grinned, “Love hearing you beg for me, pretty girl,” He slid two fingers inside of her dripping heat at the same moment he wrapped his lips around her clit. He heard her head hit the floor as she screamed out, obscenities, his name, incomprehensible whines. He only had to thrust his fingers three times, curling them up each time they sunk into her before she came undone.

He was enraptured by the sight of her orgasm, the way her body jerked and tightened, her hands pulling his hair viciously as his name spilled from her lips. He worked her through the crest of her pleasure, humming against her to draw it out and drinking down everything she gave him. He thought he could die a happy man right there, drowning in her.

“Flip, fucking hell!” She cried out one final time, her cunt clenching around him when she became over sensitive to his ministrations. He eased back, kissing her thighs and licking gently at her folds as she came down, her hands dropping from his hair. He could have stayed there for hours, but his cock was protesting. Carefully moving, he brought his body up and lay over top of her, bracing himself on his elbows to keep his weight off of her as she caught her breath.

Flip growled at the sight of her blissed-out expression and kissed her hungrily, sloppily. She moaned, tasting herself on his lips. He leaned back up after a moment, “You still with me, pretty girl?” He gazed at her in concern, hoping he hadn't gone too hard.

A goofy smile split her face, “I’ve never cum that hard in my entire life, Flip Zimmerman. I’m pretty sure I’m on another plain right now.” He laughed, nuzzled her neck and ground his hips down, pressing his cock onto her thigh.

“You feel what you do to me?” His voice was low, “Been thinking about you for fucking months. Every day, all day, it’s just you. ”

“Flip,” (Y/N)‘s voice was breathless beneath him, her hands back in his hair, “Please, need you inside me right now, need to feel you stre-oh FUCK!”

He had slammed into her at her words, unable to hold back a moment longer. Splitting her open until he bottomed out, and then he stilled, panting, and checked in on her again. She was deliciously, dangerously tight around him, her walls already fluttering. She was crying out but nodding, seemingly unable to form words but wanted to convey to him that he could move.

“Good girl, just tell me if it’s too much. If this,” He slammed down again, earning another yelp, “is too much.” And then he began to pump, one arm braced on the ground while the other gripped her hip. He thrust into her wet cunt mercilessly, his eyes always on her face, watching for any change, any indication that she was in pain, but he saw only pleasure. Her screams only drove him on, encouraging him to move harder, to take what she so wanted him to and make her his. It was the best sex of his life, and Flip never wanted it to end.

When he felt himself getting close, he slowed his pace, kissed her once again, and then pulled back. Her heavy eyes watched as Flip, still deep inside of her, came to kneel and then he lifted her hips, adjusting her legs to one side, arms hooking under them. The new angle already had her whimpering before he began to move. She was so tight around him; he could see himself buried to the hilt inside of her and groaned at the perfect, obscene sight.

“Just,” He could barely speak, he was so turned on, “Tap my hand, if it’s too much, darling.” He knew she would tell him if she needed him to go easier, but he needed her to know she was safe with him, that her pleasure was the most important thing to him.

“Fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuck-“

With a roar, he was moving, his hips beginning a brutal pace now that he had the leverage of being on his knees. Her hands twisted into the blanket, tits bouncing as Flip hugged her legs and fucked into her as deep as he could. He repeated her name over and over, the only other sounds in the house that of skin hitting skin, the hot, wet noises her cunt made as she took his length, and her cries for more, harder, for him.

He felt her tightening around him after a short time, walls fluttering and getting wetter as he drove his hips into that spot over and over, unrelenting. “Going to cum for me, pretty girl?”

“I, fuck, Flip, I’m so close-you’re fucking filling me up oh god...”

“Cum, it’s okay, cum for me, please.”

As if waiting for him to ask, she instantly seized up at his words, and Flip almost went over the edge right there when her pussy clamped hard, her body jerking as the wave broke, and her pleasure peaked. He focused, holding off his own orgasm to chase her through hers, to drag it out until tears were in her eyes. His movements became sloppy, only slowing when he felt her begin to relax.

He had briefly wondered if he could keep himself on the edge, try to get another orgasm out of her. But then her voice cut through the air, firmer than it had been all night, and derailed his train of thought.

“Flip, please cum inside me, please, need your cum, please.”

“Fuck, fuck!” He cried out, slamming himself one, two, three more times, her words pulling him over, over, right off of the cliff and into oblivion. He kept his hips moving as he emptied himself inside of her, “Sweet girl, take it, fucking take it all.” Flip moaned, pumping every last drop of his seed with lazy thrusts, (Y/N) whimpering at the sensation of being filled. He had never cum like that in his entire life.

Though tempted to collapse, Flip was cautious as he lowered himself, kissing her stomach, breasts, neck, and then meeting her lips again. His tongue licked her mouth once more before he gripped her waist and rolled them. Now he lay on the floor with (Y/N) on top of him, head on his chest. Her walls still clenched around his cock. They both panted, catching their breath in comfortable silence.

Flip was clutching (Y/N), one hand rubbing gently into her lower back. His thoughts were thundering back, though they were happy. The realization of what had changed in the last two hours was making his heart swell in his chest. With their more primal needs satiated, his mind wandered. Because while that had been the best sex of his life, it was far outshone by the fact that his best friend had told him she was in love with him, too.

Flip grinned, and (Y/N) lifted her head to meet his eyes when she felt his movements.

“Happy with yourself, detective?” She panted, returning his grin with her best smile. Flip grabbed her waist and gently pulled her up, a little groan escaping each of them when his cock slipped out of her. Now level, Flip was able to lean up and kiss her, a chaste peck.

“Pretty girl, you’re the hottest fucking woman on this planet,” His voice was gruff from overexertion, “I feel like the luckiest man.” He continued, earning a happy little giggle.

“You say that like you didn’t just make me cum twice like it was easy.”

“Darling, I can make you cum all night if I want to. Just say the words.” He kissed her forehead softly.

A little whimper escaped before she could catch it. “Not saying I’m against the idea, but I need to use the ladies' room.” She made to get up but Flip held her tighter, stopping her. He wasn’t ready to be apart from her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready, not anymore.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered. He repositioned her as he sat up, leading her legs to wrap around him and her arms to circle his neck. (Y/N) bit her lip as she let Flip raise them both from the floor, his hands sliding down to sink into the flesh of her bottom, holding her up. He carried her to the bathroom, kissing her between following her directions to the blue-tiled room.

He set her down on the toilet, then turned to the sink, squinting in the dark. One candle lit the room, and once his eyes adjusted he saw the neatly folded wash clothes on the vanity. He turned on the water and, knowing it would be cold, wet the cloth quickly before taking it to briefly wipe himself. He rinsed it and turned to (Y/N), who was still sitting on the toilet, her eyes following his every move.

“Did you pee?” Smiling at her comfortingly when she shied away from the question, “Pretty girl, let me take care of you.” He brushed his hand across her cheek affectionately.

“I did, yes.” She murmured. Flip nodded, then pushed her legs apart. Taking great care to be gentle, he ran the cool cloth along her folds. Ensuring to only move in one direction. She sighed in content as he cleaned her up.

Tossing the cloth into the sink, Flip picked her up again and moved them back to the living room. “You ever going to let me walk again?” She joked, clutching him close as he settled them down onto the couch. (Y/N) curled against him, one hand threaded in his hair. He reached down and pulled the blanket from the floor, covering their bodies, and kissed the top of her head.

“Meant what I said, darling.” He spoke into the night, his hand trailing up and down her back in soothing motions as the fire continued to warm the room, bathing it in a gentle glow.

The fire illuminated her eyes when she looked up, “I did too, Flip. And I-I don’t want to be just friends anymore.”

Flip nodded, one hand on her cheek, thumb brushing across the soft skin, “No, pretty girl, neither do I,” He agreed. They exchanged a look then that Flip would remember over everything else that happened during this utterly perfect night.

It sealed the love they’d been expressing that night, a look that told the other, I love you. I’m never leaving. You are everything to me.

“Get some sleep, beautiful. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

She snuggled in at his soothing words, a low moan of content rushing out before she closed her eyes.

For the first time in a long while, (Y/N) and Flip each fell asleep within minutes. Wrapped in one another’s arms, they would stay there until the sun came up.

Flip didn’t even need to dream that night.

Did you enjoy this chapter? Please consider reblogging or commenting—likes are basically just a bookmark!

Tag list ✨ @tashastrange89 @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @morby @pradaxstyles

[elliepassmore]

Hunt the Stars review

5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: sci-fi, space opera, aliens, enemies to lovers, adventure I love space adventures and definitely don't read enough of them, so I was excited to come into this book. A good portion of it is spent in space on the ship Starlight's Shadow, which I liked. The rest of the book is spent on Valovia, an 'alien' planet, though we don't get to see much of it. Mihalik includes a good amount about the history of the characters and the world the book is set in, which I think is essential since we really only get to see two settings, and that background is integral to understanding some of the actions they take when traveling from Point A to Point B. I found the concept of the Valoffs to be very intriguing. They're a humanoid telepathic species, with each Voloff having an additional power (i.e., healing, telekinesis, etc.). The general human populace doesn't know a ton about them due to a long war that was fought between the two groups for control over wormhole access, and so both Tavi and the readers get to learn some things about them during the course of the book. Tavi is headstrong, but intensely loyal to her crew and hides a soft heart. I like that she kept her harder exterior on for at least the first 1/3 to 1/2 of the book. She was a captain in the war and faced Valoffs on the battlefield, which no amount of money can easily fix (especially without a common understanding). Her main goal is to help her crew and keep them safe, and that is reflected in her decision making. At the same time, she's also able to warm to the Valoffs once enough time has passed, which shows she is able amend her previous schemas. I also liked Luna, Tavi's Valovian 'pet.' I thought it was a cute addition to the story. Kee is one of Tavi's crewmembers, and one of the three surviving members of her unit from the war, and is a bubbly, softer personality. Kee definitely cuts some of the tension on the ship by being someone who easily befriends nearly everyone, and I appreciated the mitigating effect she had at times. Eli is Tavi's other crewmember and also one of the surviving members of their unit. Like the other two on his team, he's caring and loyal, but unlike the other two he's a little faster to jump to antagonism with strangers. He did cause some conflict at times, but like the others he does eventually warm up. Torran is a gruff, hard-to-read wall when he's first introduced. It's hard to figure him out at first because he stays relatively quiet, but it's clear there's some level of violence simmering under his skin. He's quick to jump to conclusions in the beginning, but once he's a bit more comfortable in Starlight's Shadow, he becomes more relaxed. Havil is the main member of Torran's group that we see in this book, with him being the healer. He's gentle and kind-hearted, willing to help those in need. While more mellow than Kee, he's another one who can befriend just about anyone. Despite the short time period over which the book takes place, I felt that Tavi and Torran's transition from enemies to friends, then to lovers, was natural. There's enough wariness and slow building of trust for it to feel real when they finally begin relaxing in one another and at least somewhat confiding in each other. Likewise, there's enough sexual tension between the two before they finally commit and give in that it didn't feel rushed (even though I'm pretty sure the book takes place over the course of 3 weeks). There's a lot of subterfuge going on in this book, from pretty much all sides. There's Torran, who refuses to inform the crew of what exactly they're searching for until they figure it out themselves, and then who refuses information on several more accounts. Then there's the people behind all of this, who are attempting to obfuscate and remain hidden for obvious reasons. I'm also pretty sure Lexi (another of Tavi's unit members who joins the group a bit later in the book) is hiding stuff of her own. I liked that the initial quest led into something larger, and that it flowed nicely from one thing to the next instead of feeling like the perpetrators were randomly thrown in to push the series in a specific direction. Overall, I enjoyed the book and the background on the world it takes place in. Despite the short period of time the events take place in, I felt that the transitions from enemies to friends to (for Tavi and Torran) lovers was natural. I'm looking forward to the next book!

[mandalorewhore]

Two Steps Ahead

PART THREE OF HUNTER (formerly hunter and prey)

gif by @princessxkenobi

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Fighting as Foreplay, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex(PIV), Unprotected Sex, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Top Mando, Sub/Dom elements, Very slight Pain Kink, possible CNC elements although I didn’t write that I also want to warn anyone who doesn’t want to read about rough sex with physical fighting as foreplay Words: 6.9k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando start tracking their first bounty together

A/N: i believe things are happening...interesting

***

 “I feel like you have a distinct advantage here.” A bead of sweat drips over your brow as you mop at your sweltering forehead in irritation. Your temple throbs as you press on it, pain shooting down your neck at the pressure.

       It’s so fucking humid here. You’re tracking one of Mando’s bail jumpers in the middle of a boggy swamp planet that you never caught the name of and you’ve been walking through the forest for at least 24 hours, only stopping for water and ration breaks. Based on the holo-map you’re currently staring at, this entire planet is one big swamp, with no escape from the damp, sticky environment.

 The thing barely makes sense, a jumble of colors and shapes that worsens your headache the longer you try to figure it out. You had borrowed a thin shirt from Mando before setting out, but it does little to protect you from the buzzing swarms of insects, while at the same time it reflects just enough heat to have you sweltering.

 Mando acts unbothered under all that padding and armor, trekking through the trees without any visible sign of struggle. You don’t understand how he can stay awake for so long without caf, yourself being covered in caf-patches to keep from passing out. It’s probably somewhat dangerous to have so much of the stimulant coursing through your veins, but oh well. If my heart gives out then at least I’ll escape the bugs.  

       “Footprints aren’t the only way to track a quarry.” He returns mildly, moving swiftly over tangled tree-roots to avoid the pools of murky water that litter the forest floor. You move with less grace behind him, trying to climb slippery wood and juggle the holo at the same time. The twisted trees of this planet seem to reach inward to point at the forest floor, giving you the impression of being trapped within their clutches. The eerie feeling isn’t helped by the distinct lack of light, odd lichen tendrils drape between branches to create a blanket that absorbs most natural light from the sky. A faint glow emanates from the tendrils, basking the forest with ghostly illumination. You scramble to the top of the particularly tall root he’s perched on then plop down to catch your breath.

       “No, it’s not the only way,” you pause to take a swig from your water skin, dabbing off the spilled drops from your chin with your sleeve, “but the footprints      you    track are apparently all glowy and red. I get to look with my naked eyes for shit like depressions in the ground, which is so fun considering the only paths here are solid wood.”

       Mando rolls his helmet on his shoulders, the effect similar to someone rolling their eyes. When he speaks it’s short and gruff, annoyed by your attitude. Which is… appropriate. The hours you’ve spent walking in this heat together is starting to snap both of your tempers. “Stop complaining.”

 He’s not wrong about the footprints. You’re mostly annoyed because of how useless you feel, more like you’re tagging along than assisting him on the hunt. Drawing your eyebrows together you try to come up with a plan. Most of those mercenary skills you talked up for Karga don’t apply here, this naturalistic setting is too messy and... wild. Unpredictable. You’re used to the structure that comes with starships and cities, places engineered and civilized.

 Tracking people isn’t very hard, you’ve done it plenty of times before. The only issue is that all of your practice came from environments where they left clear signs of direction, displaced gravel indicating a shoe-print, broken branches, a trail in sand. It also helps that your targets didn’t know they were being stalked. The only path here is over hard wooden tree roots, with nothing to indicate direction, not even moss grows over the foot trail for traveling feet to mark. You take in a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before letting out all your air in one huge swoop.

       “I’m sorry, “ you tell him sincerely, “I want to help you -and not just for a bigger cut. Is there anything I can do?” You truly do feel bad for snapping at him even if you know you’re right about his advantage. Just because you don’t have fancy thermal settings and footprint tracking doesn’t mean you’re useless. The Mandalorian settles his hands on his hips and surveys the area, looking for a task to assign you. His helmet tilts up and lingers on the trees, and you’re already two steps ahead before he can voice his idea.

       “I can climb,” you interject, standing up swiftly and moving. “Trees can’t be more slippery than a spacecraft.”

       He nods in acknowledgment. “Find something and your cut goes up by five percent.”

       “Ten percent.” You grin at him cheekily, wanting to tease him even if he won’t give it to you.

       “Eight, if you find somewhere to camp.”

       “Deal.” You return, already halfway to the widest tree you can reach without getting your feet wet. The trunk is covered in knots and twisted vines, ugly but providing fantastic handholds for your hands and feet. Grabbing hold of a sturdy looking ledge you begin your ascent.

 The climb is fairly easy even with the woods damp surface, and you reach the forest canopy with minimal effort. Carefully squirreling around the thin top-most branches you attempt to find a break-through point, the wood beneath you bowing a little from your weight.

 When you finally poke your head through and see the sky you gasp, taken aback by the sight. You hadn’t hung around in the cockpit during landing, instead choosing to pack the bags while Mando skillfully piloted his ship. The forest floor is all you’ve seen of the planet and apparently you’ve missed a lot.

       The sky here is beautiful, a color palette that is completely opposite from the dark, damp underbelly of the forest ground. Swirling aquamarine clouds float lazily in the sky, speckling the orange hued atmosphere above you. There are at least 6 pale moons lined up on the horizon from edge to edge, stars twinkling around each orb as if drawn to their orbit. You drink in the sight greedily, the ache in your head lessening in the natural light. This is      so     much better than the cold stark metal of space stations that you’re used to living on.

 It’s hard to tell the time based on the sky alone, the moons must be constantly present in the sky no matter the time of day and you can’t find a single sun. Maybe this planet lives off the light and heat from each moon, reflected from a distant star? The thought is lovely but you don’t think it’s possible. You file the image away for your daydreams then divert your eyes back to the thick forest, searching for anything useful to tell Mando.

       The line of trees is unbroken, a sea of dark green leaves and glowing lichen. An orange sky helps to warm up the pale glow from the lichen but it’s eeriness still sends a shiver through you. Everything on the horizon is of even height, betraying nothing within its depths. It isn’t ideal. You gnaw your lip anxiously, dreading to return to Mando without any information especially on your first hunt together. Eyes flitting around desperately, you try to analyze any possible breaks in the natural pattern of trees.

     Could that be a settlement there? You think, looking at a slightly thinner section of forest that might roughly be three miles away. You aren’t sure about the planet’s curvature and how flat the terrain is so you double check the holo, looking for the information.

 Something catches your eye as you’re pulling up the data, just substantial enough in your peripheral version that you stop what you’re doing. There is a mist rising from that thinned area, far enough away that you mistook it as some sort of lighting effect from the overwhelming color palette here. That has to be steam right? It’s too thick to be naturally occurring from the bog. There must be machinery over there. A settlement hopefully.

 You’re about to climb down when you pause, looking at the still lit holo with renewed curiosity. Something about the map visually paired with your clear view of the forest allows the pieces to fall in place. When you compare the shape of the map to the trees you’re finally able to make sense of what you previously thought was a topographical mess. A built pathway lies here, a body of water there. And clearings. Several clearings not too far from where you are now, the perfect size to settle down in. Hopefully they’re dry.

 Either the caf-patches are finally sending you into cardiac arrest or you’re manically happy to finally be of help to your hunting partner, but either way, you’re grinning so widely that your teeth clatter together.

 “Hey Mando! Guess what you owe me?” You shout down at the ground, beginning to descend. You’re so excited that you practically slide down the vines, jumping to the ground when you’re several feet high in the air, sore muscles creaking at the impact. The Mandalorian is sitting now, resting with his elbow propped on his knee while he waited for you to come back. There’s a soft pang in your chest and you wonder if he’s tired. You brush it off, feeling as though you’re just projecting, and instead grin widely at him in triumph. “7 percent increase for me!”

 He lifts his helmet and looks you up and down. “What did you find?”

 You reply chirpily, hands grasped behind your back and shit-eating grin still plastered on your face. “There is a settlement of some kind roughly three miles that way,” you point in the direction where you saw the steam, “and several clearings nearby suitable to camp in, if we don’t want to head in right away. Oh, also we aren’t on the actual path used by locals here, the asset must be making an effort to hide.”

 “That isn’t very smart of them,” Din observes, shaking his head at the concept. “Busy path hides more prints.”

 “Hm…” You take that in, wondering what other techniques a quarry may use to shake its hunter.

 It occurs to you that there is a lot you could learn from the Mandalorian, since so far hunting someone has been notably different from your mercenary missions. You’ll find a moment to ask questions later once you’re settled down for the night, wherever that’ll be. “Do you want to camp or find the maybe-settlement?”

 “We should camp,” he responds immediately, rising from his seated position and walking closer to you, “we don’t know what we’ll face there. You can choose the area, since you climbed the tree.”

 You pull up the holo-map again and zoom in on the different options, feeling far more energized now that you actually know what you’re doing. There are two spots that seem encouraging, both a short hike away from where you are now but removed enough to grant you some privacy. You’ll still need to set up a watch to prevent ambush or stray travelers from finding you but it’ll be easier if you make an effort to hide. One of the clearings seems to have a running water source, you hope it’s cleaner than the still-water you’re currently surrounded by. Maybe you can bathe there too.

 “Lets go here,” you pull up the coordinates for Mando, “that looks like a stream, right?”

 He leans into your body for a closer look, broad chest just brushing against you in a way that sends flutters through your tummy. You know he can zoom in with his visor, there is no reason he needs to be so close to you except for your benefit. He seems to enjoy messing with you like this, throwing you off with unexpected touches, looks, and gestures. It’s like a game he plays and you’d be far more annoyed by his teases if it wasn’t so exciting.

 “Looks good,” he rumbles low in his chest. “Fresh water would be nice.”

 Your heart quickens, but you tried to hide your reaction by teasing him back, tapping your fingers on his helm and stepping away. “I was hoping to clean myself up, actually…”

 Mando straightens up at this, visor locked on your face.

 “Lead the way.” He returns quietly, giving away nothing. Trying not to smile, you start off in the direction of the clearing, for once moving faster than your armored companion.

 Your goal isn’t very far, only about 3 miles north of your previous position and a mile adjacent to the settlement you’ll pay a visit to tomorrow. Large, fuzzy fronds of an alien fern droop down the sides of the hollow clearing, providing a barrier between the forest and empty space in between. The trees still tangle above the open area, blocking out part of the beautiful sky, save a few of the large moons, and old pieces of charcoal are ground into the sandy earth here, a sight that makes you a little anxious. This spot must be used by others, you’ll have to be more careful with setting up the watch than expected.

 The water source turns out to be a small spring set on the edge of a cliff at the far end of the clearing, a sizable waterfall cascading down the side and gathering in a crystalline pool. Skipping ahead of Mando to the edge of the pool you crouch and dip your fingers in the cool water, sighing in relief as it relieves some of the warmth in your overheated body.

 You’re unable to hear Mando’s approach - how he is so stealthy under 50 pounds of metal escapes you, but you feel him behind you. You smirk. Arching your back as you rise, you turn around slowly and begin to make eyes in his direction however, when you actually see what he's doing, you cringe at yourself in embarrassment. He’s not looking like you assumed, instead he is surveying the clearing skeptically, body-language imbued with disapproval. Your heart simultaneously sinks to your stomach and contracts in frustration. You thought you had finally done something right.

 “What? Is something wrong?” You ask him tightly, subtly shrinking in on yourself in disappointment. You try to hide this by fiddling idly with a stray thread on your tunic, stubbornly keeping your head lifted high despite wishing you could disappear. He doesn’t respond right away, instead turning and walking the length of the clearing then back, stopping just in front of you sharply. You meet his visor with your eyes, holding the look until you feel like you’re burning up in shame from the pressure of it.

 “It’s too… open,” he finally says, voice halting as he tries to find the correct words. “Anyone could walk into our camp.”

 “I figured we’d set up a watch. There’s only one entrance-”

 He interrupts you. “One ground entrance. Anyone can climb down from the trees.”

 “Maybe, but this planet isn’t supposed to be dangerous, is it? Practically abandoned,” You huff out, fists clenching at your sides as you argue with him. “Besides. It’s… pretty here.”

 The Mandalorian sighs, pinching the helmet just below the visor where his nose bridge would be. “Fine. I’ll take the first watch. No fire.”

 Nodding in response, you cross the clearing and set your bag down on a log, letting out a sigh in relief. That’s fine by you, you don’t need the extra warmth and the glowing lichen provides enough light to get by. You really did not want to hike again after moving for 24 hours straight. Mando mirrors your movements, leaning his rifle next to your pack before settling on the sandy earth. A loaded pause passes between you, earlier implications at the forefront of your minds.

 Letting out a shuddering breath you crouch down and pull your old tunic from your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way back to the small pond. The water is completely clear, an inviting sight after the marshy puddles that made up the forest ground on your way here. You’re facing the water now but you’re still well aware of the man behind you, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the impassive visor. The invitation is clear. Take it off.  

 But you aren’t sure if you want to give him that yet. The exhaustion from today has wrung you dry, small bickerings between you and your work partner dampening the sweet mood leftover from Nevarro. Apologizing with sex isn’t really your thing. You’d rather stoke the mutual respect between you as allies instead of start up a pattern of fighting then making up.

 You crouch at the water's edge, peering into the depths for a moment before splashing your face with cold water, fresh scar throbbing as blood rushes to the surface of your face. The spare tunic you grabbed just brushes the surface of the water, sending ripples throughout your reflection. Curious, you lean over and observe the way the mirror-like pond breaks off into fragments, bits of you here and there mixing in with the moons that lay on russet sky.

     Like a painting. You think in awe, having only seen a couple of the artifacts in person. The richest target you were assigned to owned two pieces of art, real paintings on real paper, encased in transparisteel viewing cases before you smashed open the backing to wonder at them. You close your eyes and try to recall the texture of the paint before the rest of your memory catches up and sours the whole thing. The man's home had to be burned in order to erase evidence, his paintings too large to smuggle out of the city.

 When you open your eyes the pond has settled with your reflection only- you’re not alone.

 “Maker!” You jump at the sight of the Mandalorians gleaming helmet appearing in the reflection. “What the fuck, you sneak.”

 He just chuckles in response and offers you a hand, which you take firmly while rolling your eyes and standing. He leads you back to sit with him on the sandy earth, taking ration bars out of his pack- not yours, and breaking them evenly between you. The gesture is surprisingly tender and none too appreciated what with your stomach growling audibly at the bland meal. All at once, you are reminded by the spattering of caf-patches on your limbs, the jitteriness becoming more apparent now that you’re finally still. You’re shaking. Mando notices as well.

 “You may explode.” He remarks, prompting you to start pulling off the stimulant, crumpling each piece and setting them neatly in a pile at your knee.

 “Good, let me explode. You’re too bossy to work with.” You return with a smirk, hoping your sarcasm lands. He hums in response, pulling one of the patches off of your forearm and flicking it in your direction for you to catch.

 Tutting, you roll the patch into a ball and set it at the top of your pile. “Don’t leave a mess, this forest is ugly but at least it’s untouched,” you tell him firmly. Mando just nods.

 The ration bars are hardly a delicacy but you shove them in your mouth all the same, appreciating the engineering behind them. They are so calorie rich that a piece the size of your palm can keep you going for hours. However, your body can’t seem to relax despite the food lining your belly- perhaps you actually overdid the caf. You should be tired right now. Staying awake for more than a day isn’t exactly the average schedule but your knee bounces uncontrollably in a frantic pattern, stirring up puffs of sand between you and the warrior.

 “You need to tire.” Mando mutters, firmly placing a glove on your thigh and holding the limb down. “Stop that.”

 “Sorry,” you reply, trying to freeze yourself and sit as still as he does. Mando always exists so sagely, like a monk. Completely calm when he wants to be before exploding into action, no warm-up necessary. You wonder if he had some sort of meditation training to achieve that. Is that why he sits like that in the cockpit, his back rod straight like a statue? Weirdo.

 “Hey…” The palm at your thigh presses again and you suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t even realize you were twitching again. “Do I have to hold you down?” He growls.

 You gulp. “Tempting. But no.” Your words come out steadier than you feel. The caf becomes all too much in that moment so you lurch to your feet, his gleaming helmet following your body as it rises jerkily. You feel far too energetic, needing to get the energy out somehow so you can finally pass out. Your idea leaves your mouth before you can truly think it over.

 “Wanna fight?”

 “...What?” Mando sounds truly surprised even if his body betrays nothing.

 “You heard me,” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, swaying back and forth like a green sailor on the oceans of Mon Cala. “Let's practice our combat, I rarely get to do that.”

 He’s standing before you can blink causing you to jerk back, startled by his speed. The Mandalorian poses right in front of you, too close to not be a challenge with his weight settled on one leg breezily.

 “Okay. Hit me.”

     What a taunting mother fu-  You swing your left hand out as if aiming for the unarmored spot on his ribs, which he blocks with ease… leaving his throat open for your right fist to sharply jab.

 The bounty hunter doubles over, coughing and clutching his neck with one hand.

 “O-Oh shit! I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean, let me-” You scramble with lost movements, trying and failing to help him straighten upright. It leaves you awkwardly placing your palms on his back while the crown of his helmet presses into your belly. “I, um… Mando?”

 His arms wrap around your middle in a flash, pulling you tightly against his chest and throwing both your bodies to the ground. It happens so fast that you can’t even shriek before the air is knocked out of you, hitting the sand hard enough to throw it into the air around you. Gasping, you smack full force at the Mandalorian on top of you, his arms still crushing you against him while your legs lock straight together with his knees on either side. It’s sexy, but you’d really like to breathe. He lets up just barely.

 “Nice punch,” he rasps, throat clearly affected by the hit. “Don’t think I’ll hold back after that though.”

 “Don’t… want… you to…” You shoot back at him, sharp as you can manage while wheezing. Mandos visor raises ever so slowly and pins you, hidden eyes holding you down more effectively than his body. After a drawn out moment of this, your head spinning as you calculate your escape strategy, he crawls up your body to prop himself above you, locking your wrists in one large hand with the other presses against your chest, shoving your back into the earth. It is just enough pressure to squeeze some air out of your lungs and it is then when you know he isn’t kidding about not holding back.

 You’re so fucking happy that he isn’t letting you win.

 In other instances, you’d panic at the hopeless feeling of being trapped like this, by someone twice your size and clad in the galaxy’s most powerful steel. But the way he spars with you now, full force and not playing easy... it has implied respect for your skill. He knows you can fight and doesn’t spare you the opportunity to prove it.

 Only a second or two has passed since he fully immobilized you and you’re still locked in your flattened position. When he motions to stand, pulling your wrists as if to drag you, you know you must make your move now or it will be too late. The only spot he has open on his body right now is… well, right between his legs. The first thing a smaller fighter learns about combating larger foes is to fight dirty and there is no reason you should hold back if Mando isn’t. Your legs had been pinned tightly together before he moved to drag you but now there is just enough room to swing a knee up and hit him between the legs.

 Mando doesn’t wear a full codpiece but luckily for you, the padding on his groin isn’t enough to block your kick. A choked sound rips out of his throat and he falls to one knee, the fingers encircling your wrists loosening slightly while he struggles to fight his body’s natural pain response. You wrench one hand free and use it to grip his cowled neckline, planting your feet against his cuirass and swinging yourself into a hanging position before his grip tightens again. He's steady but you try to dig your feet in to throw him forward, hoping to twist around and land on his back with his face down. He totters for one frozen second, both your bodies on the precipice of falling but unfortunately, he manages to wrench himself backwards and land heavily on his back with you on top.

 You’re both gasping and groaning at the shock of hitting the ground so hard, and for one breathless moment all you do is stare heatedly at each other on the forest floor, eyes locking through his visor and somehow you know he is grinning.

 His smile mirrors on your face when you feel his hands rip at your clothes, wrenching the thin pants off of you down to your thighs forcefully enough to knock your legs together with a dull thud.

 “Did I not just kick you in the dick, Mando?” You laugh, working at his belt at the same time. He palms your ass through your underwear greedily, squeezing so hard that you know finger shaped bruises will blossom there.

 “You missed.”

 “Must’ve hurt either way…” You mutter, finally managing to reach under his thick layers and wrap your hand around his length, producing a low growl from the man beneath you. “Maybe, it's good I missed.”

 The only response you get is his hands pulling both your hands to lay on his chest plate then traveling back down your body to tug aside your underwear and grind you down onto his hips, rubbing your now bare slit against his bulge. You vaguely remember deciding against coming onto him as a form of apology, but for some reason, since he started first that all ceases to matter. It feels like a game you’ve begun to play with each other, playing with the tension between you and the Mandalorian until you find out what breaks your resolve. Maybe it started even before you entered this forest, perhaps back on Nevarro or even on the station.

 You can’t tell but you don’t want to question it either.

 A moan falls from your throat, your hands moving on their own volition to try and remove his belt entirely, or at least enough to pull his cock out. Mando’s glove flashes up again to circle your wrists, immobilizing them and harshly pinning you down with his vambrace lain across your back.

 “You yield?” He asks, voice dripping with a sickly triumph. A chill runs down your back and you feel as if he just dunked you into the pond.

 “W-What?”

 “You yield… I win?”

 “Wha- No!” You cry out indignantly, struggling against his iron grip. “I didn’t realize we were still sparring!”

 He laughs, fully bodied and dark with some emotion that swirls deep within your core, and you can’t put your finger on it exactly but you know you’ll have to do something before you’re swept up entirely. “Oh, but we are. What shall the winner gain?” He asks, so quietly that it is almost lost in the warped modulator, barely a question and more so a crackling of static.

 Fuck, you’re so wet.

 You lick your lips and shakily respond. “I am not one to give up, however-”

 “Then don’t. Keep fighting.”

 Oh, and you love what he implies. There is no reason to argue further and less time to act, so you immediately struggle hard with the upper half of your body, wrenching your wrists to try and distract him from the way your legs are free to swing into his ribs. But Mando doesn’t fall for your feint a second time. In fact, he seems to have expected it, his leg is more than prepared to hook around the back of your knees and hold you against his body, rolling to the side to throw you underneath him.

 You’re pinned on your back with nearly his full weight, unable to do more than weakly punch at what you can reach- unfortunately for you all you can reach is armor. Your cry of anger is cut short when Mando flips onto your front, your chest pressed roughly to the floor of the forest.

 The helmet appears over your shoulder, his ragged breathing right by your ear. “T-This okay? You want this?” You can’t find your words to respond with the way you're held so tightly against the earth, so you nod as best you can with one cheek pressed into the ground. Mando snarls something furiously, one hand leaving your back to fumble with his pants and pull his cock out, lining himself up at your soaking entrance and running the head through your folds.

 His helmet drops back down to your shoulder, the visor turning and burying itself into the line of your neck and you know that if he weren’t bound by his creed then he would be kissing dark bruises there.

  “You know this means I win,” he hisses, pressing his cock to breach your tight opening ever so slightly.

 “I-I know.” You whimper weakly.

 With that, he fully pushes himself into you and if you weren’t so wet you know his size would be unbearably painful. Instead, the stretch is pure bliss, a slow burning sensation that has a hint of sting to it, his dominance lending to complete submission and all you can do is lay there and take it. There is still the strain you grew to know from when he allowed you to use his body on Nevarro, but something about Mando topping you encourages you to open yourself for him with more ease.

 He quickly bottoms out then holds himself till, allowing you to adjust to his size. You’re writhing as much as possible under the way he crushes you to the floor, knees carving grooves in the soft sandy earth.

 “Fuck,” Mando grits, teeth clenched together so hard that you swear you can hear the grinding in his jaw. “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.”  

 The position is hard to maintain on the soft ground, his hands keep sliding ever so slightly on either side of you forcing him to adjust every few seconds. His patience breaks after the third time this happens, a growl crackling through the helmet as he settles his hands on your lower back and hoists his body up, knees planted on either side of your thighs, crushing them together with intense pressure on your clit. Your body is locked tight, pussy clenching harder around his cock when he rises into an upright position.

 You let out a genuine scream when he draws back then thrusts sharply into you, pain mixing with pleasure in a manner far more biting than on his ship, when he had let you take control entirely, never even doing so much as to thrust into you. It is almost too much for you but even while you struggle to take his cock, you don’t      dare    tell him to stop, nor do you want him to stop. You’re so blinded by the stretch that you don’t realize he is speaking until you miss several, distorted words.

 “Fuck, why did I wait, why did I wait? I should’ve fuck-fucked you back on the station, approached you in that hangar and made myself fucking clear-”    Each gritted word is accentuated by a mean thrust, his dick is so big that he has to shove himself inside of you rather than glide, breaking you open in a way that burns so sweetly. Your legs are held together, knees locked and straight, which doesn’t help how tight you are but you can’t budge at all to open yourself to Mando, his hands pressing down at your lower back so heavily that you’re short of breath.

 A garbled moan is forced out of you when Mando grinds his length into your pussy as deep as he can possibly reach, hips smashing against your ass while he pulses inside of you and for a second you think he's cumming. But no- he draws himself from your depths and starts to rut his cock between your cheeks, head resting on your upper back and hands by your head.

 A powerful hand wraps under your side and settles at your sternum, pulling you back against his cuirass and lifting so that you end up seated together, fitting against him without even an inch of space between your bodies. His hand lifts your hips, other appendage snaking around to position his cock back at your entrance before allowing gravity to do the work, your legs spreading to rest on either side of his thighs as you sink down on him to the hilt.

 Once settled, Mando starts to work you on his cock, lifting you like you weigh no more than a pebble then letting go. The head of his cock slams full force into your pussy with the weight of your entire body, each brutal pounding sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Lungs free and no longer crushed to the floor, you’re unable to stay quiet, broken sobs and moans puffing from gritted teeth as he takes what he denied himself on his ship, the memory a thousand miles away as your processing center is fucked stupid.

 You can’t say how long this goes on for, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but the next thing you know is that your cheek is back on the sand, burning from the way it chaffs against the floor with each rhythmic thrust that claps against your thighs. You’re don’t even know if you’ve cum yet but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he is fucking the life out of you here in the wilderness. Mando is still talking, still uttering filth and praise through the helmet and all you can think about is how badly you want to hear his real voice speaking that way to you, you’re so close to asking him to take it off but you can’t find the words, you can’t think, you can’t-

 Abruptly, he grinds to a halt at the deepest point in your body then pulls himself free, pushing your shirt up lighting fast before cumming across your back with a choked exclamation. You’re both still for a second before your knees collapse, landing flat on your belly and gasping desperately. There is a shuffling noise behind you, accompanied with heavy breaths from the bounty hunter. It sounds like he’s rummaging through something then, yeah- your train of thought is confirmed when a wet cloth wipes his pleasure from your skin, gently trailing along your spine and ass.

 You reach behind you and hold his wrist, feeling the fluttering pulse there. “I’ll win next time…” You whisper, drawing his hand along the soreness on your bottom, the area he bruised, you suspect. He laughs- or pants you can’t really tell, but either way his touch becomes more gentle on your body, smoothing out the tense muscles and cleaning you up. Today's travels with the man have suddenly caught up to you and you might pass out right here, half clothed and dirty.

 “Come on, get up. Don’t sleep here.” Mando firmly states, helping you up and guiding you across the clearing after you pull your leggings up from where they gathered at your ankle. You’re trembling like a leaf, fragile in your spent state but glowing all the same. Mando sets you down on a log and brings you a canteen of water which you gulp down thankfully. He chuckles. “Wait up or I’ll have to drink from the spring.”

 That gives you pause, reminding you of something he said while you lay beneath him. You’re slightly nervous to ask but you do it anyway, warm and satisfied on your perch while he cares for you. “You.. When you were, um- fucking me. Well, you said something about how you shouldn’t have waited. Does that mean what I think it means?”

 He nods, “I noticed you for other reasons too, burc’ya.”

 “Maybe you should’ve fucked me back then.” Taking another gulp then handing the canteen back, you stretch then slide down to sit on the ground with him, back against the log. “You said that word before, ber-borshaw?”

 “Burc’ya.”He corrects,“It means friend in Mando’a.”

 “Oh.”You cheeks heat, feeling silly and rude for not recognizing the use of his people’s tongue, also noting that he used it to refer to you twice now, endearingly. It is an honor, one that makes you nervous. You feel like you should apologize, somehow. “Y-You speak Mando’a? I’ve never heard you use it before.”

 Mando settles against the log, leaning his broad shoulders to rest against the wood near your side. A few moments pass before he responds, “I chose to not use it around the others. Didn’t trust them.”

 “Oh, so you trust me?” You giggle, tapping the side of his helmet with your elbow. Questions burn within you and you may as well ask now, in the quiet afterglow of sex where everything is warm and slow. “Why didn’t you trust them if you started the company with Ran? How am I any different?”

 “You aren’t ruthless,” he surprises you by answering immediately, and you can’t decide whether you're insulted or not before he continues. “Ruthless and cruel is all that group ended up being, and it didn’t start out that way. We weren’t just mercenaries, we had a      code.    In the early days, attacking a slave ship would’ve been out of the question. Ran wasn’t always so full of greed.”

 Silence falls after he speaks, letting you mull over his explanation for a while while the waterfall rumbles in the background. Really, his perspective confuses you when you think back on your actions as a mercenary. Desperate to climb the ranks, to make a name for yourself, to earn credits and reputation. You suppose you conducted yourself with empathy, avoiding selection for hits that targeted innocent people if you could help it. You never had much choice in the area but it seems your actions spoke louder than realized. So much energy spent to avoid seeming weak and you never considered that your aversion doubled as strength.

 “Friend…” You whisper, not of your own accord. The word floats on your tongue, a specter within your vocabulary. In your adulthood you’ve had allies, you’ve had teammates, you’ve had acquaintances, but to have a friend… it terrifies you as much as it warms your heart. You considered yourself partnered professionally with the Mandalorian and didn’t      dare    to consider yourself lovers, no matter how much you privately hoped. But a friend is a luxury you didn’t hold close, mainly out of fear. You lost too many as a child. For a faceless man he manages to strike areas that are quite intimate.

 You decide that you’ll enjoy being his friend, a bit surprised that you aren’t too hurt by what is essentially a romantic rejection of the crush you held for so long. Probably because this is      real    , solid and built within reality instead of the silly fantasies you built prior.

     This is better than lovers, you tell yourself, the slight ache in your heart melting into the background of your desires, behind lock and key for another world.

 “I’ll take ‘friend’, Mando.” You grin, extending a hand to him cheekily. He stares for a second before taking it and shaking, helmet tilting in a respectful nod.

 His next words send an unexpected pang throughout your chest, taking all the careful walls you worked hard to set up and throwing them into a blazing inferno.

 “Let’s see where it goes.”

  Fuck.  

   ----------------

   Leather boots prance lightly through thick branches high in the trees, footfalls landing silently with all the grace of an athlete. Through the delicate glasses perched on the pursuers nose, a red glow blooms on the shadowy floor of the swamp, two sets of footprints lighting up to reveal a steady path made by the travelers. A musical giggle bubbles out of the darkly dressed woman as she pulls a small holo-watch from her bag and straps it onto her wrist, pale light mixing with her lavender skin, transforming it into a sickly grey.

 Xi’an claps a hand over her mouth to prevent her cackle from ringing through the trees as her plan takes form.

***

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