#I drew this ages ago and was waiting to post until I finished the other torchwood social media stuff I’ve been drawing

[doctorwhommm]

torchwood youtube (GAY BOSS?!?)

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it���s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Recon

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: You and Wanda meet.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this for so long. Did I say I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this? Whoops. Enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff. 

When you leave the lecture hall, your mind is on the class you just finished, and when you’re going to have the chance to study for the exam that’s next week. You’re less than a year away from being done with university, and you’ve already submitted your application for veterinary school. However, as you continue to gain experience by working at a vet clinic a few times a week, and study your ass off to keep getting good grades, you realize that you are running yourself into the ground.

You’re exhausted and despite enjoying what you’re learning for the most part, physics being the exception, you need another outlet. You need something to do that’s not school or vet-related so you don’t burn yourself out. You sleep, wake up, and go to class, study between classes, and then go home and study some more. If you’re lucky, you have time to eat three meals a day and get time to decompress before going to bed. If you’re unlucky and it’s exam week, you don’t even leave the library for days except to shower and sleep.

Since you live alone and have no pets, other than a fish that you don’t pay enough attention to, you don’t have anyone to force you to relax. You promise yourself you’ll do better once this next anatomy exam is done, but all thoughts of planning a movie marathon soon leave your mind when you spot her.

You’re still moving along with the crowd of people fleeing the lecture hall when you see a beautiful brunette waiting in the lobby. You look away quickly because you don’t want to be caught staring, but you’re only about to resist for a few steps before you are looking at her again.

You’re certain that you haven’t seen her before because despite being in your own world sometimes, you tend to notice the important things. Especially, ridiculously attractive women. The first thing you notice beyond her hair because that’s always the first thing you notice, are her eyes. As she looks around for someone, probably one of your classmates, you see her bright green eyes that you’d love to get lost in. You’ve always had a weakness for them in the past. Her dark makeup only accentuates her natural beauty, and you hope as you see her gaze pass over you, that you’re not drooling.

You don’t have time to look away again before you feel someone push past you as they walk through a doorway. You; however, don’t make it and you slam into the door frame with an undignified grunt and cringe at the fact that you probably just drew a lot of attention to yourself for being so distracted.

“Fuck.”

Wanda had been on campus for over an hour already and she was getting bored. She hadn’t been around so many people close to her age before and it felt foreign to her. She’d never gone to university. After finishing high school and graduating valedictorian, she’d decided to help her parents and brother with the family business. Then they’d died and she hadn’t been given a choice about whether she wanted to keep things running. It had been a difficult time, and that was barely a year ago that she and Pietro had been orphaned. Their losses still seemed fresh on some days, but as Wanda wanders around campus looking for her target, she’s reminded of the life she could have had if her parents hadn’t chosen the paths they had.

Wanda had always loved history in school, and through tutoring a lot of her classmates, she’d realized that she loved teaching. She’d humored becoming a history teacher for a few months before her future with the mob became less of a possibility and more of an indisputable fact after her parents lost their lives in an attack. She remembers receiving the news of her parents’ deaths on her darkest nights that usually involved copious amounts of alcohol. She hadn’t been there. Ironically, she’d just been leaving her graduation party when her brother called her to tell her to come home now. She’d been confused by how frantic he was, and annoyed by the lack of information he’d offered.

 It wasn’t until she’d arrived home and seen it swarming with her parents’ employees, she’d called them minions, she’d been enlightened by her brother about what happened.

Revenge had immediately become her priority. Despite being devastated by her loss, she’d thrown herself into a role that she could barely comprehend and tried to keep the business afloat while finding those responsible. Wanda looks back on these early days of chaos and is glad to have them behind her. Well, her days are still chaotic sometimes, but in the months since she’s taken over, she’s learned to be efficient. She spends her days delegating and overseeing an empire that brings in millions of dollars a year.

Today, she’s looking for a replacement computer scientist to help run her convoluted security network. She’d just promoted the man who’s previously held the position, but he’d recommended someone that Wanda was hard-pressed to believe would be a good replacement. She had expected someone with comparable experience which in this case was nearly a decade, but here she was at a university where most people here were in elementary school that long ago.

She has everything she needs to know about this kid, he’s a year younger than she is, but she gets a little sidetracked before she can find him. He’s supposedly in the building she’s standing outside of now, but she’s not sure what the best way to approach him would be. She could say who she was, but that usually freaked people out pretty quickly, so maybe she’d just mention Frank first.

Wanda checks her watch to see that the class that he’s in should have just gotten out and she sighs before heading toward the doors. She still feels out of her element as she walks into the building with her old high school backpack slung over her shoulder. She just needs to find who she came for, and then she can get back to familiar territory.

The class lets out a few minutes late, and Wanda can see on the faces of several students that this is a common occurrence. She scans the sudden swarm of students that start to flow through the sets of double doors leading out of the lecture hall and into the lobby where she waits. She figures she could have been slightly less conspicuous if she’d sat down at one of the available tables and pretended to study, but she didn’t have the patience to do much to keep up her ruse. She’d had an exhausting week and was mostly doing this as a favor to her brother. She’d asked him to do this, but he’d gotten home late from a deal last night and was still hungover.

Wanda’s thinking of how to get her brother to repay her when she sees you walk out with a distracted look. You’re not who she’s looking for at all, but you’ve caught her attention immediately, and she briefly forgets what she’s here for when she catches your gaze. You’re beautiful and clearly stressed as you probably mull over the lecture you just left. You’re frowning and as you walk closer, Wanda can see you show characteristic signs of an overworked student. There are dark circles under your eyes that aren’t as bright as Wanda expects they usually are, from hours of studying or listening to lecturers drone on and on.

She watches as you stifle a yawn before running a hand through your slightly unkempt hair. She’ll learn later that this is a nervous tick of yours, something you tend to do as you stress about anything and everything. Wanda only has a couple of seconds to wonder what your name is when someone bumps into you and sends you falling into the door. She cringes at the loud sound and the clearly pained look on your face as you smash your arm against the metal door frame not two feet from her.

“Fuck.”

Wanda frowns despite wanting to smile at the sound of your voice. It’s rough from pain or fatigue but Wanda can’t help but imagine other scenarios in which it might sound lower than usual as she speaks without her brain’s permission.

“Are you okay?”

You’re a little thrown off by a ridiculously attractive, total stranger talking to you, but you offer her a smile before nodding in answer. You’re fine honestly, just a little miffed and embarrassed by your inattentiveness. You take a moment to admire the brunette in front of you now that you’re actually allowed to look at her, and you have to remind yourself not to be weird.

You haven’t dated in a long time. If you can count going on two first dates as ‘dating’. You’ve used being busy with school and work as an excuse to not doing a better job of trying to meet women. You know that if you really wanted to, you would put in a little more effort, but you are too worried about being distracted from school to give it much of a shot.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Just distracted.”

You offer a smile and Wanda just smiles back before glancing over your shoulder briefly for someone. You don’t get a chance to ask before she speaks up and you almost groan in response. Fucking physics.

“Class was that boring?”

You start to drift toward Wanda mostly to get out of the way of traffic, but as you find yourself standing across from her you realize you should have just risked getting sideswiped again. She’s even prettier up close and you try to ignore how good she smells as you blush slightly.

“Oh physics is my least favorite, but it’s a necessary evil unfortunately.”

Wanda has given up looking for Frank’s protégé at this point, and she leans against the wall behind her. She’d rather talk to you than try to persuade someone who she doesn’t quite need yet to work for her. She has a feeling you’re much more interesting than a conversation about firewalls and VPNs.

“Necessary for…?”

Wanda can’t help but smile a little wider as she watches you fidget nervously with your backpack straps with a nervous chuckle. You’re always reluctant to tell people about your plans to go to vet school because given the school you’re at, and the state you’re in, it’s almost as if everyone’s trying to do it. You’re just one of hundreds who have the same goal.

“Vet school applications.”

Wanda smiles at the thought of this before she considers what type of vet you want to be. She figures the best way to find out is to ask, but she can’t help but imagine you wrangling pigs or cows in addition to the cats or dogs she figures most people are more interested in.

"That’s impressive.”

Wanda revels in the darker blush she sees on your cheeks as you shake your head in disagreement. She is quickly realizing that you don’t accept praise or compliments well, you’re too modest or perhaps something else to just smile and let yourself bask in them. She wonders which it is as she watches you practically wave her off with a vaguely uncomfortable look.

“Maybe once I get in, but right now I feel like I’m just doing the same as everyone else.”

Wanda’s not sure how to respond to this immediately, but you don’t give her a chance as you turn the attention on her. You can’t help but wonder what she studies. More specifically why this is the first time you’ve seen her here.

“What about you?”

Wanda freezes and you notice her stiffen imperceptibly as she considers her answer. You take the prolonged moment of silence to study the brunette a little more carefully. You can’t really guess what she studies just by looking at her. If not for the fact that she’s in a building where multiple disciplines are taught, you don’t see much of anything in or on her backpack. You at least have a dog and cat button on yours.

“Um, history. World history.”

You take a second to think about this and realize that it doesn’t make a lot of sense. History is not taught in this building, but then again, she could just be visiting for another reason. You don’t say this or even ask because it’s not your business. Instead, you smile and nod in understanding as you think about your lack of luck in all of your history classes.

“That is impressive. I could never follow anything in history class.”

Wanda’s still reeling from her Freudian slip when your phone starts vibrating in your pocket. She frowns slightly when she watches you take it out and look at it with a sigh. She has a feeling that you’re going to leave soon, and she can’t help but want to keep talking to you.

She honestly hasn’t had a conversation with someone her age, about normal things like school in a very long time. She realizes this might be the true reason for why she feels her mood drop precipitously as you leave a few seconds later, but she doesn’t allow herself to think about it for long.

“Ugh, I need to go to my next class. It was nice meeting you…”

You trail off purposely and Wanda smiles as she tells you her name that you can’t help but smile at.

“Wanda.”

You nod before offering your own name as you silence your phone for a second time.

“Wanda. I’m Y/n. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

It’s not a question but Wanda nods without thinking. She doesn’t think she will see you again, but she can’t bring herself to say that. You wonder if you will as you leave to your next class that you’re going to have to run to in order to be on time. You can’t bring yourself to care though as you smile stupidly all the way there.

Maybe you will see her again.

Two weeks later

Pietro Maximoff was at a loss. He couldn’t figure out what was going on with his sister. She was never home, which honestly in itself wasn’t odd, but she had been going MIA more these past two weeks than she had since taking over things here. Wanda always did a good job of keeping in touch with him during the day, at the very least once a day to check in. Since their parents had died, they’d realized how important it was to stay in touch and watch each other’s backs.

This was for both of their safety, and despite the bodyguard that he was still trying to get his sister to allow follow her around, it never hurt to let someone know where she were. Steve had been running around a lot trying to follow Wanda who seemed to disappear early in the morning and not return until late at night.

He has no idea where she’s going and despite her saying that she was just busy with work, he was suspicious. His twin instincts were telling him something was wrong, and he planned to track her down today and try to figure out what was going on.

He had a few things to wrap up first, but as soon as he was done, he was going to find Wanda.

World History.

Wanda was still beating herself up over her stupid answer two weeks later. She couldn’t have managed to narrow it down at all in the moment, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. As soon as she’d managed to recruit her technician, she left campus and immediately started looking into you. She figured out your full name, where you’d grown up and a little about your family, but she hadn’t wanted to look any further. Sure, she could have easily figured out where you lived, but she’d already crossed a line by being too curious for her own good.

The next day she’d tried to focus back on work and forget about her run in with you. It had worked for about 48 hours before she’d cracked and found herself back at the university. Wanda had ignored her usual routine for a day and camped out for a chance to spot you again. She’d worked outside the building where she’d met you since it was a nice day and she only had to make phone calls and check in on people.

As she laid out in the grass, she ignored her brother’s texts asking where she was, but she had a feeling she could only do this for so long. She’d managed to go back every day and still not see you for the rest of the week, and she was frustrated. She returned to the compound around 8pm and was on her way to the kitchen to get something to eat when someone practically shouts at her.

“Wanda! Long time no see.”

Wanda turns around to see her brother rounding the corner and hurrying over to her. She offers him a sheepish look before she just nods and continues on her way, just a bit slower so her brother can follow.

“Hey, Piet. How’s it going?”

Wanda is thinking about what to eat for dinner when her brother shoots her a look that she misses. He frowns before deciding to just get right to it. He’d taken a lot of time to figure out how to approach his sister about her uncharacteristic behavior. Steve had told him that he’d finally been able to follow her today, and she’d just gone to the nearby university to sit outside and supposedly work all day. He was still very confused and hoped that Wanda could offer an explanation.

“The usual mostly, just without you. Where’ve you been recently?”

Because she knew her brother well, she had prepared an answer to this question that he’d hopefully buy. That said, she hadn’t counted on him sending anyone to follow her. She’d be annoyed about that once she got over the embarrassment at being found out.

“I’ve been trying to get out of the compound during the day. Needed a change of scenery.”

Wanda notices as she opens the fridge that her brother is shooting her a look that she doesn’t like at all. She grabs some leftovers from a dinner she’d made a couple of nights ago, and pretends to be too focused on it to notice her brother’s suspicion. She almost drops the dish in response to his question, and she curses under her breath before shaking her head vehemently.

“Steve says you’ve been going to the same place on campus this week.”

This was a lie, but he mostly wanted to see how Wanda reacted, and she didn’t disappoint. She disagrees unconvincingly before glaring at him for his next question.

“I’m just trying to get out, Pietro. You don’t need to send Steve to stalk me.”

She realizes that she sounds a little hypocritical calling someone else a stalker, but she disregards this quickly at her brother’s accusation.

“Are you seeing someone there? Is that why you’ve been MIA?”

Wanda shakes her head with a frown because she honestly wishes she could say she’d seen you since. She was going to give it one more day, but she couldn’t keep hanging around campus with nothing to show for it. She also had to get back to work at some point. She hoped to see you again, but if she didn’t catch sight of you on Monday, she was just going to have to let this go.

 “No, Piet. I’m just getting out some, okay?”

He isn’t convinced, but Wanda is fine with this for now given that she doesn’t have anything to hide. Nothing’s happened, and despite secretly hoping that this will change, she isn’t going to get him worked up over nothing.

Although Wanda is very different from her brother, they are both known for their paranoia. It’s hard not to be paranoid given their experiences and their lifestyle, but the twins are always overly cautious and when making any potentially risky decisions, they typically consult each other.

This included trusting anyone who wasn’t directly involved with their work, and given how her last short-lived relationship ended, she didn’t want to have a similar conversation with Pietro anytime soon.

So she decided to visit one last time Monday to see if she caught sight of you. If not, things would go back to the way they were, and Wanda would stick to one night stands that scratched that itch, but did very little else for her at this point.

Once she leaves her brother after they’ve finished eating and catching up, Wanda returns to her room to sleep. It’s been a long week despite not being as busy as usual. She knows she has some things to catch up on this weekend, but she’ll worry about that later. She lies down before turning on a show that she ends up ignoring. She falls asleep by the middle of the episode, and she can’t help as her mind wanders to your beautiful smile and adorable blush.

You’re almost certain that you failed that exam just now. You’d spent the last week, and especially this weekend, studying for your physics exam during any free moment. Physics was not your strong suit, and you honestly were just trying to pass this class with a C or higher at this point. Given that you’d failed the first test spectacularly, you needed to do much better on this and the last one to pass the class.

Leaving the lecture hall though, you’re not convinced that you will accomplish this. You scowl on your way out of the building and can’t help but be annoyed with yourself. You just don’t know how to study for this class, and the damn assignments don’t seem to help you. You’re frustrated, but unfortunately there’s nothing you can do about it now. You just need to forget it and just do better next time.

You’re hurrying down the stairs when you spot her again. You’d thought about your run-in with Wanda for a couple of days until you got too distracted by your test. You’d concluded that Wanda was probably not a student, but you’d never been able to figure out why she was on campus that day. You figured that it was useless to overthink it because you weren’t going to see her again.

That said, as she looks up just as you’re walking down the stairs you hope that she happens to remember you too. She’s sitting on a brick wall not directly in your path to your next class, but you have no qualms against making a detour. Hell, you’ll be late for you next class, something that’s never happened, if it meant being able to talk to Wanda again.

“Hey.”

Wanda’s standing up as you walk closer to her and she smiles at your poorly concealed glee. She doesn’t dare let herself be too hopeful and consider that you actually wanted to see her again too.

“Hey…”

You slow to a stop beside her, not minding the people walking by you as you focus solely on Wanda. She’s not carrying a backpack today and you briefly wonder if she’s here just for you before disregarding that unlikelihood.

“Wanda.”

You smile wider at her before offering her a nod. You decide that it wouldn’t hurt to be upfront with the brunette, and you laugh as you nod in the direction of your next class.

“Wanda, I know. I was just surprised to see you here again. Walk with me?”

Wanda nods before following your lead with a smile. She’s grateful that she finally caught sight of you, and she was determined to not let this opportunity go to waste. She’s not sure where they’re headed, but she doesn’t worry about this as she responds.

“Surprised? Why’s that?”

Wanda has a feeling that she wasn’t as subtle as she’d wanted to be last time you met. She just isn’t sure if you’d picked up on it, and if so, how much you’d been able to gleam from your short interaction. When she sees you smile widely and shoot her a knowing look out of the corner of her eye, she realizes you were smarter than she expected. You also weren’t afraid to speak your mind which she admired given how most of the company she kept on a daily basis held back out of fear of angering her.

“Well, you’re clearly not a student here, and I can’t imagine why anyone would come spend time here of their own free will. Unless of course she has ulterior motive.”

Wanda can’t help but blush slightly at the fact that she’s caught. She’s honestly surprised that she’d spent the past 2 weeks hanging out on campus just for a chance to see you again. She doesn’t say this because that would undoubtedly sound creepy, so she settles on asking another question.

“What ulterior motive is that?”

You don’t respond immediately as you walk up the steps towards the lecture hall that you have to spend the next 75 minutes in. You stop short of walking in and you turn to Wanda with a pensive look. You’re not sure what she wants from you so you just say this in hopes of her clarifying her intentions.

“I’m not really sure, but either way I’m glad to see you again.”

Wanda can’t stop herself from smiling at this and she nods to herself before taking a moment to find her courage. It’s now or never, or rather, now or just at a later, more awkward time. Wanda leans back against the railing behind her with a sigh before meeting your curious gaze.

“You too, Y/n. I actually wanted to see if you’d be interested in going out sometime? We could go out for  drinks.”

You beam in response and Wanda feels her heart start to race in anticipation. Then you shake your head.

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

Wanda’s face falls and she silently berates herself for a few seconds before you speak up again.

“But I love food, if that’s something you’d be interested in?”

Wanda smiles again as she immediately nods in response. You take this as your cue to grab your phone and you fiddle with it for a few seconds before handing it to her.

“Great. Well, I need to go to class now, but if you put your number in there, we can figure out the details soon.”

Wanda’s already thinking about the places she could take you for dinner as she takes your phone from you. She texts herself before handing it back to you with a relieved smile. She feels like the weight she’s been carrying around since she met you has been lifted from her shoulders.

“Can’t wait.”

Masterlist

[sugareey-makes-stuff]

I definitely waited until the 343409th hour to get this piece finished up and posted, but it was so worth it! Also, I think this is my official first piece for this year? I need to work on that. Anyway, here's some Ginsy art for @hp-fruit-fest, inspired by kiwis and Maroon 5 (are you surprised? I'm not!). 🥝🥝🥝 Title: Strong and Fast Lovers (<- view the full image on AO3) Rating: Mature Tags: Partial Nudity, Hook-Up, One Night Stands, Kiwis, Summer Vacation, Beach Holidays, Enemies to Lovers, Sensuality, Implied Sexual Content Summary: It only takes takes a single day for Pansy and Ginny to give each other something better.

I knew I had to grab this prompt as soon as I saw it ages ago, and hey, it was also an opportunity to take a stab at drawing these two hot gals together, since it has been about 5ish years since I first drew them? More Ginsy art ftw! Pansy and Ginny were so lovely to draw in their own ways, and y'all know how I feel when it comes to drawing hair. Loved drawing their hair with wispy or messy strands! And yes, they both really did bite into something juicy, if you know what I mean. 😉 And adding in pop colours and tropical vibes while still keeping things soft..it's a little different than how I usually approach drawing, but the first day of summer is tomorrow, so what a great tribute to that! Cheers, and enjoy!

[elena-oc-blog]

Hey remember when I drew the hydra brothers back in august and mentioned in the description that i would have their parents out soon too? Yeah sorry, they got stuck in art limbo as i was distracted with other things but now I have the hydra dads for you to see! I actually finished this like 2 days ago and I was going to wait with posting them until i finished the hydra mom piece too but I'm going through another *im tired all the time* period so thats not happening any time soon so here is hydra dad by himself or themselves i should say. I only drew their heads because I have mercy for myself and am not subjecting myself on drawing an anthro hydra with 5 heads. I do have bust sketches of them in my sketchbook but I still need to figure out how to fit their 5 necks and heads on one body properly so maybe thats a thing for the far future Anyway lore on these guys uh, Im a lil tired so let me just copy paste some miscelaneous lore I posted in my discord server and ill try to elaborate when i feel less shitty. I'll put it under a readmore so this post wont clog up your feed.

The Lièrna family gang is made up of Greek monsters: centaurs, satyrs, chimeras, minotaurs, griffins, some undercover hellhounds, etc.

Don't have a proper ref for this gang yet as I still need to fill their ranks

They originally lived in and operated from Athens in Greece but had to leave almost everything behind when the police started to catch on to them. They fled to the carribean island of Isla Dracon and settled in Auron City, soon recovering their wealth and businesses and becoming one the top dog gangs there and close to being in control of the city. That is until Thorn showed up a few years after..

The Lièrna family front is a luxury car business (building, selling, repairing) while their criminal business is car towing with a lot of extortion of the poorer part of the city's population where they basically steal cars and any personal belongings left in them from the poor population because they can't pay the fees. They then proceed to either resell these cars in one of their used car dealerships or destroy the cars to use for parts and scrap metal. They also loan out money under preditory rates and own some real estate that they rent out for high prices with bad service. So really their whole business is exploiting people, especially those less fortunate. They revel in this, thinking the poor deserve it for not working hard enough.

As for their relationship with Thorn, they hate Thorn but they act like good friends of his whenever they meet with him or are talking about him with people they don't know/people who like him. They don't want to stir trouble until they have a solid plan on how to overthrown him. Thorn as of now has no idea the hydras hate his guts and are plotting against him in secret together with Morrison and whatever other allies they gain.

Im not sure how old they are. I need to figure out my timeline better for that first. And maybe change how dragons age compared to other species idk But I would say they are between their late 40s and mid 50s

Also pecking order of the brothers from top to bottom is: Don, Alekos, Roland and Boris and at the very bottom is Kashew. Kashew is mute and also rather friendly which makes his brothers and especially Don regard him as a useless nobody. Kashew gets a lot of verbal abuse and sometimes also physical abuse from his brothers :( The only reason they don't physically abuse him as much as they mentally abuse him is because having a beaten up head would be bad for their business and image with the civilians of the city. They also cant get rid of him as that would comprimise their health and ability to fuse back together. Hydras can split up into individual smaller and less powerful dragons but unless all individuals are present, they can't fuse back together. And eventhough hydras in their fused natural state can regenerate their heads effortlessly and have an increased durability for injuries, in their seperate state they will die if decapitated and are also much more defenseless in general. While a fused hydra could take a vicious stabbing/beating and live, a split hydra individual is much more fragile and will easily bleed out and if they die, their siblings are doomed as well. Thus hydras tend to only split up when in the comfort of their home or when they take on a human disguise. It can also occur when there is an extreme disagreement between siblings and one or multiple forcibly split off through sheer willpower, causing them to fall apart into seperate entities. This is not preferable though. Anyway i think thats all the lore i have at the moment, i hope you enjoy the boys. Feel free to ask questions about them

[spainkitty]

Tag Game

Rules: Share 10 facts about yourself and tag 10 other blogs! I want to get to know my mutuals, and the people I follow a little bit :) The facts can be about anything!

@sillyliterature tagged me daaaays ago! Of course I waited until after midnight on a school night, after a 5-day school break, to finally write/post this... /sigh I had fun scrounging for things about me you should know. I hope anyone seeing this gets a giggle.

1. I'm an American living in China, teaching English. I technically teach "Critical Reading and Writing", and a lot of the curriculum I built myself! (I prefer creating teaching materials to teaching and I'll be changing careers soon cuz I so tired)

2. I love cats. Can you tell? My mom has given me a cat-related nickname since birth, SHE loves cats, and so I feel like it's just in the genes now. My metaphorical daughter niece also loves cats, which shows I'm right. I have two cats right now, Birdie & Canela (Canela is the tabby-baby, she has brownish-ginger spots she inherited from her mother, so yes, she is named "cinnamon" on purpose. Birdie is the tortie and the Mama-cat!)

3. I wrote a book! It's published! I'm supposed to write a sequel. It is... almost half-done? A little more than half-done? It's a YA fantasy called "The Coward's Emblem" 🥰 There are dragons! My bestie drew my dragons for me and they're BEAUTIFUL!!! LOOK BELOW!! SO COOL! (I also have commissioned art of the characters by Sabri on insta and they're BEAUTIFUL, too!! If you wanna know more about my actual for real OCs for my real book, pls lemme know!)

4. I've eaten so many Hot Cheetos, I've coughed stomach acid. Maybe living in China is good for me, no Hot Cheetos here... hmmmm

5. The only video games I've ever played from beginning to end on my own are: Harvest Moon: Animal Parade, KOTOR, KOTOR II, and Dragon Age(s). I can only play on Easy/Casual because I'm a crap gamer (I've never finished a Pokémon game), but I really love the stories/characters. ☺️

6. Atton x f!Exile fanart has been my lockscreen for months, and Viktuuri art from Yuri! on Ice! has been my phone bg wallpaper even longer. Maybe since 2016...

7. Rapid Shot Shame-Fame: I meowed through 7th-8th grade. Yes, you read that correctly. I've been a weeaboo. I was in the Hetalia fandom (hence the tumblr name). I was in the SuperWhoLock fandom, too + Teen Wolf, and, my true claim to fame, I went to Dashcon AND I WAS A PANELIST. At THREE panels. No, I was never paid. 🤣

8. I've almost been in a cult twice... maybe three times, but definitely twice. Only the fact I am lazy and didn't live In The Location of the 'Cult' prevented me from actually joining. (Did spend 40 bucks on that book for one of them, though. Ugh. Gimme my 40 bucks back.)

9. I've been to three Disney parks of six. (The Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Shanghai is amazing! Rode it twice! Tron and Soarin' O'er the Horizon are overrated.)

10. I've played DnD since I was 18, and I ALWAYS find a group. In USA, in South Korea, and now in China; I find the nerds and I friend them no matter where I am (yes, I am a nerd, too). My first finished original novel (unpublished) was based on my first ever DnD character: Karik the Master of Many Forms Druid 😀 My current character is Tepin Pallis Cuautli Lozano, a Wild Shaper Druid, the first time I've played a Druid again in almost ten years (3.5e was better, fite me 💪🤜).

[convexicalcrow]

So I should probably go pluralise the tag I'm using for this bc there isn't just one Vex magic grimoire, there's three. You've all seen the big one, I've posted about that one the most. (and I am STILL waiting for my paints to arrive ty AusPost delays wooo. -_-) But there's two other ones, smaller ones, that are part of this collection.

The big one covers Vex magic in all its forms and styles, and the idea/concept is for it to be mostly written by Pharaoh Cub, but with bits written by Scar as well, along with some illustrations bc who doesn't want an illustrated grimoire amirite? Also I want an excuse to DO art to begin with, so. :D So the canon for this book is that it's being written during season 7.

This one is the potions book, and was actually the first book I started for this project long before it became a project lol. I, like many others, am a notebook hoarder, and I had originally planned to use this one for actual planetary magic rituals and such, but for whatever reason, that never happened because my interest in planetary magic shifted away from needing that kind of thing.

So this book has sat by my monitor, unused and unloved, until I got an interest in potion making that collided with my Cubfan hyperfixation, and my brain decided to use this book for potions instead, both minecraft stuff and witchy stuff, in the same way that the Vex magic grimoire will have, like, cake recipes in it bc why not. :D

The illustration there is meant to be of netherwart, but I haven't got around to finalising that sketch yet. And it's on paper because the thing I drew on the other side I coloured with markers and it bled through quite badly (no you can't see it. XD) so I wanted to cover it up somehow.

In my head, this is like just one of Cub's random potion notebooks, with recipes and formulas and experiements and other things of note. There's no specific place in the timeline where this fits in, it's just there idk. The kind of book that was maybe started ages ago, forgotten about, and then he came back to it later when he had run out of other notebooks to fill perhaps. I feel like I'm gonna have to remind myself how to take lab notes again bc that feels like his style.

bc Scar absolutely does magic based on vibes, whereas Cub has a more experimental style that includes taking notes. That's what I feel anyway. Cub's absolutely going to do crazy stuff, but you'll know what he did and how he did it, whereas Scar's more like, idk it just worked idk how! about everything. XD

This is the newest one, The Book of the Stars. This is why I've been cataloguing the names of the stars in Cub's pyramid. I want to include notes on each of those, as well as including a bunch more stars as well bc I will definitely need them to fill out this thicc boi.

I want to finish the star map first before I decide what kind of information I want to include with each star (and galaxy and nebula and constellation). Also how I want to organise and classify them all. A-Z? Type? Real and then not-real? idk idk idk. Part of me had wanted to include, like, idk lore or something with each one, but I'm not sure that's necessarily the right way to go. idk. We'll see.

This is mostly meant to be a catalogue of stars as opposed to a grimoire, tho there may be some stellar magic information in here too idk yet. But the canon associated with this is that this is where the Evokers take their names from, from the stars listed in this book, to honour the knowledge Cub has taught them about Vex magic and how to use it more effectively. bc humans - players - name things, and once upon a time, the ConVex named a High Priest, and that is the origin of Evokers having names. Vex don't need them bc they are a collective (unless they need to stay in the overworld or are possessing a player, but even then, it is simply a tool and not something that belongs to any individual Vex alone), but Evokers aren't Vex, and are individual enough to take them on bc they all have different skills and talents and ranks amongst the Vex.

(@calcium-rods that's the star you're after <3 hidden in the corner on the eastern wall)

I've also wondered about whether to include the screencaps I took from the pyramid to show the stars and their names like the one above but I suspect that might be better suited to a sideblog type of situation bc printing all those out would go through far too much black ink. DX So we'll see what I do with that.

Also I'm approaching this as a practicing witch, and that's been a very interesting exercise. I love creating magic systems, but I also love writing about witchcraft and magic, and this is such an interesting project for me intellectually as well because it's not just creating new magics and explaining them, but also looking at different mechanics and ways to do magic, and how those blend in with some of the real magic stuff I've been studying, like astrology and stellar magic, planetary magic, and potion making. It's not my aim to be, like, evangelising about these practices through this project and trying to get others into witchcraft. I'm just doing something creative with my interests. It's like how you learn more about your own native language by studying another, right? I'm doing this more for my own mind and seeing these magics in a different context can help me make sense of them for my own work.

Also the current page I'm working on in the grimoire about Scar's glamours is I think going to end up getting quite deep into identity and masks and shapeshifting, and that's a very interesting idea to roll around in my head as much as it is to write fanfic about. bc masks can be used in very interesting ways for magic and shapeshifting, and the ConVex wearing their Vex masks asks a lot of those deep questions about the magic those masks use, and how they deal with identity in spite of the blackouts and possession the masks seem to give them. I'm also on board with the idea that the masks enable shifting into their Vex forms, that it unlocks that magic that they wouldn't otherwise be able to harness.

And so that's a really deep and interesting topic to explore, and to see how Cub and Scar might explain and understand it. bc from the start, I wanted this grimoire to be a conversation between them, as opposed to a dry feeling grimoire with academic-style articles. That's no fun. I want to practice voices, and characterisation, and explore the Vex stuff in a way I don't think I could do with a more prose-based bog-standard fanfiction style. And I get to flex my creative muscles in new ways, and that's very stimulating right now.

Tho i still have no idea how to classify this stuff. Is it fanfic? meta fanfic? something else entirely? idk anymore. I'm just gonna keep working at it and posting my progress and hopefully I'm not the only one who ends up really enjoying following this process. <3

Anyway. I think I've rambled enough for now lol. I have more work to do on this, but the star map work can wait bc migraine lol, so I might do some more mask chat and see where that conversation takes me.

Also, if anyone has advice for how to archive this project properly on tumblr, lemme know? I want to make sure it's all easily found and in one place, but not sure if a separate page on my main or a sideblog is the better way to do that alongside the tag I'm using for updates here. idk what works best for tumblr so, any advice would be much appreciated, ty. <3

[shangsclaws]

Betrothed

Includes: Fujin/Shang Tsung x reader (and shang being a huge bitch lol)

Summary: Shang Tsung is visited by a talented and seemingly innocent artist, who is actually a spy working for the storm brothers. The snake takes quite the liking to them, but Fujin had eyes on them 'first'.

Note: i know i said i was taking a break but i finished writing this a few mins ago and had to post it >.< still on that break tho! hehe

/

Shang Tsung eyed the soul phylactery with quiet intrigue, not quite admiring the gear, but more the artist who had gifted it to him. Yes, he liked it, he answered their sheepish question, and he would very much like more.

It wasn’t so much that the artist was shy, but rather terrified. Shang Tsung was a dangerous weapon if nothing else. Why did they ever agree to this?

The artist grinned crookedly to the sorcerer, bowing with their hands tucked neatly in front of them. They were glad he enjoyed it.

The snake chuckled.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, dear. I keep people like you around, you know.”

Around? Perhaps he meant to say alive…

“Artists are free from my cruelty. Or their creations, rather. Things like this are hard to come by these days,” the snake began, setting the phylactery down onto the nearest tabletop, “so long as you continue your work, then I’ve no reason to be rid of you.”

They blinked, nodding and saying nothing. The poor thing was unsure whether to be thankful or to cry. Or to run.

“Come with me, my dear. I haven’t had a visitor like you in ages.”

/

“This is ridiculous, brother.”

“We instructed them to alert us should they come into any danger. They know how to contact us. Calm your nerves, Fujin.”

“Calm my nerves..." Fujin echoed under his breath, exasperated, "it’s been hours. We’ve heard nothing.”

The thunder god merely sighed, knowing full well what was on his brother's mind.

"Set your preferences aside, Fujin. The information we gather through them will be vital to-"

“I am leaving," the wind god interrupted, beginning his pace out of the sky temple.

"Fujin-"

"Their life is more important than all this damned information."

/

The singsong jingle of his armour could have entranced the little artist then and there. Shang Tsung walked two and three paces ahead, head held high enough to practically greet the storm brothers above, reeking of a pleasant Outworld musk. If it wasn't the clanging of his belt that hypnotized them, then it was the scent that the sorcerer left in his wake. Was it his hair? His clothes?

He said he'd bring them to the courtyard.

"I've been looking for a replacement for my other craftsman," he began, raising his voice slightly as he did not turn to face the artist, "they died by means unknown to me."

Shang Tsung stopped squarely in the centre of the courtyard, as if all the stars aligned in that spot of his island, turning around finally to reveal a placid grin. "I'm glad you look just as delightful as your work, dear. Simply refreshing." He complimented.

"Admittedly I cannot say the same about my last one..."

The snake's eyes left the artist's at last — any later and he would have relished their nearly bloodshot cheeks — before the whole island began to shake. A rumble, akin to the distant chuckle of thunder, followed. "Take my arm," he told the artist hurriedly, "quick."

Drawing near, the visitor took the sorcerer's arm into their own. Their heart began to race at his scent, the proximity of his hardened bicep to theirs, until a violent flash of green suddenly suspended itself in midair. The ground shook violently now, ghastly and pained groans sounding afterwards, before the artist realized that Shang Tsung was in the midst of summoning his entire well of souls. They held him flush against their chest, warry they might fall from all the shaking.

When the chaos had ceased, Shang Tsung looked to the artist teasingly.

"You can let go now."

"Oh," they muttered, "...right."

Adorable.

Shang Tsung took a step forward, gesturing his hand towards the souls suspended in midair before them, "I have these many souls I'd like to be stored in your phylacteries. By when, I've yet to set a date..."

The snake drew closer, taking their right hand into his own, "...although I'm sure these fingers are hardworking."

The sorcerer bowed, his coal black tresses spilling over his shoulders. His lips fell gently upon their knuckles, whilst his eyes, dark and severe, never deterred from theirs.

Was he sizing up his next victim? And must he do it so endearingly?

"Sorcerer!" barked an airy voice suddenly, interrupting Shang Tsung's gesture, "move away from them!"

Fujin's unmistakable stature stood a few inches from the two, his crossbow trained imposingly at the still bowing snake. Shang Tsung straightened his posture, letting go of his visitor's fingers to fall back to their side.

Hands tucked neatly behind his back now, the snake's brows pulled themselves taught. "I can never have nice things, can I?"

"Step back. Now."

The snake sighed, bearing his palms as he raised them to the level of his eyes. Two steps backward were all he took.

"Are you alright?" The wind god began pacing towards the artist, still trying to comprehend how Fujin arrived so silently, "did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," they informed him, now further baffled by the hand that he placed on their shoulder. Fujin squeezed, as if to assure them that things were alright. Or perhaps to give himself his own peace of mind.

The artist had never seen such worry in his eyes before.

"Raiden's ideas are always ridiculous," he muttered silently to himself, before turning back to the sorcerer. "You will do no business with them, Shang Tsung. They work with me."

"Work," the sorcerer scoffed lowly, "you look at them as if they're your betrothed. Are you not aware of how incapable you are at lying, demi-god?"

The artist blinked profusely, "betrothed?"

Fujin struggled to find the words for a moment, a panicked expression washing over his hardened features. He quickly shook his head then, either to rid himself of his racing thoughts, or out of denial of the snake's observations. "You are speaking nonsense."

Shang Tsung's chin tucked into his neck slightly, a teasing and devilishly amused grin gracing his face. He had discovered something he clearly wasn't supposed to have.

"Have you any...unspoken feelings, demi-god?" He prodded.

"...none, Shang Tsung," replied the wind god venomously, “and that should never concern you."

A grin turned to a blatant smile, the snake tilting his head tauntingly. "Then why the nerves? I might have laid a finger on them, but I didn't hurt them?"

Fujin remained silent, the snake seeing his opportunity to continue.

"...I only kissed their fingers, Fujin."

A frightening mixture of embarrassment and bloody hostility had presented upon the wind god's face. The artist was too terrified of his expression to even bother putting two and two together, tensed as they waited to hear what Fujin had to say next.

Without a courteous warning, Raiden's brother summoned a wind beneath the artist. They yelped, shocked by the sudden sensation of their feet off the ground. "We are leaving," Fujin hissed finally, summoning his own wind beneath him.

They moved swiftly away, up and up from the island and towards the sky temple. But, before the artist could notice the blood red flush upon Fujin's cheeks — was he furious or… or what? What was he? — the sorcerer let out a bellowing laugh.

"He's worth nothing, my dear!" The snake jeered from below, the sound of a loud smile in his tone, "at least I'm more well spoken than that coward!"

masterlist

[paisley-print]

10:00pm / Happy Birthday

About: It’s Jack’s Birthday and you planned something special. 

Warnings: Marriage problems, infidelity, alcohol.

Rating: 18+

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Note: You wanna see some real speed boy? (Months of not posting and two chapters in less then 24 hours. Whack.)

Series Master List

@scorpionerd  @just-here-for-the-moment@sherala007 @jediknight122 @pintsizemama​ @kenbechillin @elegantduckturtle @hearttbreak @tintinn16 @showbuckysomelove​ @somenerdyuser @kesskirata @ohyeasam @athalien @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlemisspascal @sheresh0y​  @voteforpedro09 @greeneyedblondie44 @feel-it-on-the-way-home13

“Hi Jack, it’s....” you glance over at the clock on the stove, checking the time. “It’s ten. I’m calling to see when you’ll be home. Okay, love you, bye.” You played the message back, cringing a little at the way your words slurred together, but sent it, anyway. 

You reached over to pour yourself another glass of wine. It was your third one, but you were already feeling the effects. He said he would be home at seven. If you knew he was going to work overtime tonight, you wouldn’t have spent all day rushing around. 

Your stomach hurt just thinking about the tray of lasagna and birthday cake you spent hours working on. Still though, you wanted to wait to eat until he got home. 

This year had to be better than the last. You doubted whether you could make it through another twelve months of silence. Plus, with the whole Ezra thing, you needed a grand gesture to show that you were willing to work on this. He cared for you; he had said it. He loved you. He would always love you, and although he looked through you as if peering at a specter, you believed him. You hadn’t been the best wife these last few months, so you felt as though you owed him this. 

Tonight was just for him, and everything had been prepared perfectly. His favorite movie on the TV, beers in the fridge, birthday gift all wrapped on the nightstand upstairs. Months ago, he mentioned a pair of cuff links his father used to wear while the two of you were combing through old photo albums you had found in the attic. They were square, with yellow gold trim and two crossed six-shooter pistols set into a background of black onyx. 

Jack’s father left when Jack was nine, and one of the few happy memories he had was the day his father brought home his first suit for Sunday mass. His father taught him how to make sure his shirt wasn’t creased, how to wear a necktie, comb his hair back with gel, and finally the importance of cuff links. 

While looking over the photograph, Jack had mentioned liking the style of the cuff links in passing, but you could see they held quite a bit of emotional value. After that, you had spent weeks tracking down the exact set. With the help of a Reddit board, a few antique shop owners and one generous seller on Etsy, you secured a pair identical to those in the photograph. 

Keeping the secret had been tough. You almost let it slip a few times, but you will yourself to go on a little longer. The surprise would be that much more meaningful if you gave it to him on his birthday…. if he ever planned to show up, that is. 

As you finished another glass, you stood from the table and walked into the guest bathroom to reapply your lipstick. A few hours ago, your makeup was perfect, but it was now looking smudged. You tried to fix it as best you could while the room around you spun.

You had one of his dress shirts, with thigh-high stockings and a new lilac set of lingerie you bought specifically for this occasion, and heels you took off about three hours ago. You felt so incredibly ugly looking at your reflection, and you weren’t sure why. A few hours ago you were on top of the world, now you were willing yourself not to cry. 

Once you were done touching up your lipstick, you grabbed another glass of wine and took a seat on the couch. It was then your phone buzzed, and a number you recognized popped up on the screen.

You picked it up, becoming aware of how fast your heart was beating in your chest. “Hello?”

“Little bird?” Ezra’s voice came floating over the receiver. “Forgive me for calling at this hour, but I was becoming worried about your lack of response to my messages. Noticed your car in town today on my way to work and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You felt guilt grip tightly at your chest. He had sent you a few texts since the night of the shooting. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. This man was bad for you. It didn’t matter how much you liked him; you were a married woman trying to work on your relationship. Ezra knew that, he should respect you and understand why you weren’t jumping to text him back.

“I’m fine” your aid.

He paused, hearing the way you were slurring your words. “Little bird-”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” you snapped, anger rising out of you from nowhere. “I’m not your little bird, okay? I have a fucking name.”

Ezra seemed incredibly taken off guard “my apologies-”

“And I need you to stop texting me and calling me. Whatever the fuck you think we had, we didn’t. You were convenient, that’s all. I think it’s seriously creepy how you keep trying to hit on me when you know I’m married. Seriously, go find yourself a real fucking girlfriend and stop trying to ruin my marriage.”

The silence that followed was deafening, so you continued, “okay? Please get out of my life.”

“Understood,” he said simply. “Have a nice night.”

You hung up the phone and threw it onto the other side of the couch.

-

It was nearly 5:00am when Jack finally came through the door. The first thing he noticed was the half empty bottle of wine left open on the table, then you, asleep on the couch. He set down his satchel and locked the door behind him. Then he went around, shutting out the lights, then the tv. Once he was done, he sat next to you and rubbed your arm to wake you up. 

His patience was running thin. He had wished you up in bed by the time he got home, asleep, so he didn’t have to deal with any of this. “‘Y/n’ come on. Time to go to bed.”

You drew in a slow breath and blinked at him as you woke. You could still feel the effects of the alcohol burning bright. “What time is it?” you mumbled, sitting up. 

“Come on, I’m gonna pick you up. Ready?”

 You nodded and allowed him to stand you up and put you over his shoulder. You noticed how his shirt was untucked in the back.

Once in the bedroom, he laid you down on the bed. He moved towards the closet but took his hand and stood. He sighed in annoyance and moved his face away as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“Happy birthday,” you smiled, the heat from the alcohol making your face feel warm. 

“Not my birthday anymore,” he said, trying to gently pull away from you.

Some part of you knew you were making a fool out of yourself. “I got a gift for you-”

He shook his head. “You’re disgusting.”

The words stung. You let go, your eyes widening, like you were about to cry. Then you realized what he thought you meant by gift. He knew you were too drunk to sleep with, so implying that he would have offended him.

 You laughed, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “No, not like that. I’m sorry about - I. I drank when I was cooking because I thought you would be home earlier.” You noticed a smudge of pink on the inside of his collar. Then you noticed he wasn’t wearing a tie either. You lifted your hand, intending to touch it “What’s-”

 He jerked back, then turned, going into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. You jumped at the sound and the way it made the photos hung on the wall rattle. You weren’t exactly sure what you did or saw to deserve a response like that. 

When you heard the shower turn on, you figured you would get ready for bed yourself, but before you did, you withdrew the gift from the nightstand and placed it on his side of the bed. After that, you made your way to the guest bathroom to take off your makeup, then back downstairs to heat up some food. Nausea was already beginning to set in. You needed something in your stomach. While you were down there, you made a point to pack some leftovers in Tupperware containers that he could grab on his way out the door in the morning.

-

You slept in the guest room that night, figuring it was best to allow him space. He left before you woke, but you could have sworn you felt the mattress dip sometime in the morning and a soft touch come up to smooth down your hair. It could have very well been a dream though. The hangover was a bad one, and it was times like this you realize your age was catching up with you more quickly then you would like to acknowledge. Your plan for the rest of the day was to clean, mostly because you didn’t know what else to do and if you sat mulling over the events of last night it would just make you sad. 

[its-all-just-ink-man]

Oh hey here's some more art I forgot to post! The first picture is a sooooorrrrrt of genderbend of Twisted Alice. He's from an AU where Susie was transmasc. He would have liked to be called Simon but he never really came out to anybody except maybe Sammy. Upon being turned into Alice, he still had his dysphoria and tinkered with the Ink Machine and the template until he was able to recreate himself as a male angel, and from then on he named himself Ambrose Angel.

The second pic is an OC I made. Pronouns they/he. Their name is Ashton Angel, and they're Alice's younger sibling. They were never revealed to be a boy or a girl during their time in the cartoons, so audiences were left to wonder about it. They're actually nonbinary, but there wasn't really a word for that at the time they were created. They were originally created by Susie's younger brother, who I have yet to name but he loved the cartoons enough to come up with a character of his own. He was hanging around in the studio doodling Ashton and Alice one day and waiting for Susie to finish her voice work, when Joey Drew happened to walk by and notice. Joey asked him what he was doing, Susie's brother told him, and Joey thought it was a nifty enough idea that he asked him if he'd like for Ashton to actually be in the cartoons and if he'd be willing to voice them. He was, of course, elated, and happily accepted, but after Susie was replaced by Allison, Ashton was dropped from the cartoons, and both siblings were heartbroken.

Fast forward to Joey Drew asking Susie and her brother to come back and bring the Angel siblings to life one more time. When Ashton was born from the Machine, they were almost perfect(and AMAB because when Thomas was creating the templates, he thought Ashton sounded more like a boy's name) but they had a few flaws, namely having a voracious appetite that couldn't be sated by anything but ink flesh. No matter how much bacon soup or other food Ashton eats, he's never satisfied, so he hunts searchers(especially swollen ones), Lost Ones, the Butcher Gang, and Borises if he can catch one. However, he's not the brightest bulb when he's super hungry. He's gone after the Ink Demon and the Projectionist multiple times, and it never ends well for him. It's a good thing he's faster than both of them, or he would have been killed a long time ago. He stays with Twisted Alice, and they share the inky organs of whatever they can catch and look out for each other. I'll probably write some stuff about the two of them having cute sibling moments.

This also applies to Transmasc!S AU. Ashton didn't know who Ambrose was at first, because having the memories of the cartoon character, they remembered having a sister, not a brother, but when Ambrose told them who he was, something clicked in their head, some ghost of a memory from another life where they had a brother that everyone else thought was actually a sister, and they accepted what Ambrose told them as truth. When they were both alive, Simon would have told his younger brother that he felt more like a man than a woman but asked him not to tell anyone else because he wasn't ready for others to know yet.

Also, just to make this clear, even though they have a cute baby face and happen to be shortish(he's 5'5"), Ashton is NOT a child nor is he "child coded", and Susie's brother was an adult by the time he was turned into Ashton. If I decide to ship him with anyone, I don't want weirdos coming at me about him being too young. I created him, I get to decide how old he is. I am also a short nonbinary with a cute baby face who regularly gets mistaken for being half my age by strangers(and every time I buy alcohol I swear they're scrutinizing my ID like they think it's a fake lmao) but I'm a grown ass adult and no amount of weirdos screaming that short people are Actually Minors or whatever is going to change that.

Anyway I hope y'all like these pretty ink boys! 🖤🖤🖤

[daddysfangirls-anime]

I’ll be back

Pairing: Levi x reader

warning: language, beating, sad, angst, attempt sexual assault.

summary: Levi loved someone who was too young to love and decided to break her would be better. He was wrong.

Prompt: People think the lion fell in love with the lamb but it was the other way around. The lamb fell in love with the lion…

Right before he broke her heart;  Before he destroyed her; Before he tore her into pieces…

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…”

The Lion and The Lamb

 Levi Ackerman

Originally posted by aurieackerman

The Lion.

He was cruel but not cruel enough to walk past the please of a girl in need. Sighing in annoyances he followed the young girls scream into an alley. He leaned against a wall for a moment watching a young girl struggle against three men.

She kicked, punched, and clawed as the men laughed and beat her down. She looked about 12 Years old maybe younger. She wore sandals and a white dress that obviously wasn’t white anymore.

The Lamb.

He tensed up when he saw one of the men begin to unbuckle his pants. This was where he drew the line.

“hey” he shouted pushing off the wall and walked towards them “that’s enough, leave her alone”

“Hey pal, mind your own business just keep walking.” One guy steps forward he was about 5′9 with blonde hair he had a tooth gap and smelled heavily of booze, all of them smelled heavily of booze they were all filthy.

He scoffed and looked as the blonde approached and put a hand on his shoulder, a filthy hand, bad idea. As quick as he could he kicked the guy in the back of his leg making him drop to his knees then took his arm and kneeing it snapping it in two. The blonde screeched and fell back.

“Holy shit. He snapped Gavin’s arm. He fucking snapped Gavin’s arm” another guy yelled trembling as he backed away. He seemed to be the youngest of the three and the most scared.

“Get Him” the other guy shouted he was fatter and bald. He was the one with his pants unbuckled he was holding the girl’s head in his hands.

“I’m out of here”

“Charlie. Charlie, Charlie get your ass back here, Charlie”

“Fuck you Riley” the bald guy, Riley, groaned and looked towards the guy about to kick his ass.

“you think you’re tough”

the so-called tough guy pulled out a pocket knife “ I think I’m annoyed and disgusted by you pigs” taking a large step he thrust his knife into Riley’s shoulder forcing him to cry out and step off the girl. Pulling back he slashed his face and Riley fell back.

“I should get you like the pig you are” he turned away from him and to the girl.

He took a knee beside her “are you okay?” she continued to just look forward and sob. Her right eye was swollen shut her face bloody and bruised. She couldn’t feel anything.

“where do you live?” she crooked out her address he then picked her up and took her home.

“what’s your name?” he asked as he bandaged her up

“ (y/n) (L/n)”.

The Lamb.

“Levi Ackerman”.

The Lion.

“where’s the rest of your family?” Levi asked.

“My- my brother is a soldier, scout regime, left last year”

he’s probably died Levi thought “where are your parents?” the room fell silent Levi didn’t think she heard him “where’s your -”

“dead. Everyone died. I’m alone”. Her brother took care of her all of her life. Her mother was a prostitute who abandons her children when it got too hard. Their aunt was generous to pick them up and take care of them the best she could. But two weeks ago she had fallen and never recovered. (y/n) was left to fend for herself, which she was doing poorly at.

Levi finished fixing up her face then cleaned up, he meant to clean up the mess he made but ended up cleaning the whole house. (y/n) watched from her seat on the couch. This man, Levi, was very sweet and kind or at least seemed that way.

“how old are you?” Levi asked swiping the floors

“12″ she answered. Levi was 21.

“This place is dirty”

“I’m sorry”

“it’s fine I’ll teach you. How long have you been alone?” Levi asked as he checked her cabin which were empty

“four days”.

“Alright, I’ll be back” that’s what he said as he left (y/n) though it meant a few minutes or hours, in reality, he meant a few days. When Levi returned he waltzed right in and headed to the kitchen with bags. (y/n) didn’t know this and grabbed a bat she tiptoed into the kitchen seeing the intruder she raised the bat alone her head and swung down the intruder caught it.

“listen hear you ungrateful little brat” immediately she dropped that bat and began to apologize. Levi ignored her and continued to put things away. Her cabin was now stocked with food and cleaning supplies.

“I’ll be back” once again he was gone this time he didn’t return for two weeks. When he came back it was late at night and you were trying to go to bed when she got up and saw Levi in the middle of her living room she broke into tears Levi once again ignore her tears.

“I’ve brought books,” he said placing a stack of books on the kitchen table.

“where did you go?” once again ignored Levi checked her cabin she was still stocked. Looking at her he noticed her clothes were a bit small.

“I’ll be back … with clothes”

“no wait please” (y/n) said but it’s too late and Levi’s out the door.

Once again she was alone. Levi comes and went as he please which hurt (y/n) a lot. Having no friends or family (y/n) was left alone. Ever since that incident with three men, she didn’t risk going outside. The only person she had to connect with is Levi and he never stayed. And it hurt (y/n) every time he left because she never knew when he’d be back but she kept hope in her little breaking heart that he would.

The relationship continued like this for a little under a year until Levi stopped coming for good. Unknowing to (y/n) Levi was forced to join the scout regiment with his two loyal friends, siblings. For a year (y/n) learned to fend and steal for herself and once again she was alone but more alone than before. The underground was not a place for a child alone yet here she is.

A year after leaving Levi returned. (y/n) came back home to find Levi on her couch reading a book that he brought her long ago.

“you’re back” (y/n) said as she got teary-eyed she immediately tried to hug him but he got up before she reached him “ I stocked your cabin“

“where have you been?” she asked sitting on her knees on the couch “The place is really clean. You’ve done well” he ignores her question. She didn’t need to know his business what he did was his problem. She needed to stay in her child-like world and stop asking the question before she got answers she didn’t like. But she was going to have to get an answer she wasn’t going to like

“14, right?”

“excuse me?”

“you’re 14, now, right? 14 years old”

“yeah,” he nods acknowledging her.

“where did you go?” (y/n) asked again wiping tears away Levi didn’t say anything he walked over to the coat rack pulling something from his jacket a letter. He placed it on the kitchen table. It was a letter that contains an answer she didn’t like to a question she never asked.

Levi left standing outside the house he stood there he heard her crying. Now she knew her brother wasn’t coming home. Levi walked away as he knew he formed another crack in her already breaking heart. Levi never came back after that.

A few months later wall Maria fell and (y/n), The Little Lamb, made a choice to follow Levi, The bold Lion. 5 years later they’d be introduced to each other again by Commander Erwin Smith (y/n) (L/n) as a new and top recruit and Levi Ackerman as the Captain of the top scout regime squad.

“Levi I’d like you to meet Cadet (L/n) the top recruit of her class and new recruit ago he found her a child in the street him an early young man. He caught uncertain feelings for her in her young supposedly teenage years and his early adult years. He tried to keep her safe and healthy and away from danger while keeping his distance with his uncertain feelings. And also breaking her heart hoping she’d never feel the same. But she did at a very young age, she did.

The Lamb fell in love with The Lion as he tried not to love her. But in the end, The Lion fell in love with The Lamb which he had broken.

[pitviperofdoom]

TMA Fantasy Week, Day 2

Prompt: Fae

Summary: A faerie imprisoned by hunters receives a strange visitor. (Pre JonGerry)

Warnings: Imprisonment, forced obedience.

Part of a larger story I’m working on. I’ll be posting it on AO3 when I’m finished.

***

He smelled the she-wolf before he saw her.

When the door to his little chamber opened, he kept his eyes shut, as always. Why bother opening them? The hounds had become tiresome to look at of his own accord. If they needed him, then they could bark his Name and be done with it.

And so he smelled her first—fresh blood and grave dirt clinging to her fur—and heard her claws click on the cold stone floor, until the sound softened as heavy paws became lighter feet.

It was a shoe that nudged him, none too gently, before she spoke in a voice laced with a low growl. “Get up, Keay.”

He rose because he could not do otherwise, even with only a fragment of his Name in her teeth. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the she-wolf standing before him, windblown and bloodstained from a recent and successful chase.

That was odd. The hounds rarely hunted without consulting him first, wringing answers from his unwilling lips until they were satisfied that they knew their prey. But here she was, eyes bright and hunger sated, without his help.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and his jaw clicked obediently shut. Satisfied, Julia looked over her shoulder and called out. “Bring ‘em in, Trev.”

The other hound entered, though he stayed back by the door. And then, a moment later, a third figure crept cautiously through the doorway, skirting Trevor before coming to a halt at a respectful distance from Julia. In an instant, their eyes were on him.

They were small, though anyone would look small while standing near the hounds. They were nearly plain as well, but for a few flashes of beauty. Dark brown eyes, deep and sharp with curiosity. Dark hair that brushed their shoulders, shot through with silver. Slender hands on delicate wrists, that would have been graceful if they weren’t trembling so. It only took a glance to know why—their skin was darker than his, but he could still see the familiar bruises that marked their wrists. The wolves had been rough with them—another prisoner to share his cage?

No—they would never bother keeping a human. What good was a human to them, when they had him instead?

Only… someone must have aided in their hunt.

“Here you are, then,” said Julia, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You want a story? He’s got plenty.” The human’s eyes narrowed at this—not angry, merely thoughtful. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ve heard what you do with stories.”

(His ears pricked at that—a human with sharp and curious eyes, aiding hunters and asking for stories in return. That could mean nothing, or it could mean everything.)

“Count yourself lucky we didn’t just rip your throat out too,” Julia growled. “Save everyone else the trouble.”

The human carefully shifted their shaking hands behind their back. “That won’t be necessary,” was their polite reply.

“Good.” Julia nodded shortly. “That’s our end of the deal, then.” She shouldered roughly past them, knocking them neatly out of her way as she rejoined Trevor. From some hidden pocket within her coat, she drew out a familiar slip of old, weathered sheepskin between her fingers and showed it off with a careless wave. “Give us a shout if he gets mouthy, and we’ll set him right.”

“You’re not staying?” the human asked.

“Trevor hates being around him too long,” Julia replied.

“Gives me the creeps.” Trevor’s lip curled past the tips of his teeth. “Looks human but ain’t. If it wasn’t so useful, we’d have killed it ages ago.”

“Door’s unlocked, so come out when you’re done,” said Julia. “Don’t worry about him escaping—he knows better.”

As the wolves left the dark chamber and closed the door behind them, not once did he take his eyes from the scrap in Julia’s hand.

The moment they were gone, he sat down again, and with a rustle of fabric his visitor joined him at a distance. Their eyes never left his face, even as he refused to meet them.

“You want a story,” he said. It was not a question.

“I don’t know if ‘want’ is the right word,” the human replied.

“You’re the Archivist.” The words slip easily off his tongue—the truth, then. “Why are you here?”

The Archivist was silent for a moment. “I led prey to them,” they replied. “I helped them hunt. I asked for a story in return, but they didn’t want to give one, so they brought me to you instead.”

He smiled at that, wide and angry in the dark, clenching his teeth until he could imagine the taste of blood. “Did they, now.”

“Will you tell me one?” the Archivist asked.

It was a question, not a command, and even if it were otherwise, without his Name in their hand it would have no teeth. “No,” he replied, savoring the taste of the word like fine wine.

It was not freedom that he felt in refusing, but if he closed his eyes and imagined, it felt close. It was his favorite word, if only because he so rarely got to say it. Sometimes it felt as if gold would fall from his lips when he did.

It was worth the pain that always followed.

The Archivist looked confused, but not quite surprised. “No…?”

“Their debt is not mine to pay.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” The Archivist regarded him thoughtfully, curiously. Their lips pressed together firmly, as if holding back a deluge of questions.

He waited for his visitor to rise back up, call for their hosts and demand they make good on their deal by forcing a story from him. There wasn’t much he could do to defy the wolves that held his Name, but defiance still tasted sweet in the moment.

But the Archivist remained where they were. Either they thought they could cajole or force him themself, or they simply hadn’t thought of it yet. If that was the case, then he wasn’t about to remind them.

“Then we’re at an impasse, I suppose,” they said after a moment. “Unless there’s something I can offer you?”

He bared his teeth in a smile. “Your name, if you don’t mind?”

“I do mind,” the Archivist replied without batting an eye. “You may not have my Name. But if you like, you may call me Jon.”

He spread his hands wide. “Then we are at an impasse,” he replied. “Jon.” A simple name, but it sat nicely on the tongue.

“I suppose we are,” said Jon. They glanced at the door, but made no move to approach it.

Perhaps they were simply stupid. Rather unfortunate, for someone so significant to the Court of the Eye. Then again, it didn’t take much in the way of cleverness to collect stories.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

Jon shrugged. “It hasn’t been enough time for a story yet,” he said. “If I leave now, they might wonder why.”

That was not the answer that he was expecting. “And?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want them to rip one out of you against your will?”

He stiffened. “No,” he admitted, almost petulantly. Not stupid after all, then. “Don’t you?”

He didn’t like the way Jon looked at him after that, measuring him with a glance. “Not particularly,” they replied. “They’re the ones indebted to me, so they should be the ones to pay, not you.”

“Oh.”

From the other side of the room, the Archivist’s eyes remained fixed on him. “They have more than just your name,” they said, and though their voice didn’t rise at the end of it, he knew it for the question it was. “You’re a full faerie, or as near as you can be.”

He nodded. “Only half of one, by blood,” he replied. “But these things don’t really care much about blood.”

“Except vampires.”

“Obviously except vampires,” he snapped. The Archivist cringed at his tone, drawing in their shoulders to make themself even smaller. “What matters is power. And, for the Court of the Eye, knowledge. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, a little hoarsely.

“Knowledge matters here, as well,” he went on. “That’s why they keep me.”

“They showed me that scrap she had,” said Jon. “They said it had your Name written on it. I thought it was awfully risky, showing me something like that when they want to keep you.” Their eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll bet, if I called it right now without that slip in my hand, it wouldn’t work for me.”

It was not a question. In fact, the Archivist sounded like they were trying very hard to keep it from being one.

“What of it.”

Jon studied him for a moment longer. “Just curious,” he said. “In the meantime, is there something I can call you?”

The question puzzled him, though he didn’t show it. “You know my Name already.”

Their face spoke volumes—a tightening around the lips, to hold back something more telling. “I don’t think I’d like it if people used my Name, even if it was useless to them,” they said. “Is there something that you’d like to be called?”

The question tugged a “Yes” from him, though no more than that. He could have kept silent, and in spite of everything he knew about the world, he suspected that Jon would even let him. In the end, he replied, “Gerry.”

They smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “It’s a pleasure, Gerry.”

“No it isn’t,” he said, and the smile slipped from their face.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I don’t suppose… is there anything I can do?”

“Steal my Name back from the wolves, and deliver it to me,” he replied. “You’d get a story from me then.”

He’d meant it as a joke, an impossible task posed to flaunt what little power he had. And yet the Archivist looked thoughtful, as if they were genuinely considering it.

“They’d rip you to shreds before you got close,” he said.

“Yes,” Jon mused. “I suppose they would. Considering how they’re trying to repay my favor, they don’t strike me as particularly fair.”

“Yeah, they’re big on foisting debts on others.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Jon replied, and barely flinched when he showed his teeth. “From what I’ve seen, I doubt they won your name fairly in the first place.”

He ground his teeth. “I think it’s been enough time, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Jon sighed, but got up anyway. At the door, he paused and looked back. “One more question, if you want to answer.”

“What now?”

“Do you know if someone’s looking for you?” they asked. “Anyone you’d like to send word to? Anyone wondering where you are?”

“There’s no one.” Nothing was pulling the truth out of him this time, but it still poured hot and foul from his throat. “No one but the one who gave out my Name in the first place. My mother is gone, and my father died so long ago that I never even learned his name.”

Something sparked in the Archivist’s eyes. Not just emotion, but power—the very power revered in the Court of the Eye. He hadn’t expected that, and he couldn’t help wonder what his honesty had wrought.

The moment passed, and without warning, the Archivist smiled again. “Thank you, Gerry.”

They said it precisely and clearly, with obvious intention. It made him balk; the Courts worked in deals and trades and favors, and words of gratitude came with the risk of accepting a debt. He had to wonder once more if the Archivist was stupid.

But he wasn’t going to get an answer. Jon knocked on the door, and moments later Julia opened it.

“All done?” she asked gruffly.

He sat back, tired and vaguely curious. The Archivist was odd, odd enough to reawaken his own curiosity, long since buried after the wolves took his Name. It was a shame to see him leave so soon.

“Not quite,” Jon replied, startling him. “I have business with the Court and I have to leave, and I was only able to hear a piece of his story. I’ll be back later for the rest.”

What?

Irritation flashed in Julia’s eyes, but she stood to the side with an impatient huff. “Fine then. Guess the quarry you found us was worth a lot.”

The Archivist glanced over their shoulder before they left, briefly meeting his eyes. That strange light still shone in Jon’s gaze, steady and curious and otherwise unreadable. They were gone before he could properly decipher it.

Julia barely spared him a second glance before shutting the door on him and leaving him in the dark. He sat back with a sigh, thoughts running through his head with frantic energy. Had he caught the attention of the Eye? Had Jon caused it, or was he merely a symptom of that attention? Perhaps he would find out, the next time the Archivist came to visit him.

It was an odd feeling, to have something to look forward to again.

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

confiding over cuddles

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, background Roman & Remus. Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, both pre-relationship and during the relationship.  Warnings: Language. First scene has mentions of being outed, religious homophobia, the implication of the f-slur having been used (the actual word is never on the page), and could maybe come across as critical of Christianity although I intend it more as critical of the homophobia. All of this is kept vague and not gone into in great detail. In the second scene, there are a couple of lines that are implied to be suggestive, but no other warnings. Word count: 4657

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Throughout the years, vulnerability has always been easiest for Virgil and Logan while cuddling.

Notes: Day 3 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Yes, I’m posting it a day late, but I technically finished it before midnight last night, lol. Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.  Remus uses he/they pronouns in this universe. 

part 1 - nightmares “Virgil?” Logan said quietly, looking up from the textbook he’d spread open on the floor of Virgil’s dorm room.

Virgil flinched, startled in spite of the soft tone and not too eager for conversation. “What?” he mumbled, dragging his headphones off one ear. He wasn’t actually listening to anything—he’d put them on to avoid conversation—but apparently now they were having a conversation anyway.

“I’m sorry if I am overstepping, but you don’t seem like you’re doing okay.” Logan looked up at him with wide, earnest dark brown eyes. “If there is anything I can do to help, I would really like to.”

Virgil heaved a sigh, considering his options. He hadn’t had time to cancel their normal study session, and when Logan had picked up on his distress at the beginning of the visit, Virgil had insisted it was fine and Logan didn’t have to leave. Logan had taken him at his word and settled in, sprawling on Virgil’s floor while Virgil curled up on his bed and hugged his pillow, avoiding homework and everything else too, to wallow about—well. The reason he would have canceled if he’d had five minutes’ more notice.

On the one hand, it was kind of personal, and Logan was a good enough friend (not a crush, not a crush, not a crush—) that he’d certainly be understanding if Virgil said he didn’t want to talk about it.

On the other hand, Logan had offered to help, and the opportunity to seek comfort from a pretty, thoughtful boy with nice hair and eyes and lips and hands and—but this wasn’t a crush, so none of that mattered, obviously—well, regardless, it was a tempting opportunity.

“Can I talk about it?” Virgil asked in a voice that came out smaller and more vulnerable than he intended.

Logan nodded at once, closing his textbook and climbing to his knees. “Is it okay if I come up there?”

Virgil nodded, patted the space on the bed beside himself, and scooted over to make room. Logan joined him, clambering onto the bed and laying down beside him with a good few inches of space between them, propping his chin up on his elbows. “What’s up?” he asked, focusing all his attention on Virgil.

This close proximity had the unintended side effect of shorting out Virgil’s brain for a solid three seconds. “Uh.” He tore his eyes away from Logan’s face. “I… so I have this friend, right? He used to be my best friend. When we were kids. I haven’t really talked to him at all in a few years.”

Logan nodded.

“So, uh.” Virgil hesitated, fidgeting with his phone. “I guess somebody outed me to him. And he wasn’t okay about it.”

Logan sucked in a concerned hiss of air, half-reaching for Virgil’s shoulder and stopping himself partway through the motion. “Are you okay?”

Virgil nodded on instinct, thought about it, and then shook his head. “He texted me out of the blue about it and offered to pray for me.” His voice shook. “And I—I told him no thanks, I like being gay.” He swiped aimlessly back and forth on his homescreen, opening a folder of apps and then closing it, just so he had something else to focus on than the words he was saying. “He got mad. Called me a—a, a… you know.”

“Oh my god,” Logan murmured in a hushed, horrified tone, and this time he did put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil let out a little hiccup of a laugh that held no humor but was a way to avoid bursting into tears. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes. “I blocked his number right before you got here,” he mumbled.

Logan nodded. “Good.”

“But he’s been messaging me on Instagram this whole time,” Virgil added with a grimace. “I haven’t been opening them, but…” Right on cue, a notification banner popped up across the top of his screen, previewing a message that contained more of the same stuff he’d been seeing flash across his screen for the last half hour.

“Block him there too,” Logan said instantly. “He doesn’t deserve your time.”

Virgil brushed at the corners of his eyes, swiping away the tears that were threatening to accumulate. “I—I don’t want to open it,” he admitted, voice cracking. “If I open the app, I know I’m going to read all of the messages, and I don’t want to.”

Logan was already shaking his head. “No, don’t read them, oh my god—please don’t read them, please don’t hurt yourself like that.”

“I don’t want to,” Virgil repeated, burying his face in the bedcovers for just a second to hide the tears he couldn’t quite hold back.

Logan’s hand cautiously crept from his shoulder to his back, where it began rubbing soothing circles between his shoulderblades. “Is there any way I can help?” he asked after a moment, his voice almost calm enough to hide his own distress. “I could block him for you, if you want. That way you wouldn’t have to handle the app at all.”

Virgil considered this. He didn’t like the idea of others going through his phone, ever, full stop. But he really didn’t like the idea of opening the Instagram app himself and seeing the little red notification in the corner and inevitably clicking it against all his common sense and scrolling through the messages, reading them over and over again, and maybe trying to reason with the guy about Virgil’s own humanity, even though all that would do was invite a dozen more paragraphs of hurt to read and internalize and argue about, and it would only turn into a vicious cycle of never-ending emotional damage. Not ideal.

And he trusted Logan. He still didn’t like the idea of handing Logan his unlocked phone, but it was a lot less bad than the idea of pretty much anyone else having that access, and it was probably way less bad than trying to do it himself and just hoping he’d somehow have the willpower to leave well enough alone when he knew he didn’t trust himself to do that.

“Can I watch you do it?” he asked, turning his head to the side so he could make suddenly-tired eye contact.

“Of course,” Logan said gently. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

Virgil worried at his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, then unlocked the phone with a quick hard press of his thumb and passed it to Logan, wincing slightly.

“Instagram?” Logan asked, finger hovering over the app and waiting for Virgil’s confirmation.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

Logan opened the app and, waiting at each step for Virgil’s next instruction, blocked the guy without opening any of the messages sitting in Virgil’s DMs. “Does he have any other accounts?”

“I don’t think so,” Virgil mumbled.

“I’m glad. Are there any other methods he has of contacting you that you’d like to block him on?” Logan offered the phone back.

Virgil accepted it gratefully, his shoulders untensing a little. “I guess Snapchat.” He looked up the account and blocked it. “I deleted my Facebook ages ago.” He drummed his fingers on his lips, thinking. “I don’t have a ton of social media, I think that’s everything.”

Logan nodded, visibly relaxing. “Do you need anything? Any kind of support, or anything?”

“I dunno,” Virgil mumbled. He rolled over onto his back. “It just… it sucks.”

“It really does,” Logan agreed.

Virgil forced out a dry chuckle. “Guess I didn’t need that many friends, anyway,” he said, trying hard to make the situation into something amusing. It didn’t particularly work. “It’s not like most people like me, what’s one less?”

“I like you!” Logan protested, his voice much louder than it had been for the last ten minutes. He froze, looking anywhere but Virgil’s face. “I, I like you a lot. You’re a very good friend,” he added, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, his expression flustered.

Virgil set that aside to overthink for ages later. “Uh. Thanks. You—you too,” he managed.

They were both very quiet for a moment, Logan’s fidgeting only increasing as Virgil chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

“Is there anything you need right now?” Logan asked again, just as the tension between them began to become uncomfortable.

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I don’t know… are you busy?”

“Not until my next class, which is at noon tomorrow,” Logan assured him.

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

“I enjoy spending time with you, and you are clearly distressed and I’d like to help if I can,” Logan interrupted, “and you are my friend and I care about you very much, and it is not bothering me to ask whatever you want. If I want to say no, I will.”

Well. He had covered all his bases when it came to anticipating Virgil’s hesitations.

“Would you mind staying for a bit?” Virgil blurted. “To help me keep my mind off it? I—I don’t want to be alone. I think too much.”

Logan’s expression softened into something so tender it almost hurt to look at. “Of course,” he agreed easily. “As long as you like.”

“Thank you,” Virgil whispered.

“Anytime.” Logan fidgeted with his sleeve a bit more, not looking at Virgil. “Um. Would you like to cuddle?” he asked hesitantly after a minute.

Virgil wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “What?”

“There are several physiological and neurological benefits to—” Logan began, determinedly not looking at Virgil’s face.

“No, I believe you,” Virgil interrupted, and in a surge of daring, added: “Sure.”

Logan blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Oh! Alright.” He shifted closer, carefully closing the gap between them like he was afraid of doing it wrong, and arranged himself against Virgil’s side with his head on Virgil’s shoulder and his arm draped across Virgil’s chest.

Virgil’s own arm curled around Logan easily, like it was meant to go there. Virgil ignored (mostly) his rapid heartbeat and how soft Logan’s hair was where it brushed against his cheek.

“Do you want to know something totally stupid?” Logan asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, wondering where this was going.

“I’m scared of the space under my bed.” Logan half chuckled.

Virgil blinked. That had been kind of out of the blue. “What?”

“I’ve tried to rationalize it away. I know it doesn’t make sense.” Logan sounded half amused, like maybe he was trying to cover up some mild embarrassment with humor. “But ever since I was a little kid, it’s scared me. It was worse when I was little, I would have nightmares about it and everything. But it still makes me kind of nervous to just have empty space there. I like to fill it up.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil said. He understood irrational fears. “How come you’re telling me, though? Like, not in a judgemental way,” he added quickly, feeling Logan’s shoulders tense just slightly. “Just wondering where that came from.”

“Ah.” Logan relaxed again. “I am attempting vulnerability. You just shared what seemed like a pretty personal moment with me, and I know that can feel uncomfortable. I am trying to level the playing field a little.”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile. “That’s really sweet, Lo,” he said.

“I am just trying to be a good friend.” Logan shrugged one shoulder, but Virgil could hear the happy note in his voice.

“I was scared of going places by myself when I was little,” Virgil said. “Actually, that came from a nightmare, too.” He laughed a little.

“No, hey!” Logan protested. “Now it’s uneven again!”

“I don’t think that’s how vulnerability works,” Virgil told him, only teasing a little bit. “Friendship isn’t math, it doesn’t have to match on both sides. Besides, I got over that one, mostly. It’s all good.”

Logan nodded slowly in acceptance, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Virgil’s shoulder. “Alright.” He half sat up, but only took his glasses off and reached to put them on the sidetable, then lay back down, cuddling up even more cozily against Virgil once again, making a small noise of content.

“What have you been up to lately?” Virgil asked, his voice hardly above a whisper, because he needed there to be some kind of conversation. Not just to distract himself from the unpleasant stuff of earlier, although that was still a part of it, but also so that he could avoid examining the current situation too hard. Because Logan was just a friend, just a friend, and Virgil couldn’t afford to risk ruining a friendship as wonderful as this one with a big gay crush on his friend.

“Getting used to my new board position in the astronomy club,” Logan said. “And a lot of reading for my classes.”

“You’re the Vice President this year, right?” Virgil asked. Almost without thinking about it, he raised his hand to stroke Logan’s hair, which was just as soft against his fingertips as it had felt against his cheek.

Logan let out a soft sigh of content at the touch, nestling his head a little more snugly against Virgil’s shoulder, and coincidentally fucking melting Virgil’s heart into a puddle of goo. This whole not-a-crush thing was getting to be a serious problem.

“Yes, I’m the Vice President,” Logan confirmed. “I was the secretary last year, so I kind of know the ropes, but I have very different responsibilities this time. So that’s been interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil invited.

Logan did tell him about it, and then he asked Virgil what he’d been up to, and Virgil got to talk about a research project he was helping one of his favorite professors out with, and that led to telling each other stories about their favorite professors and classes (and some of the bad ones, too), and that led to stories about their friends, and Logan was looking up at Virgil with a soft gaze that Virgil could have stared into forever, and he really didn’t know what was up with Logan of all people’s sudden desire to cuddle, but he wasn’t asking questions because this was kind of the best thing that had happened in forever.

When, much later, the conversation slowly died down and Logan’s voice trailed off into a sleepy noise that he stifled against Virgil’s shoulder, scrunching his whole face up into a yawn, Virgil only tugged at the piled-up blanket he was leaning against until it half-covered the pair of them. Maybe the more responsible thing to do would have been to rouse Logan so he could go home to his apartment, but when Logan shifted closer to him and held him a little tighter, his eyes drifting shut, Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

And he’d meant for it to only be a brief nap, really he had. He hadn’t planned to drift off himself as well. He could’ve sworn he only closed his eyes for a second or two—but when he opened them, sunlight was streaming through the window, and Logan was still there, still in Virgil’s arms cuddled close against his chest. Logan was wide awake now, but he seemed perfectly content to just lie there and examine Virgil’s face, a funny look in his eyes and a tiny smile on his lips.

“Hi,” Virgil said blearily, blinking at him. Then he processed where they were and what had happened. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I should have woken you up,” he began, half sitting up, his voice coming out a sleepy mumble that probably wasn’t anywhere near intelligible.

“No, it’s fine,” Logan assured him, gently pushing him back down. “I don’t mind.”

Virgil was half of a mind to keep apologizing, but it was very warm and he was still barely awake and Logan was so soft and nice, so all in all it was much easier to just lie there and accept the cuddles.

“Are you doing better?” Logan asked quietly.

It took Virgil a minute to fully remember the events of yesterday and figure out what he was referencing. “Oh. Uh, I guess. Like, it still sucks, but I’m going to be okay, you know? And this is nice, anyway.”

Logan nodded, resting his head on Virgil’s chest as if to listen to his heartbeat. “Yes. This is very nice.”

[4 years later]

part 2 - dreams  “Come to bed,” Logan said. “You have been scrolling through Tumblr for the past twenty-seven minutes, you can do that just as well while snuggling me.”  

“I’ve been attacked,” Virgil said lightly, shutting off his laptop and turning around to face his boyfriend. Logan was sitting in bed in his pajamas, leaning back against the headboard of their bed, a book in his hands and the covers pulled up over his lap. Virgil smiled. “Let me go brush my teeth and then I’ll come cuddle you, babe.”

“Acceptable,” Logan agreed with an answering smile, his eyes flicking up briefly from the pages to meet Virgil’s own.

Virgil brushed his teeth in the little bathroom of the apartment Logan had shared with the twins in the two years since they’d all graduated college. Before reemerging, Virgil changed into the old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants he’d brought with him—he usually stayed overnight on the weekends these days, and this one was no exception.

Roman, sitting at the kitchen table poring over a wad of papers that were probably a script from the local community theatre’s latest production, waved at Virgil as he exited the bathroom. “G’night, Virge,” he called.

“Night, Ro,” Virgil responded, and for good measure, he added, “night, Remus.”

Remus, somewhere out of sight, cackled. “Have fun getting—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Virgil interrupted automatically, without any real bite, making his way back into Logan’s room and shutting the door behind himself.

Logan smiled at the sight of him, pulling back the covers invitingly. Virgil snagged his phone off of Logan’s desk on his way over, climbing into the bed and curling up with his head in Logan’s lap.

Logan let out a small, pleased sigh, resting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Happy?” Virgil asked, reaching up to touch Logan’s face.

Logan nodded. “Very.”

Virgil chuckled and half sat up so he could reach to kiss Logan, then settled himself back where he’d been and unlocked his phone, scrolling through Tumblr without paying too much attention. Logan’s hand came to rest lightly on the back of his head, and after a moment began stroking his hair.

He turned a page, then after a minute closed the book and set it down.

Virgil looked up. His boyfriend was gazing down at him, face scrunched up just slightly the way it always did when he was thinking hard about something.

“You good?” Virgil asked.

Logan started slightly. “Oh! Yes.” His hand, which had drifted to a stop at the base of Virgil’s skull, resumed gently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Virgil asked.

Logan was quiet for a beat, then met Virgil’s eyes. “Would you like to get married?”

Virgil choked on air. “What?”

“Married,” Logan repeated, a little shy this time. “You and I. Would you be interested in doing that?”

“I—” Virgil found himself at a loss for words. “I don’t know? Maybe?” He sat up, shutting off his phone and setting it on the sidetable. “I’m sorry—are you proposing to me in our pajamas?”

“No,” Logan said emphatically, frowning. “This is not a proposal. This is so we can talk about it ahead of time, so that if you do want it, then you won’t need to be anxious when I do propose.”

Virgil blinked, processing that. “Wow.” He reached over and brushed his thumb lightly across Logan’s cheek. “I love you so much, you know that?”

Logan’s brow smoothed out and his shoulders visibly untensed. “I love you too.” He put his hand over Virgil’s where it rested on his cheek, cradling it tenderly. He closed his eyes. “And you don’t need to have an answer right now. We can have this conversation whenever you like. I just… wanted to bring it up. Because I would like that, if you are also amicable.” He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to the palm of Virgil’s hand.

Virgil hooked a finger in the collar of Logan’s pajama shirt and drew him close for a soft kiss. “Come lay down and cuddle me properly, nerd.”

Logan obediently set his book down on the sidetable beside Virgil’s phone, pulled off his glasses, and set those down too. With some shuffling of limbs, the two of them lay down, Virgil curled up in Logan’s arms. To anyone else, Logan would have seemed perfectly relaxed, content to lay there and press the occasional kiss to Virgil’s forehead; but Virgil could sense the slight tension in Logan’s face. He was nervous, even if he was trying hard not to show it.

Virgil’s own thoughts were whirling. Did he want to get married? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But they were both still so young. Marriage was so big. Even if they’d been dating for more than four years at this point, that was barely more than a blip in the really long run. And what if they found out too late that they disagreed on something important? What if Logan wanted to take out a huge mortgage, or move across the country, or have kids? (Okay, they’d talked about kids, and both felt super hesitant, not-yet-ready at best, about the whole idea. But what if Logan changed his mind?)

(But also… waking up to Logan’s face every morning. Waking up to coffee with Logan and sleepy yawns. Casual touches on the elbow or shoulder or wrist or waist or cheek throughout the day, little reminders of love that were almost thoughtless in their routine. A home that would be just theirs. They could get a pet, if they wanted. They could paint stars on the ceiling or walls. They could cook dinner together every night. They could stay up late watching old TV shows and making snarky commentary back and forth. They could be each other’s home.)

Logan was watching Virgil’s face intently, even as he did his best to play it cool. Virgil met his eyes. “So,” he began, struggling to find the right words for what he wanted to convey. “I—I don’t know what I want. Or. I guess I kind of do. But I’m nervous.”

“We don’t have to,” Logan said quickly. “I mean. Obviously. But I don’t want you to—to feel pressured, or anything, to say anything one way or the other or to have to even say anything at all or—”

“Hey,” Virgil interrupted soothingly as Logan’s voice sped into anxious overdrive. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Logan sucked in a breath. He nodded. “I—sorry.”

Virgil shook his head and leaned across the few inches between them to kiss Logan. “Babe, I just told you I’m nervous. It’s fine if you are too.”

“I’m not nervous—” Logan began. He cut himself off at the wry look Virgil gave him. “I—okay, fine. But it’s not a big deal.”

“Hmm, disagree.”

“But the whole point was so I could support you if you felt—”

“L. Babe. Light of my life. You get nervous when you’re vulnerable. I get it.”

Logan bit his lip and reached for Virgil’s hand. He held it tightly.

Virgil squeezed back and snuggled closer under the covers. “Anyway, uh.” He paused for a second to make sure he knew how he wanted to say it. “I—I still don’t know exactly what I want to say about that idea. But I know the answer is definitely not a no.”

Logan breathed in, not quite sharply enough to be a gasp. “Oh,” he breathed, letting go of Virgil’s hand so he could caress his face.

“Does that make sense?” Virgil asked. “Like, I don’t yet know how or when I want it. But I—I think I want to, eventually, and I really want it to be you.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice coming out a little choked. “Yeah, that—that’s good.”

Virgil half smiled. “Kiss?” he asked.

Logan was reaching for him before he even finished the word, pulling him close and clinging to him as he kissed the breath from Virgil’s lungs like he never wanted to let go. Virgil wrapped his own arm around Logan, holding him just as tightly, and cupped Logan’s face with the hand that was trapped between the two of them.

“I love you,” Virgil whispered as they pulled apart, and now he was choking up a little too.

Logan pressed their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

They were both quiet for a moment, holding each other close.

“I think it’d be nice to get one of those really fancy coffee machines,” Virgil whispered after a minute. “Someday. For our someday kitchen.” He enjoyed Logan’s sudden intake of breath and the way his eyes widened slightly at the word our. “The kind that can make espresso, and shit,” Virgil went on. “We could try out all different kinds of things. And I wouldn’t tell anybody how much sugar you always put in your coffee.”

“I put a normal amount of sugar in my coffee,” Logan protested, a smile quirking onto his face.

“L, I love you, but that is maybe the least true thing you have ever said in your life.” Virgil snickered.

“Shut up,” Logan whined, pushing lightly at Virgil’s shoulder with an answering grin.

Virgil leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It’s cute.” He hesitated for a beat. “What would you want? In your dream future?”

“You,” Logan responded immediately.

Virgil pressed a hand to his mouth. He absolutely should have seen that one coming, but he hadn’t, and the surprise made the pang of fondness in his chest all the sweeter. “Logan,” he managed after a minute.

Logan only grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “A coffee machine does sound very nice, too, though,” he added. “And space for you to keep an instrument.”

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, lighting up at the idea. “Yeah, that sounds really good. I’d want a library for all your stupid nerdy books.”

Logan put a hand on Virgil’s cheek. “I’d want a kitchen table that we both picked out together.”

Virgil grinned. “A couch to hold you on.”

“A wall full of art that we both like.”

“Windows so there’s light everywhere and you can see the stars at night.”

“A pantry full of our favorite foods.”

“A bed to—”

“Virgil!”

“Whaaat?”

“We were being cute!” Logan smacked his arm lightly. “Remus is a bad influence on you,” he accused, though Virgil could see he was trying not to laugh.

“I mean, probably,” Virgil allowed, grinning. “But maybe I was just going to say a bed to sleep in. And cuddle in. And perfectly innocent things like that. Maybe you’re the one Remus is a bad influence on.”

“I—” Logan struggled for a second, then broke down into snickers.

Virgil grinned, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist and enjoying the sound of his laughter.

“Were you going to say something like that, though?” Logan asked, composing himself.

“Oh, no, absolutely not.” Virgil snickered. “You were right, I was going to ruin the cutesy vibe we had going on there, one hundred percent. But you’re really cute when you laugh, so no regrets.”

“Hmm,” Logan hummed, leaning closer. “You know when else I’m really cute?”

“When?” Virgil breathed.

“When I’m kissing you,” Logan murmured, and closed the gap between their lips.

Virgil kissed back, eyes fluttering shut and hands sliding a little more securely around Logan’s waist. In his opinion, Logan made a very compelling point.

[julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts]

It Started With a Whisper

I posted this on ao3 a few days ago but never had the time to post it here so here y’all go!!

Summary: After Julie and her Phantoms rescued Willie from Caleb, Alex starts to feel like his and Willie’s relationship is a little off. They talk about it, go on Museum Not-Date Part 2: The Electric Boogaloo, and everything works out okay for the anxious gay drummer and the skater boy.

Words: 1794

Content warnings: Alex has some anxiety briefly (not an anxiety attack but still), a few mild swears

“It started with a whisper /

And that was when I kissed her /

And then she made my lips hurt”

~~~

It started after they rescued Willie from Caleb for good. Alex and Willie’s relationship was the same, nothing had changed between them from their hug in front of the Orpheum and the moment Alex had pulled them out of the Hollywood Ghost Club himself.

But he couldn’t help but notice something.

They still hung around each other and went on little adventures together, but these days Alex was more likely to hang out with Willie and some of the band than just Willie himself. They still went on little outings together, but they never screamed in the museum together or disappeared for hours at a time just talking to each other.

Nothing had changed in the time between their hug outside the Orpheum and when Alex rescued Willie from the Club, yet everything had changed.

Alex missed them. God, he missed Willie so much.

So he decided to do something about it.

~~~

Alex waited for everyone to start filing out of the studio for a post-practice lunch before he laid a hand on Willie’s shoulder.

“Hey,” He said. “Can we talk?”

They turned their head just slightly to look back at him, and Alex watched as a succession of little emotions played across his face like Saturday cartoons. Confusing, curiosity, worry, and other microexpressions that passed too quickly for him to read.

“It’s nothing bad,” He assured him quickly, and Willie’s face softened slightly.

They both stood there for a second, waiting for Luke, Reggie, and Julie to make their way out of the studio. Julie shot him a quick look before she walked out the door, silently asking him if he needed her, and he just shook his head and watched the door click close behind his bandmates.

“I’ve…” Alex trailed off as he realized he didn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to say ‘We aren’t as close anymore’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I think I want us to be more than friends’ without sounding like an idiot?

Well, he thought, just like that.

“I’ve noticed we don’t hang out as much as we used to,” He continued. More unreadable emotions passed over Willie’s face. “And I love hanging out with you and the band, you’re all my family, but I just… I miss the times where it was just us. Just us, hanging out in the skatepark or screaming in museums. You know?” A slight, small smile grew on Willie’s face, and he felt himself doing the same. “So, I, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to go out again, after lunch? Shit, not like out out, but like hang out, not ‘going out’ like a date or anything—” God, why did he have to be so awkward?

Willie put him out of his misery, smiling warmly at him. “I got you, hotdog.”

And wow, did that shut his brain down. They hadn’t called him that in a long time, not since the day Alex and the band rescued them from Caleb, and his brain was full of just “oh my God he called me ‘hotdog’ oh my God he called me ‘hot dog’ oh my God he—”

Say something, his brain scolded him, and he just scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “That’s— Great. Perfect. Okay.” Pull it together, Mercer! “So I’ll, uh, see you back here after lunch, then?”

Willie beamed at him. “It’s a date, hotdog.”

Alex couldn’t help but think that, in that moment, he was the happiest he’d been in a long time.

~~~

“So, where’re we going?” Willie asked as he shut the Molina’s front door.

Alex waited until they caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs to say anything. He opened his mouth to say something coherent, but then Willie was staring straight back into his eyes just a few feet away from him and his anxiety exploded.

There was no reason to be nervous, he knew; Willie was one of the people he trusted the most and they were just hanging out as friends. Well, “as friends” meaning “inviting him to go on a kinda-date because he wanted to confess his crush on them because he’s sad they haven’t hung out as much lately” friends.

So, like, not “friends” at all, he thought.

Willie cleared his throat, and he was sure that his head snapped up in a moment.

Shit shit shit they probably think I don’t actually want to hang out and I’m just being polite—

“You look like Ray just caught you sneaking out,” They chuckled.

And suddenly, there was a warm weight on his hand and Willie’s hand was slotted into his.

“So where are we going, then, hotdog?”

“It’s a surprise.” God, he hoped he didn’t sound as dumb as he thought he did.

Willie just smiled at him again. “Well then, let’s go!”

He tried to ignore the butterflies floundering in his chest as he teleported them both off the porch.

~~~

Alex poofed them into the museum and stood there for a moment while Willie figured out where they were. It only took a moment for someone to walk right through them, but they kept their hold on Alex’s hand.

“The museum, huh?” Willie said, a teasing note in his voice. “Are you recreating our first date?”

Alex’s brain short-circuited. He meant it as a joke, he tried to convince himself, they didn’t really mean it.

“Yeah,” He said quietly.

He gently tugged Willie over to the same bench they skated over the first time they went there together.

“Wow, I guess they never moved the bench back,” They tried to joke, but it just fell flat. “So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?”

This is it, his brain yelled at him, and it felt like his senses were turned up to eleven. He could feel every inch of his clothing hugging his body, the coolness of the cement bench, the soft warmth of their hand covering his; he could hear every single person’s voice in the museum, the hummm of the air conditioning somewhere up in the ceiling, his heart flailing in his chest, his breaths rattling in his chest.

He could also hear Willie’s gentle, concerned voice. “You okay, Alex?”

He didn’t respond, his brain overworked with all the sounds and textures around him.

The world bent around him, and suddenly they were outside the museum again and Willie’s arm was around his shoulder. The world quieted around him, and the only thing he felt on his body was Willie’s warmth.

“It’s okay,” They said, leaning their head on his shoulder. “You alright, Alex?”

“Yeah.” His voice was raspy.

“You sure? We can go home if you want to. You don’t have to do this now.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The museum was just a bit much with all the people in it.”

“It’s more fun when there aren’t people around.” It was quiet for a second, and then: “Are you okay with telling me why you got so anxious in there?”

“It was just…” He trailed off, trying to find the right way to say it. “We haven’t hung out together in a while, you know? I mean, it’s not like we haven’t seen each other in ages, but it’s been awhile since it’s been just us. And I miss it, I miss us. And then I was so stressed about having a good time—” He left out the part about freaking out over the word “date”— “and there were way more people there than I expected and it was all a little too much.”

“Yeah, I get that,” He said. “You know you don’t have to work hard - or even work at all - when we’re hanging out together, right? I like hanging out with you . It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, it only matters that I’m with you, you know?” His teeth made a little click as he shut his mouth suddenly, and something clicked in Alex’s head.

He might actually feel the same way as I do.

“I was— I was also stressed earlier because I wanted to talk to you about something but I was too scared— too anxious to bring it up.” He started, and Willie raised an eyebrow at him. He took that as encouragement. “I did invite you over here because I miss hanging out with you, I’ll always miss hanging out with you, but it wasn’t just that I missed you as a friend. I mean, of course you’re one of my closest friends, that’s not what I meant, but I just—” He took a deep breath. “I see you as more than a friend? God, it’s not even a question, I don’t know why I phrased it that way, it’s one of the definite things in my life. One, my friends are my family, two, there’s nothing that my drums can’t fix, and three, I’ve had this totally ridiculous crush on you since the moment you flipped your hair out of your helmet and sent me into a gay panic spiral, and four, I would really, really like to be your boyfriend and go on dates with you and do dumb, stereotypical couple-y shit together.”

He finally stopped, catching his breath and waiting for Willie to say something. And for the longest time, he didn’t say anything and his anxiety started to spike again. “Of course, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to do any of that, we can just go back to being friends, but I just wanted to—” He had started to whisper, but Willie didn’t let him finish his sentence.

Before he knew it, their lips were on his and he was kissing Willie, oh my God he was kissing Willie, and everything melted away. While in the museum, it felt like his senses were dialled up to eleven and everything was pushing at him, but then, his senses were only tuned to Willie, to their hand gently cupping his chin, their faces pushed together in an awkward, perfect kiss, and their long hair tickling his face.

The kiss ended as quickly as it started, and Alex found himself immediately missing his warmth.

“In case I wasn’t clear, I wanna do all that ‘couple-y shit’ with you, too.” Willie’s voice was quiet, only just loud enough for him to hear. “And I especially want to be your boyfriend.”

“I think we can manage something like that,” He said with a grin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them said anything else, Alex just drew him into another gentle kiss.

“It started with a whisper /

And that was when I kissed her /

And then she made my lips hurt”

~~~

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @rawwwra, @sylphrenas, @boggie-brainrot, @thegaylink, @julie-n-phantoms, @julie-and-the-queers, @im-not-fine

[lit-in-thy-heart]

you know what, what's the point of being on this platform if you don't get to bellow into the void about your interests in the hope of finding someone with the same interest?

in light of this, let me inflict a lowdown of the victorian literature (mostly novels because poetry is difficult to collate) that i've read for my module this year upon my mutuals

i'll do a separate one for vampire novels and reblog with the link

because what are the victorians without vampires? straight

bleak house (dickens): what a ride that was! yes, it was nearly a thousand pages and, yes, some chapters i was like can we move on please, but that's dickens for you. honestly, i loved it. if you're looking for thinly-veiled lesbianism, this is the book for you (esda all the way, if they even have a ship name). unfortunately i already knew one of the plot twists due to watching dickensian five years before, but there are plenty more to go around! if you can get through the first chapter describing nothing but fog and the law courts, you're in for one hell of a treat -- just don't google anything about it until you've finished because you will get spoiled (or don't share a house with me, where i'll tell you the entire plot as i'm reading it). definitely recommend, but marking it down for the heteronormativity with allan. (9.5/10)

villette (c. brontë): where to fucking start. i, quite frankly, do not care for charlotte brontë, and when reading the earlier novel agnes grey by anne, i could see some more things that charlotte has filched for this travesty. no victorian novel is going to be without problems, but this one was xenophobic, ableist and, of course, racist. the protagonist doesn't really give anything away, which is meant to make her more mysterious, but it just renders her an empty vessel. oh, and she tells you stuff that she's figured out waaaaaay after she says she's figured it out, a bit like she's allowing you to feel smart for making a connection before going 'oh yeah i knew that like twelve chapters ago, keep up'. some of the passages are really striking and there's maybe one character who's likeable but that's about it. i'd say it's more a story of omission than repression tbh. (4/10)

janet's repentance (eliot): wait, have i even finished this? no, no, i have not. it's fine, i wasn't going to tell you the ending anyway. i did get hooked eventually, there were just a LOT of names thrown around in the first few chapters, and a word that i didn't know was used frequently (turns out it was a name for the followers of this guy). i did get strong hester prynne/arthur dimmesdale vibes from some of the main characters, but janet is a very sympathetic character which, after reading villette, was nice. slightly depressing in some places, but a good enough read if you're not cramming it in the day before your tutorial, because it is mildly dense. (7/10)

the wonderful adventures of mrs seacole in many lands (seacole): not what i'd been expecting to read on my module, what with it being a biography, but enjoyable nonetheless. horrible histories lied to me, though, she was in her 40s/50s when she treated people in the crimean war, not in her 20s, but that's minor. it was actually quite funny??? like she was very reluctant to give away to give away her age and almost slipped up a couple of times, and also made some very biting remarks about people who were passing comment on her skin colour. for a biography, it wasn't hugely biographical, in that she was married for what seemed all of five minutes before her husband died, when in fact they were married for several years, but if you want an in-depth depiction of war, this is for you. not what i'd usually read, but some of the descriptions are so vivid that it does read like a novel in places, though sometimes the descriptions were so detailed that i did tune out at odd intervals. (9/10)

the happy prince and other stories (wilde): if you're feeling low, don't read these. don't. especially not 'the nightingale and the rose', because that was honestly heartbreaking. really well-written, some passages were just beautiful, i just wasn't in the right headspace to fully appreciate it. it also has a lot of death, i should probably explicitly say that. (8/10)

agnes grey (a. brontë): chef's kiss, honestly. if i'd read this last year then i think it definitely would have hit a lot harder, what with agnes moving away from home for the first time and struggling with loneliness around people who she is different from. beautifully written, i'm irritated at myself for not reading it sooner, even though i've owned a copy for about four years or so. agnes does come across as a bit wet sometimes, but those moments are rare and far between, she's overall a resilient character who is trying to make her own way in the world. seeing as i managed to get through the whole thing and didn't lose focus on what i was reading, i rate it higher than jane eyre (which is a rip-off of this anyway). we stan anne. though i am marking it down for the underdeveloped romantic relationship that just pops up (9.5/10)

now for some old classics that weren't taught on my module, but i can't not mention them

a tale of two cities (dickens): this was my first dickens book and oh my word what a book. yeah, okay, lucie is a bit of a wet dishcloth and has basically no personality, but there is definitely something there between her and her maid. sydney is my baby and oh so gorgeously dramatic ("you have kindled me, heap of ashes that i am, into fire"), which was perfect for the pangs of unrequited love. the plot is slightly confusing, and you don't really understand everything until right near the end, but i loved finding parallels in the chapters set in france with the chapters set in britain. oh and the showdown between miss pross and madame defarge is wonderful. i had a tradition of reading it on the run-up to christmas, just because that was the period when i read it for the first time, but i haven't done that for the past two years just because of exams and stuff. now, bleak house just pips it at the post, but i still love it dearly. (9/10)

wuthering heights (e. brontë): i couldn't review victorian literature and not include this. there are very strong similarities between this and villette (seems charlotte really drew on her sisters' work), particularly in terms of me not liking a single one of the characters except hareton. everyone is called cathy. literally. and heathcliff/cathy one is a toxic ship that should not be boarded. it is obsession, not love. the second volume is basically a repeat of the first one, thus showing that humanity will never move past its vices and will be caught in a vicious cycle of self-destruction for the rest of time. again, though, beautifully and vividly written. the characters are the type that you love to hate. (8/10)

the tenant of wildfell hall (a. brontë): what. a. book. this was a book that was simultaneously loved and condemned as scandalous when it came out. there's mystery, there's a woman escaping a horrible situation and making her own living, and there's a well-developed relationship! and the characters are likeable (i love rose, she's great, completely goes off at her brother when she has to do things for him all the time), which always puts it onto a winner. there's one chapter with gilbert that i have to skip just because i hate what he does in it. there are quite a lot of religious references, with redemption playing a huge part in the novel, but even the religious views brontë expresses went against a lot of the teachings of the anglican church at the time. do i even need to say that it's beautifully written if it's anne? marking it down for gilbert's behaviour and arguable control of helen's narrative. (9.5/10)

far from the madding crowd (hardy): i love this book. a little more uplifting than tess but still with the drama and murder you'd expect from hardy. maybe my review is influenced by my tiny crush on bathsheba: she's not the best role model but damn what a woman. gabriel isn't quite bae but i love him all the same, i'm so glad he's happy in the end. (9/10)

[keeptheotherone]

Do You Promise?

Chapter 1 of a new WIP, just for you, my Tumblrers <3

August 1999 the Burrow’s garden Weasleys’ 2nd Annual End of Summer Celebration

Charlie Weasley sat on the fence separating his mother’s vegetable patch from the garden, thinking about the last time he’d sat here, one year ago. Then it had been Bill at his side, not his little sister.

“Knut for your thoughts,” she said, pushing herself up.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Ginny raised her brows at the implication of his answer but didn’t tease. “Around.”

“Mmm.” He’d been home for more than twenty-four hours, but he hadn’t seen Potter once. At Christmas, they’d been a package deal, never out of arm’s reach of the other. “I thought he might have had to work.”

Ginny shook her head, pigtails dancing round her shoulders like they had when she was shorter than this fence. “Today and tomorrow, but not tonight. Mum made them promise.”

By “them,” Charlie knew she meant Ron and Harry. But … Mum made them promise? Not Ginny, or even Hermione?

“Well, he’d better show up,” Charlie said, taking a drink of his beer. “He owes me a rematch.”

They had played Quidditch in the orchard last year, he and Ginny and Potter and George and a bunch of kids he hadn’t known. Played past sunset into darkness, until Professor McGonagall ended the pick-up match without a capture of the Snitch.

Ginny muttered something that sounded like “he owes me a hell of a lot more than a rematch,” but Charlie let it slide. Ginny could take care of herself.

He and Bill had made sure of it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your friends?” 

“Thanks, Charlie, that means a lot.” She swiped the bottle from his loose grasp and drank.

Charlie had to remind himself she was of age to keep from overreacting, but even so, his hand twitched reflexively.

Ginny saw it and smirked round the glass, tipping her head back and the bottle up, taking several long swallows just for show.

“Yeah, you can have my beer, Sis. I’ll just get another, no problem.”

She finished with a pop and licked the foam from her upper lip before handing it back. “Thirsty.”

Charlie held the bottle up to the light—there was exactly one swallow left. “Brat.”

Ginny was predictably unfazed, gazing over the crowd starting to assemble round the food tables. “I talked to Angelina. She said Alicia couldn’t make it this year.”

“Who?” Charlie said, right as a picture of a perky brunette, with equally perky … anatomy … popped into his mind. Shit. Alicia wasn’t avoiding the party because of him, was she? The same age as George, she would know most of the people attending tonight. He’d thought they parted on good terms, all things considered….

“I thought you might be watching for Amy.”

“Amy’s coming?” He hadn’t seen Amy Green since he had invited himself back to her room and she politely declined. 

“Fleur wasn’t sure,” Ginny said casually, as if she hadn’t just dangled fairy lights in front of a niffler. “She said she encouraged her to come since she sounded a little down, but Amy didn’t commit. I hope she does, don’t you?”

“Of course. I haven’t seen Amy since the memorial. It would be good to catch up.” Charlie took a subtle deep breath, repeating the mantra he told himself when he occasionally woke with her on his mind. You asked, and Amy said no. It doesn’t matter if she isn’t seeing anyone. She’s still unavailable, Weasley. No benefits, just friends.

“I remember, you know. You think I was too young to understand, but I remember. In Egypt.”

Charlie scoffed. His baby sister celebrated her twelfth birthday the summer his family had visited Bill in Cairo. “Oh, yeah? And what do you think you remember, Gin-Gin?”

“I know Bill was an arse,” she said bluntly.

This reversal of her usual hero worship got Charlie’s attention.

“I know you weren’t. And that you liked her. I know you two went out together, and you’ve both dated other people since … but you’ve never dated each other.”

Charlie sighed. “Ginny….”

“Bill’s married,” she said simply. “It doesn’t matter any more.”

“I never thought I’d say this … but go find something else to do. Even if it’s Harry.”

****

Charlie did not leave his post on the fence rail, content to get quietly drunk and watch his family enjoy themselves. He had wondered why he’d bothered making the trip in—it made three in a month, when you added the party to Ginny’s and Percy’s birthdays—but now admitted to himself it had been in hopes of seeing Amy. After all, she hadn’t refused him, exactly; she’d refused the timing. 

“I think we both know what will happen if you walk me back to Hogsmeade.”

He raised his brows, leaving the challenging “so?” unspoken.

Amy closed her eyes, then pulled her hand from his. “Not today, Charlie.” She waved her hand at the gates and the castle and the grounds beyond, where the first Remembrance Ceremony had just ended. “Not after this.”

“Oi, sleepyhead!”

Charlie opened his eyes to find an object in eminent danger of colliding with his nose. He snatched it from the air in sheer self-defense, then groaned when he realized he’d just crumbled one of the best biscuits he’d ever had in his life—a biscuit he’d been waiting all year to taste again.

Percy laughed. “Nice catch, Captain.”

“Shut up,” Charlie muttered, trying to transfer the contents of his hand to his mouth without wearing them.

“Full of snappy retorts tonight, I see.”

Charlie eyed his next-youngest brother, his cheery demeanor highly suspicious. “Did you just get laid?”

Percy slung one arm around his shoulders. “I, in the utmost gesture of brotherly solidarity, am foregoing my own numerous opportunities to assist you in yours, however few and far between they may be.”

“You’re pissed.” Alcohol did not make Percy more relaxed; it made him more Percy-ish.

Percy squinted one eye closed and looked towards the gate. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But not so drunk I can’t recognize a certain beautiful brunette.”

It was Amy. She was wearing—well, Charlie supposed it was technically a dress, but he’d seen similar items under a dress or robes more than once. It was black and flow-y, with red flowers and skinny straps made to make a man think of slipping them off, and just like that Charlie saw the garment puddled at her feet. She was taller than usual in thick sandals, and even from this distance, with the cut of the dress and the way she moved—he could tell she was braless. He raised the bottle to his mouth before remembering it was empty.

“Godric, I wish I had a camera,” Percy said wistfully. “George and Ron are never going to believe this.”

Charlie realized he was making a fool of himself, closed his mouth, and turned, shaking off his brother’s arm. “What’s she doing now?”

“Making a beeline for us.”

Charlie spoke through clenched teeth. “Shut up and get the—”

“Amy! What a pleasure. We’re so glad you could make it.”

Charlie turned to find his brother kissing Amy on both cheeks with minimal difficulty, despite their height difference. His heart skipped a beat. She was taller; he could kiss her easily.

No, not kiss. We’re friends!

Oh, who was he kidding? Unless she flat-out declined, he was sleeping with Amy Green tonight. They could figure out the friendship stuff tomorrow.

“Hey,” she said, pausing just shy of kissing distance (cheek or otherwise).

“Hey.”

Her hair was down, as it often was, but she had pulled back the front above her ears, exposing small purple and silver earrings (her house colors) and … a blush?

“I would offer to bring you a handful of biscuits, but something tells me you two aren’t going to be here for long.” Percy smirked. “Take care, Amy. See you tomorrow, Charlie.”

Charlie glanced at Amy to judge her reaction. “I’m sorry. He’s, er—”

“Taking the piss?” She offered the British idiom with a grin.

Charlie returned it. “I was going to say ‘pissed,’ but yeah. That too.”

She laughed.

“I keep telling you, you’re lucky to be an only child.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, brushing her hands over his chest with slow, deliberate strokes that were in direct opposition to her presumed goal of removing crumbs. “Brothers can be useful. I figured even if you turned me down, not all of you would.”

Charlie froze, just for a second, his brain short-circuiting to a night more than a year ago, before Ron had left for Australia. “Well, if she actually says it with words, that’s always a good sign, although if she strips her knickers off, that’s even better.”

Wait a minute … she wasn’t commando under that thing … was she?

It took a few moments for the silence to catch his attention.

“I take it that’s not a no,” Amy said dryly.

“No. It’s not. But—”

Her expression darkened, and she pulled away slightly. 

“The terms haven’t changed.” 

“I didn’t think they had,” she said cooly.

They had been here before, the autumn after Voldemort came back. Grimmauld Place, an unexpected post-meeting raid, high spirits and adrenaline … and the darkened hallway where Amy had turned him down. “I like strings,” she’d said, and walked away.

The staccato drumbeat of the Weird Sisters’ Do the Hippogriff pulled Charlie from the memory.

“Drink?” he asked, indicating his empty bottle in case she hadn’t heard him over the noise.

“Not really.”

He’d already started towards the tables, but her answer drew him up short. “Really, Amy, you could at least buy me dinner first,” he said sarcastically.

She sighed. “Look, Charlie, I don’t want to play the game. It’s why I’m here. Now, am I wasting my time or not?”

For the second time that night he found himself holding on to his temper. He was starting to see how she’d got under Bill’s skin, why he’d had such a hard time letting her go even when Bill had known he didn’t want to pursue a relationship with her.

“So what, you thought you’d just fly in, snap your fingers, and I’d jump?”

“Am I wrong?”

Godric, she was obnoxious. She was also beautiful, confident, and sexy as hell, and Charlie was honest enough to admit he found the balance of power between them as intoxicating as it was infuriating. 

“We could get a room at the Leaky—in magical London—or maybe Hogsmeade?”

“I have a room in the village.”

Damn. When Amy made up her mind, she didn’t mess around.

“All right,” he agreed. “One last thing, though.”

He stepped into her space, close enough to ruffle her skirt with his legs and watch the gooseflesh pebble across her chest and shoulders. He ignored the temptation to follow it down and looked her in the eye. In heels, she was as tall as he, but his wide shoulders and bulky frame dwarfed her. He paused to let her consider this fact, still not touching her, before dropping his voice.

“You will not be in control the entire night.”

Her reaction went straight to his groin—a sharp intake of breath, dilated pupils, a shiver she tried to suppress. Then she smiled, a sly, knowing smile that reached all the way to her eyes and made them sparkle in the fading sunlight.

“Do you promise?”