#I obviously took some liberties they’re not as cool as him

[lhazeeart]

Long time no see :D

Here’s this year mermay thing 💜

[descendantsramblings]

Thank you baby, sorry for messing up that post the first time, I might be stupid, so your ask is a touch cut off on both sides

Anyway, back to the show

And I decided that this takes place in 1985 even though we don't have a set year so I could reference '84 movies. Do y'all even know what a VCR is? Is that gonna confuse y'all? I had blues clues on a bright orange VHS as a kid and I miss it every day.

Scales

Morgie le Fay x Reader

Pronouns used: they/them/theirs

Summary: Morgie could think of about 100 things he’d rather do that coparent a dragon with Merlin Academy’s sweetheart

Warnings: Morgie is a little OOC due to being in a bad mood (and hating dragons), Swearing, reader is implied to be shorter than Morgie (idk how tall Peder is and don't really care so sorry if I made y'all reallll short with that), this reads pretty platonic so sorry if that's not what you wanted, Reader calls Morgie "Daddio" but i assure you it's not how you think

Word Count: 3.5K

   There was no class that the sorcerer hated more than “Care of Magical Creatures”. The only magical creature he had any interest in was himself, he was a lovely magical creature, a shape shifter. He knows how to care for himself, what other magical creatures could he have to learn to care about? But this? This just made the class even worse. Of course, Merlin would clock him on how often he was skipping the day that Dragon Parenting week started. Maybe graduating wasn’t worth it, he could fail his senior year, he’d be okay with that. If it meant he didn’t have to pretend to care about a dreadfully scaled little creature, he could fail. He’ll graduate next year, that’s fine by him. Who cares what his dreadfully evil mother would say about him failing? He does, he cares about it. Guess Morgie is stuck here.

   Madam Harleen is wandering around her classroom, a bright pink clipboard in her hands as she does. “Now, one big part of this project is making sure that you have a randomly assigned partner. I took the liberty of using a RNG to make sure that each of you were fairly assigned to your co-parent for the week.” His eyes roll back into his head, of course she would. As long as he didn’t get Bridget Hearts or either of her exhausting little friends, Morgie could care less. The last thing he needed was to deal with Uliana complaining about him hanging around one of them while he was caught up with handling a creature so absolutely dreadful. Maybe they could find a cool one, if they went first they could. Morgie had peaked into the box of dragon hatchlings as he passed Madam Harleen’s desk, there were some pretty cool looking ones. As long as he didn’t get stuck with the scrawny little purple and orange hatchling he would be okay.

   “Mr. le Fay and Mx. (L/n),” Madam Harleen is obviously proud of the duo as she says it, looking between the two teens. Of course, who else would Morgie be paired with except for sunshine itself? (Y/n) (L/n) with their sweetheart personality and gentle hands and adoring smiles. The only royal in this entire school who was somehow nicer than Bridget. Today was on its way to ending him. Or at least his reputation, he may as well just go ahead and ask Hades to send him to the underworld. There was no way that Uliana would ever let him hear the end of this, if he could even get through it. Yet here they come, with that stupid bouncy walk and the gentle smile as they make their way to his side. Falling beside him with one of those big sugar sweet smiles. “So,” they reach out a hand for him to shake, “Are you so entirely excited for this project like I am? Because I love dragons, they’re the absolute cutest.” As they realize he isn’t going to shake their hand they draw it back, letting it fall weakly at their side. “Not really.” A frown meets their lips momentarily before something seems to flicker through their eyes. Frown quickly replaced by another excited smile, “Well, if you don’t like dragons, does that mean I can pick our hatchling? There was one I absolutely had my eyes on when we walked in.” 

   Hazel eyes roll in their sockets, a hand waving the excitable royal off, “Yeah, sure , whatever you want. Just don’t make me get up.” What Morgie is pretty sure is a squeal slips from their lips, (Y/n) bouncing out of their seat and over to the box up front, leaning over it with this big sweet smile. It could almost be admirable, something that Morgie would never admit out loud. The person who swallowed the sun in real life. An actual picture of the love of life, painted out right before you. There was something about them that was almost beautiful, or at least they could be. Maybe, if they weren’t coming back to him with the scrawniest little purple and orange hatchling cuddling against their chest. Its head against their chest as if it was listening to their heartbeat. Maybe it was, Morgie was almost sure that their heartbeat had to somehow be prettier or sweeter than other people’s. His sounded different, surely there were other people who had different heartbeats too. Perhaps that was just due to him being a shapeshifter? 

   “Okay this little tag on his collar says he’s a boy, isn’t that fun?” Morgie looks the dragon up and down, nose scrunching with distaste. “Honestly I always saw myself as more of a girl dad.” His comment earns him an eye roll and a giggle, “You know, Morgie, you’re really taking all of the fun out of this.” Now he’s the one laughing, glancing between the royal and the dragon. It hisses at him, a minor puff of fire coming with the sound which makes the boy jump, laughter dying for a look of shock. “There was never any fun in all of this. And that thing hates me.” “He’s not a thing, he’s our son, at least for a week.” The comment makes the boy look even more disgusted, staring at them as if looking for the second head they seemed to be growing. “He’s a pet at best, we do not have a child together. We will never have a child together. Don’t word it like that.” 

                               ╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

   He’d been away from (Y/n) and that dreadful little creature for a few hours now. If Morgie was lucky, they would recognize he was ignoring them and just take all the work, that was his hope at least. But of course, since Merlin and maybe even the gods above hate him, sunshine incarnate found him while he was sitting with his friends. Calling his name like a song as they come up behind him, that awful little dragon curled up against their chest. He pinches his eyes closed, head falling back with a groan as they approach, that perfect little smile on their face. “Okay, so I had him in all of my classes today and I already went and bought dragon food and things of the like since you were nowhere to be found. So I think it’s more than fair for you to take Viper for the first night, and I’ll come get him when your classes are over tomorrow for my night with him.” 

   Morgie doesn’t mean to let his jaw fall the way it does, his intention wasn’t the way his brows raise. But no one spoke to his friends like that, outside of them- they could actually be impossibly bossy with each other. “Yeah, no thanks,” he attempts to turn back to the poker game before them when he feels a hand snag his shoulder, forcing him to stay facing them. Okay, maybe sunshine was more of a rainbow. There was definitely some rain hidden behind them. “No. You aren’t scary enough to trick me into doing all your work for you. You get Viper tonight, I am not doing everything for you. I might be friends with her, but I am not Bridget. No one is pushing me around.” Maybe rain wasn’t the right word, fire. This was fire, and Morgie might be able to get something out of fire. 

   “Viper? I don’t remember agreeing to that.” There’s this odd look of satisfaction on their face as (Y/n) drops the dreadful collection of purple scales into his lap. “I thought you would like it, serpent boy. You’re both snake themed.” Of course they thought like that, why would he ever think otherwise. “Have fun with our kid, Daddio, I’ll collect him tomorrow! He better be alive and well,” Something about their voice is almost mocking, it draws a smirk to the boy’s face. Maybe Merlin Academy’s sweetheart had some tricks up their sleeve. Less of an angel than people thought, huh? He looks down to the dragon, the thing glaring up at him from its perch on his lap. “Well, I bet they’d be mad if I released you, wouldn’t they?” His hand reaches towards it and the dragon snaps its jaws, Morgie quickly recoiling. Wonderful, it hates him. 

                            ╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

   The last three days have been torture for Morgie le Fay, and not in the fun masochist way. (Y/n) (L/n) was exhausting, nothing he did was right. Of course, to be fair, nothing that he tried to do was correct. He knew that. Morgie had no interest in parenting a scaled flame thrower. He hated that thing, and Viper hated him right back. If it bit him one more time he was positive he would lose a hand. Morgie was good with animals, of the normal variety. The type of animals he could shift into were wonderful. But the only villain that the dreadful thing liked was Maleficent, the girl holding it more often than not when they were all together. Morgie likes to believe it was because she could turn into one of the dreadful things, and honestly he was starting to see her as less likable because of it. 

  But, he didn’t have to see it today. Tonight was (Y/n)’s night with it, he was free for just one night. No fights in the morning, no loss of sleep due to an overgrown lizard hoping on his feet and biting them.  At least, he was supposed to be free. So why was sunshine standing in his doorway, holding the creature he oh so dearly despised? Morgie drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan. “Why are you here, (Y/n)?” The perky smile they give him would be comforting if he wasn’t positive that they were planning something. “Well, Morgie, I think we got off on the wrong foot, all three of us,” they force their way into the dorm as they speak, that smile never faltering. “You, me, and the overgrown lizard?” “Baby dragon.” “Whatever,” he sighs, leaning against his door as he takes in the sight. They stand in his dorm like they’re meant to be there, smile ever so warm and bright.  Sunshine in the dark, villainous room. It was nauseating. 

    “So anyway, I thought that maybe the three of us should try bonding. I can’t tell for sure but I think that Viper agrees with me. So I am going to leave him here, and then I’ll be back with stuff for the three of us to have a movie night.” “Absolutely not,” Morgie scoffs, staring at them as if they had gone and lost their mind. “No, it’ll be fun Morgie. Plus everyone knows that you and Hook have a VCR hidden in here and I just bought ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ on VHS.” He stares at them, waiting patiently for them to do something that lets him call their bluff. But they’re smiling, toying with their fingers as the dragon sits beside them, pawing at their leg. “You have Elm Street on VHS? You like horror movies?” They nod, an eager and fast motion that he was sure made them dizzy. “Yeah, who doesn’t? I also have jiffy pop and cold cokes. If you’re down that is,” there’s this longing hope in their eyes that seems to make his stomach churn. “You, little sunshine and rainbows. Mx. Giggles and cupcakes and tutoring, like horror? Like genuinely like horror movies?” “Is that so hard to believe?” It was. They were the picture of perfect and proper. Shouldn’t they be all over “Sixteen Candles” and “Footloose”? This would let him call their bluff, surely they were just trying to look good in front of a villain. 

   “Alright, go get it then.” A squeal comes out of their lips, the royal literally bouncing on their toes as they clap in excitement. “Perfect, you watch Viper and I will be right back!” They’re running out of the door before the boy can argue, typical. The little dragon jumping from where he was in the center of the room to the door, clawing at it with little barks and whines as if it was a puppy. He was kind of cute like that, not in the way an actual puppy would be, but still kinda cute. He’d actually gotten a little bit bigger since the two of them took him in, all (Y/n)’s doing Morgie was sure. They had been the one to pick out the food, and seemingly the only one who could get the thing to do any tricks. It could care less about listening to Morgie. The sorcerer was beginning to wonder if this was how Maleficent’s mother felt, having a little dragon refuse to listen because it hates you. That would be something. 

   “Get off the door,” the boy groans, throwing himself on his bed. It doesn’t seem to care what he said. “Dragon, stop,” he groans, shaking his head as it seems to get more aggressive. “Dragon! Stop scratching the door!” Though he can’t see it, Morgie can feel the way that his eyes flash into snake eyes, something that only seemed to be involuntary when he was angered. Why did that stupid lizard need his project partner so badly? What made it hate him from the second they met? This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. He was a sorcerer of dark magic, a shapeshifter, that stupid animal should like him more than Mx. Sunshine and lollipops. What is this thing’s problem? 

   When the door’s catch clicks, Morgie lets out a soft sigh, thankful that (Y/n) was back to make the creature stop. “What the fuck?” Hook hollers, jumping back as the dragon hatchling shoots past him, somewhere between running and flying as it tries to get away from them. “Mate, your awful little pet got out,” he snaps, making a b-line for his bed as he strips from his jacket. He hated that thing. Morgie was absolutely positive that he hated that thing, so why is his stomach dropping to his feet? In a flash, Morgie had clambered to his feet, dashing to the door and snatching it back open. 

    (Y/n) wasn’t expecting Morgie to snatch the door open in their face, his own a mix of terror and shame. “Morgie, what in the world-” They don’t get to finish before he snatches the VHS and snacks from their hands dropping them on the table the boys kept by the door before pushing past them. “The dragon wouldn’t stop trying to get to you and then Hook opened the door and the little thing got out.” “You let him get out?” They could feel fear running through their chest as they realized their new companion, their biggest grade of the semester, was godmother knows where. This was bad, this was insanely fucking bad. “Hook let him out, not me!” “This is so fucking bad,” they nearly whimper, staring down the hall the opposite way from where they came to see if maybe Viper would still be visible. “You swear?” 

    They turn to him as if he’s crazy. “You are focused on the wrong thing right now, le Fay. Now come on,” their hand encircles his wrist, dragging the boy down the hall. He would normally fight it, but they looked so scared, and he felt so guilty, so his feet keep pace with theirs. Where do dragons hide anyway? Where would a dragon go if looking for them? Not their dorm, it went the wrong way for that. “Courtyard,” it's straight forward, gentler than he’d ever spoken to them as they pause for a second. “What?” “We hand Viper off in the Courtyard. If he’s trying to find you, that’s where he is.” A smile breaks across their lips and for a moment they let them both stop to breathe. “What?” It only gets bigger, all bright and sunny again, “You called him ‘him’, and his name. You haven’t done that all week.” He stares at them, his own little smile cracking out across his lips, “Yeah, well, it matters to you.” (Y/n) stands on their toes, tapping the tip of Morgie’s nose, “I think we’re growing on you, serpent boy.”  He hums, rolling his eyes but he can’t break the smile, “Yeah, whatever you say. Now come on, let’s go get our dragon.” 

   The two should have let go of each other by now, they know that. Yet (Y/n)’s hand stays firmly on Morgie’s wrist as they make their way to the courtyard. Both teenagers were hyper aware of the fact that something had changed between them, some little weight lifted from both of their shoulders. Not that they’d mention it, not now anyway. They aren’t supposed to exist in the same world, the week would be over and so would any idea of friendship that might be blooming in their minds. A villain and someone who was friends with Bridget could never be friends. That was law. They get to the courtyard in a comfortable silence, the only one that had ever existed between them. Of course, the little dragon wouldn’t just be out in the open, they should have both known that. But that doesn’t stop (Y/n) from getting a little anxious, eyes whipping around the yard wildly in a panic. 

   “Morgie, he’s not here. He’s not here, we lost him. We’re gonna fail and I’m going to lose him. This is awful.” He doesn’t realize he’s reaching out to them until his hand lands adoringly on their shoulder, forcing the royal to turn to him. Once they are, his hand slides to rest under their chin, tilting it upwards. “Hey, he’s probably just hiding because he got scared when you weren’t here. Let’s split up, check the bushes on either side of the yard. I bet you half the bag of haribos in my room that he’s just curled up somewhere.” They nod, taking a deep breath as they step away from him, turning to go check the left side of the courtyard. Leaving him with the right, and the speed he makes towards the bushes shocks even him. This little dragon meant far too much to them, he couldn’t be the thing that let it get lost. Even if it was Hook’s fault, in a way it was his, wasn’t it? He never tried to care for Viper, never tried to bond with it. So of course, he wouldn’t want to be around the sorcerer. He caused this, and if they couldn’t find him, Morgie would own up to that. Maybe Madam Harleen would give (Y/n) a do over? 

   Not that they would need one, when he checks his third bush in the courtyard, something hisses at him. A tiny puff of fire coming with the sound. “Viper,” the name comes out on a sigh of relief as he reaches down for the little dragon. Delicately lifting him up and against his own chest. “You had us worried sick, you know that?” At the comment, (Y/n) turns around. Their face lights up as they stare at the little dragon, the hatchling fighting in Morgie’s arms to get to his preferred owner. Sunshine itself bounces up to Morgie, relieved and excited hands reaching out for him to hand Viper over. He waits until they’re close enough and softly slip the hatchling into their hands. Watching with a strange adoration as they nuzzle their nose against the top of Viper’s head. “Don’t you ever do that again.” Like a mother scolding their child who ran off in the mall they reprimand the little creature, smiling up at Morgie when they’re satisfied. “Thank you.” 

   “Thank me? I’m the reason he got out.” “But, you cared enough to help me look for him. So whether it was for him, or me, or our grade. Thank you.” He smiles back, reaching out to scratch Viper between the wings. “Yeah, well you can make it up to me with movie night.” They smirk, raising their eyebrows, “Maybe. Depends on what type of Haribos you’re hiding in that room of yours.” Of course they would harp on that, the creature of sugar and sun that they were. “Happy colas, but if I pull them out and Hook sees he will for sure demand that I share with him.” He’s met with a hum, and a playful glint in their eyes as they seem to be plotting something. “Yeah well, we can hide them between us. I’m sure you’ll end up clinging to me anyway. I bet you’re a bitch when it comes to horror movies.” He should be offended, he know he should, but instead Morgie’s body is racked with laughter. “Oh you do swear! Who would have thought? Does your mommy know you act like that?” “Oh shut up!” They’re laughing too, smirk falling to a real laugh. “Does Bridget know you act like that? I thought I was the bully here.” He catches a playful smack to the shoulder, laughing as they grab his hand, “Come on. Let’s go before the Jiffy pop gets all gross.”

[positivelybeastly]

Would you be willing to get into some of your partners’ views on your mutation? It seems Trish was less than supportive and Brand saw it as pretty normal but sexy; but they’re not the only people you’ve had relations with. What about Vera? Alison? Cecilia? Simon?

"Trish was . . . hrm."

". . . I'll step in, to talk about this one."

"Patricia Tilby was - is a strong willed woman who fights for what she believes in. Ostensibly, those things are justice, freedom of information, and civil liberties, including mutant rights. She believes in honesty and transparency."

"Patricia Tilby used classified information on the Legacy Virus that she obtained from the Muir Island computers to leak the news to the whole world that the Virus had made the jump to humans. This led to an immediate spike in mutant hate crime, and at least five fatalities that we know were at least indirectly linked to that news report."

"Patricia Tilby claimed not to be unnerved by my appearance. Patricia Tilby broke off our relationship because she was worried about what other might think about us. About what I actually am. About my current status as a living being. About what I qualify as now. About what I - "

Hank took a deep breath.

"Patricia Tilby, is not as comfortable with mutants whose X-genes have manifested physically as she claims, or, perhaps, as much as she likes to believe. She is not a bigot, and she is an ally to our cause.

That being said, I would prefer that she be honest, with herself, and with others, before she hurts anyone else."

". . . Vera was always fine with us. She liked us for us. I feel like we didn't leave things with her as well as we could have, and she was more forgiving than we really deserved."

"That much is true. She was far kinder to us than we deserved, considering our inadvertent cruelty to her."

The younger Hank winced a little, rubbing at the back of his neck selfconsciously, hating that he didn't have a defence for himself.

"I loved her, you know. She was . . ."

"You didn't love her. You never did. And that was always the problem. Don't be dishonest, now, I know you better than you do."

". . . Alison was always cool with us. She thought the fur was sexy."

"That she did. Abigail, too. I'd often wake up in the middle of the night to find her tracing the contours of my face, as if committing them to memory. She would just smirk and tell me she was conducting a xenozoological experiment, and then kiss me."

"Nice."

"Down, boy.

We looked more normal to her than humans, in some respects. Like the father that she seemed to care for more than rest of her family. One could be uncharitable and read something terribly Oedipal into all of that, but I never took it that way. It was - nice, to find that sometimes human prejudice is only human prejudice, and that in some respects, the rest of the galaxy is a little more open-minded. In some respects.

"Cecilia . . . do you . . . ever think we kinda fumbled things with her? I feel like . . . the fur obviously didn't bother her, and she was the one making the moves a lot of the time. We bugged the bejesus out of her sometimes, but. She liked us. Do you think . . ."

"Yes. We did. And I do think precisely that. There's a world out there where we didn't let that chance slip out of our fingers, and we're happier for it."

". . ."

". . . And Simon, for the record, was once sat right next to me while I wore an image inducer projecting what I would look like at that age in my human form, and didn't so much as look at me, let alone recognise me. I asked him about it later, and he simply shrugged and said, I quote, 'I've never known you as anything other than this. This is just who you are to me.'"

"Which was. Nice to hear. I rather like just being Hank to someone."

". . . Though he really shouldn't be included in this answer, given you were asking about romantic partners and people whom I've had relations with. Simon is neither."

"Yes. Quite."

"Exactly."

". . . We're not gay, anonymous."

"Stop showing that!"

[designernishiki]

not sure why i was thinking about this but. here’s a long ass ramble about kazama

it’s interesting how kazama, despite being extremely influential on kiryu’s development and being highly revered or despised by so many characters in-game, has so little screentime that it’s very up to interpretation what he was like in non-crucial situations, what all his motivations and ideals were, how close he really was to kiryu (and nishiki), etc. most of what we have to go off of is hearsay and circumstantial evidence– ie, mostly what people say he was like and stories about/the effects of the things he’s done. he’s incredibly morally grey and though you can definitely pretty securely say something like “well at least he’s not shimano,” it’s hard to say anything more definitive.

yeah, he showed remorse after a number of years in the yakuza and actively tried to save the lives of some of his family’s enemies against direct orders– but the number of people he’s saved is far outweighed by the number of people he’s killed or had some part in killing, which is pretty literally countless given we don’t know how many people he killed during his time as a hitman, or in any other situations once he was dojima’s lieutenant and so on.

hell, the guy killed so many people that a whole orphanage was built specifically to house their children. the concept gets romanticized in game to some degree (understandably, because we’re usually looking at everything through the eyes of kiryu, who vehemently wants to idolize and honor him) but the more you think about it the more morbid it sort of becomes– especially if you consider how he then becomes the father figure to a handful of those children. He didn’t have mercy on all these kids’ parents, then he takes their role and watches the kids grow up the way they never could because of him.

On the other hand you can look at it as him feeling responsible for making sure these kids grow up housed and fed, because he orphaned them in the first place. but if that were the case with no caveats, then none of those children should’ve ever been allowed to drop out of school and join the yakuza, even if they protested and reaaalllly wanted to. they’re kids, they’re naive, it was his responsibility as an adult, as the one with all the power in that situation, and as the man who killed their birth parents and subsequently felt obligated to make sure they grew up alright, to not allow it by any means. moreover, just beating the shit out of them (which is problematic in its own right) and warning them that it’s dangerous isn’t affective at all because it’s impersonal and provides no alternatives to “be a yakuza (cool)” or “be a dead eyed salaryman (not cool)”.

It really makes me think he never took the liberty to ask about/encourage/take pride in their interests and passions growing up, because if he had, I’d imagine they’d have found individual likes and dislikes and aspirations, or at least would be more aware that there are more options, things to try, ways to live, etc, than just the bland view of “civilian” I think they must’ve had as teenagers.

TLDR: kazama is a morally grey person on whatever level but did not have the skills nor position in life to take on a parental role. to me, kiryu proves this later on with the contrast in how he runs his own orphanage; he becomes a civilian first, distances himself as far as possible from yakuza ordeals and doesn’t split his time between them and caregiving unless forced by extreme circumstances, he encourages the kids’ unique interests so they don’t resort to blindly wanting to follow in his footsteps, etc. obviously he’s not perfect either, but considering he had no singular decent models from his own childhood to follow, he did well, and clearly was doing it because he wanted to, not just out of guilt, pity, or obligation.

I could go into the dicey dynamic differences between kazama and kiryu versus kazama and nishiki, or the details of how kazama influenced kiryu’s personality and behavior as an adult, or a lot of other things, but I’ll save all that for another post (or two. or three.)

[j2memories]

The TV Addict article (April 10th 2007)

On the Set with SUPERNATURAL Stars Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles

APRIL 10, 2007 BY THETVADDICT

When you’re walking onto the set of the CW’s spookfest SUPERNATURAL, you can’t help but have the Boy Scout motto – Be prepared! – ringing in your ears. Yet, as I slipped into my role as a seasoned television reporter and stepped onto the soundstage to watch the filming of an actual scene between stars Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, I’d have to admit that my “play it cool” veneer probably did a pretty poor job of hiding the excitement radiating from just about every pore of my being.

There they sat at an ordinary kitchen table, Sam and Dean (Padalecki and Ackles, respectively) discussing recent events. While I’m not at liberty to reveal the topic of their conversation, suffice it to say that tempers were flaring. As voices raised, so to did emotions. Dean was, of course, in protective mode, while Sam did what he does best: bristled.

And then things took a most unexpected turn.

Sam and Dean gazed lovingly – dare I say longingly? – into one anothers eyes. Standing, Dean moved closer to Sam, raising his arm and reaching out as if to touch him softly, when suddenly…

“Cut!” yelled the director. “Okay, boys, now let’s do it seriously this time,” he said, no doubt relegating any footage which might bring to life some of the more lurid fan fiction lurking on the internet to the cutting room floor. (Or, perhaps, if we’re lucky, a future DVD blooper reel!) The talented thespians had, in fact, been ad-libbing a scene while the behind-the-scenes crew worked out the all-important details involving camera angles, lighting and sound. And given the emotionally-charged nature of the two-part season finale, bringing a little laughter to the set is definitely a good thing.

“I had some pretty heavy stuff last night,” admits Ackles between takes. Probably the most emotional stuff that’s been jam-packed into one scene. I was pretty done by the end of the day.” And what of his on-screen brother? “Jared had it easy, just lying there with his eyes closed. Jerk!”

Obviously, the lighthearted banter and genuine affection that bonds the Winchester brothers also exists between their portrayers. As the actors exchange compliments, it quickly becomes clear that the young men – both of whom grew up in Texas – have formed a mutual admiration society forged on the set but cemented in genuine affection.

Given how frequently one hears about backstage discord (DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES, anyone?) and co-stars who aren’t likely to pal around after hours (see: GREY’S ANATOMY), the fact that Ackles and Padalecki actually enjoy working together is a major plus… especially since they spend about 10 months of the year putting in 16 hour days on a surprisingly small soundstage.

“We definitely know how fortunate it is — the chance to work with someone who you get along with,” admits SMALLVILLE grad Ackles. “We’ve both been on shows and on projects where not everyone gets along, where somebody’s got a temper or an ego, but we’ve been very lucky and appreciative of the fact that we get along very well on and off set.”

Former GILMORE GIRLS guy Padalecki concurs. “We both – I mean, I say this all the time – we have similar interests and similar hobbies and similar manners. I’ve definitely worked with my share of people who – and I know Jensen has as well – but it’s all about drama. Like, if there’s not some sort of conflict going on in their lives or on set, then they’re just not happy.”

Okay, I’ll admit that I was dying to know which of their former co-stars were being dissed, but being the professional that I am – and with all of you SUPERNATURAL fans in mind, I focused on what was of utmost important: Spoilers! (If you don’t want to know what’s going to happen in the weeks to come, skip the following paragraph. Consider yourself warned!)

“This is the big show,” revealed Ackles of the much-anticipated season finale. “This is what we’ve been building toward for two seasons. All the problems that set the entire show in motion are culminating in this one episode.” Ackles says that grateful fans have one person to thank for not only the episode, but the overall direction of the show: creator Eric Kripke. “He doesn’t like to keep those long, drawn-out storylines with loose ends. He likes to tie things up and create new problems, which I really like. There are a lot of shows out there that kind of continually roll on, never solving problems.” But that’s not the case with SUPERNATURAL, as will be proven in the finale. “In this episode, we’re going to deal with the demon that took the Winchester brothers’ mom; We’re going to deal with their dad’s death; we’re going to deal with making deals with the devil.” But wait, there’s more! “We’re going to deal with Bobby, Ellen, Jo and the people in the roadhouse. We’re going to deal with the occult and devil’s traps and all of the stuff that’s been playing out over the season. It’s all coming together in this episode.” As if realizing that the episode is beginning to sound more “final” than “season finale,” Ackles quickly sets us straight. “That’s not to say everything is wrapped up, because in wrapping up that storyline, so much else is created which is really cool. It’s definitely going to give us somewhere to go for season three and however long we go!” 

Link to the article

[j1rouz]

joa (@xiaomomowrites) and i both have a bad case of the brain worms so here is a modern au consisting of our headcanons on what types of tattoos and piercings the jjk cast would get 

for starters, we are wholly on our tattoo artist megumi agenda. he’s absolutely COVERED in tattoos because he has a tendency to practice on himself, so his legs are covered in original pieces. he’s def got a massive back tat

his tongue is pierced and he has a dermal piercing too btw (the one u get on ur cheek, y’know. under/near ur eye)

his specialty is realistic shading!! he puts a lot of effort into his practice

also yuuji has piercings. he comes into the parlor to get them and sees megumi and his eyes are wide fuckin open. he thinks he looks hot while he’s working lmfao. little does he know that megumi is also into him. cue the pining babey

yuuji has an eyebrow piercing and a septum. we’re fucking calling it

and. and. get this. toge has his tongue split. there’s some fanart of inuokko from twt that i’ve seen where is his tongue is split (joa sent it to me)

toge works at the shop!!! he’s their best piercer and he split his own tongue bc he’s just cool as shit like that

he also wears a mask during work out of personal preference, so people can only see his split tongue when he takes it off. whew i love him

also, megumi did the tattoos on his face. u know what? yuuta has them too. we don’t accept criticism 

maki as an artist too. she does the design and the tattoo for nobara of the roses on her arm (like the poison from the show)

maki has gauges and those piercings that you get on your chest, right under your collarbones (research is telling me they’re called sternum piercings. i took the liberty to choose the placement alksdjfhalsdkf)

yuuta has a black line tattooed on his ring finger to remember rika. also he runs the front desk LMAO

suguru also works for the parlor as both a tattoo artist and a piercer, he owns the shop! he’s covered in tattoos and he has gauges, just like in canon. also he’s dating satoru, obviously 

but get this. satoru is afraid of needles so he doesn’t get tattoos. however, he’s a whore, so he has his nipples pierced. oh and he has one stud in his ear bc suguru convinced him (he cried)

and if satoru gets a tattoo it’s entirely because suguru convinced him. he’s always said he wants to keep his gorgeous skin super pristine 

joa said this but suguru has a piercing on his dick. satoru loves it

and on that note! FIN

[hxrpooner]

sorry, english isnt my first language so its hard to really express what i meant but yeah! pretty much breaking/snapping point

this one took me a few days cause i had to think about it a bit. i added a readmore bc this post is kinda long

- i think cypher’s big Thing would be anything involving children -- threatening or harming a child is probably the most effective way to get him to blow your head off, and that’s if you’re lucky enough for him to give you a quick death

-  in general i don’t think there’s much chamber wouldn’t do in pursuit of his own goals, or much that would really faze him. however, i like the idea of him accidentally getting attached to the other agents, and losing his cool if they were to get hurt or become collateral damage in whatever scheme he has going with his alternate. i like the concept of him going on a rampage and killing a bunch of people to save someone, even at the cost of his original ambitions. i’m taking some pretty big liberties with the canon there though LOL 

- viper gives me the impression of someone who has already been pushed past her breaking point before, and is just constantly teetering on the edge of something, anger constantly simmering on in the background. like a snake, she probably violently lashes out when she feels backed into a corner 

- i get the impression that it’s probably pretty hard to make sage lose her cool -- she’s a medic, so she’s probably used to seeing allies get hurt or die, and she’s competent in a crisis. i think what would probably push her over the edge is being unable to do anything about something; a wound she couldn’t heal, or a death she couldn’t reverse, someone she couldn’t help. i’m not sure if she’s ever been pushed to that point before, or what it would take to do so, because i’m not really sure what the extent of her powers are supposed to be. 

- for yoru i like to imagine that his cocky, mean attitude is compensating for feelings of inadequacy or something to that effect... he seems to have this constant need to feel like he’s the best/strongest. i think a situation in which he was made to feel weak or powerless would send him over the edge. 

- yoru panic-shifting into the rift and getting stuck? 

- the thing that seems to really perturb omen, based on his voice lines, is the enemy omen, and stuff related to his past. i’m not sure exactly what mirror omen knows about his past, but i think mirror omen could probably get into his head that way. 

- omen is obviously generally unstable though, so it might not take too much to set him off. he seems to dislike people meddling in his business. i can see him having angry or even violent outbursts at other agents over it (cypher >_>)

- tbh i can see both yoru and omen losing control of their radiant powers and accidentally generating rifts/tears in space if they were pushed far enough. 

- jett seems like she might have something similar going on to yoru -- yk that one voice line of hers where she says to herself “they’re not better than me” i also feel like a situation where she was cut off from her team would really freak her out. 

- i can also see jett losing control of her radiant powers if she felt scared enough, maybe enough to accidentally destroy the surrounding terrain/create a weather event. this is becoming a trend innit

- kay/o -- seeing brimstone or sova (especially brimstone) hurt/killed, especially at the hands of an enemy reyna. murderbot mode. 

- reyna -- i think for her a breaking point would just be like. losing control of her bloodlust and going on a rampage with total disregard for her teammates. maybe committing some war crimes or something. 

- brimstone -- seeing any of his comrades -- but particularly any of the younger agents -- hurt or in danger. i feel like brim holds himself responsible for the lives of the other agents, especially the youngins. i feel like if one of the younger agents did something dumb and put themselves in harm’s way he’d go dad mode and yell at them afterward 

- this is based on a fic by hotlegfryegg on ao3, (the title is mayday; it’s unfinished, and i don’t know if the author is planning to update it any more, but what does exist is really good and i recommend it) but i like the idea of raze freaking tf out over having to kill her clone. this isn’t really consistent with her voice lines but i like it too much to let go of it 

- skye seems to be very protective of her pack (i’m not sure if that encompasses her teammates as well, but she does seem to care for her fellow agents). hurting the people and places she cares about would probably make her very angry. there are also some voice lines about skye being able to destroy as well as create, so i like the idea of a very angry skye going on a 1v9 berserker rampage 

- neon, a little similar to viper but not as much rooted in trauma -- being backed into a corner or feeling like she/her friends are in imminent danger. it’s already been stated in canon that neon needs to keep a tight rein on her radiant powers or else she loses control, so i can see her losing control of her powers if she felt super threatened, maybe even accidentally injuring her teammates. 

- phoenix -- i’m not really sure! i’m inclined to say something similar to yoru but i don’t want to make everyone the same. 

- breach -- if i’m being honest im not even sure this dude has a breaking point. he’s super cocky so i guess getting his ass kicked would severely piss him off if nothing else. reckless anger type of deal. 

- astra -- seems like she’s pretty impervious to most things. i’m honestly not sure what could be done to really make her snap. it would probably have to be like... a world-ending cosmic event or something, of a scale she couldn’t fix. i feel like she’s kind of unfazed by most things to the point of seeming insensitive

- killjoy --  a plan going wrong, an out of control situation, especially if her teammates were to die or get hurt as a result of her making a wrong decision. based on her voicemail to brimstone, it also seems like she’s really sensitive to civilians/innocents dying. i don’t think she’s much for berserker rage, though -- under that kind of extreme stress she’d probably just break down/panic

- sova gives me the impression that while he is outwardly warm and friendly to his teammates, he’s ruthless when it comes to doing his job and protecting the things that are important to him. omen remarks that there’s a ‘fury’ in sova; perhaps sova is a very angry person, and just hides it well. 

- i can see sova getting increasingly angry over failure, especially repeated failure. i feel like that kind of frustration could drive him to a very reckless type of anger, where he’ll stop at nothing until he’s accomplished his goal. 

[sunder-soul]

okay but like... tom (if he was like actually able to love and have emotions) dating the biggest ball of fluff and sunshine who’s literally known as the only nice slytherin,,,, they’re like really clingy and are always clinging onto him and he tries to get annoyed but they’re just so cute that he stands there like 😐 not even bothering to push them off. and omg when he’s being all dark and stuff like “i will kill your friends and family if you leave me” they assume he’s joking and respond with stuff like “i would never leave you silly”... stop i’m crying😭😭

I took some creative liberties with this so it ended up a lil different, but I kept the core essentials of your prompt 💖 Thanks for this!!

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Dangerous

Summary: Ball-of-sunshine Slytherin Reader encounters a hint of Tom’s dark side for the first time, but it doesn’t necessarily go how Tom expects.

Wordcount: 1.3k

Content warning: none

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

He doesn’t even hear you before it’s too late. You collide into him full-force outside the Great Hall, nearly knocking him back a step with the pure velocity of the hug.

“Hey!” you beam. “How was Potions?”

“It was fine,” Tom says mechanically, even-faced as he gently leans forward and sets you back on the ground – though neither of you step away, and your arms are left around his neck as you grin up at him.

“Fine, huh,” you laugh, “geez, don’t blow me away with all the details, Tom.”

Tom visibly hesitates, frowning slightly as he looks down at you, but right as he opens his mouth to say something another voice rings out.

“Can’t you take a hint?” scoffs Lestrange. “Get off him and go be a disgrace to Slytherin someplace else.”

“Disgrace to Slytherin?” you echo in amusement as you look over at the motley gang of boys always following Tom around. “I’ll have you know that last term Professor Beery told me that I was a delight to have in class.”

“Beery’s an idiot, and you’re not welcome here,” Avery snaps.

“Just because the only time you’re a delight to have in class is on your way out, Avery,” you say teasingly, before looking back at Tom and sliding your hands down to his shoulders. “Hey, I gotta go, I promised Rutherford that I’d help him with the Astronomy assignment before dinner –”

“Rutherford? You’re wasting your time with that idiot?” Black snorts.

“ – but I’ll see you later,” you grin, ignoring Black’s comment entirely as you step back from Tom, “make sure you actually eat something at dinner, Riddle, hugging you just about gives me a paper cut!”

You’re gone before any of them can say another word, your robes billowing wildly behind you as you dash away.

“Why do you put up with that, Riddle?” Lestrange mutters, shaking his head. “It’s embarrassing.”

Tom wrenches his eyes off of your retreating form and steps through the doors into the Great Hall. “It’s harmless,” he says blankly.

The boys shoot each other curious looks but they follow him in silence – they know all too well the consequences of disagreeing with Tom Riddle.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Why are you making me do this?” Tom says flatly, looking around the common room disinterestedly.

You carefully slide the parchment under the glass that Tom was holding, trying to not accidentally sandwich the spider’s legs. “Hold still,” you say seriously, “I’ve nearly got it.”

The spider had crawled across the huge circular study table in the corner of the Slytherin common room about five minutes prior and had made Matilda Greengrass shriek at the top of her lungs.

“I thought you were afraid of spiders,” Tom mutters.

You smile absently, attention captivated by carefully lifting both the glass and the parchment. “I am.”

“Then why aren’t you just killing it?” he asks with a curt wave of his hand.

“Don’t be silly,” you laugh, turning to the stairs. “Now are you coming or not?”

“Where are you going?” Tom demands, but it’s no use – you’re already halfway up the stairs. He grits his teeth, but a second later he follows after you.

“We’ve got to put it outside, don’t we?” you say brightly when he catches up to you.

“You’re breaking curfew to put a spider outside?” he asks, exasperated.

“I’ve got a prefect with me, I’ll be fine,” you say with a wink.

Tom looks away, his expression stony, but he still follows you down the dungeon corridor. “That’s why you asked me to help you?” he asks flatly. “An alibi to avoid detention?”

“More like an alibi for your company,” you grin.

Tom looks back at you impassively, and he doesn’t speak another word until you’re returning to the common room with an empty, spider-less glass. “You should be more careful whose company you seek,” he says evenly.

“Should I?” you smile, glancing at him. “Are you talking about yourself?”

“Everyone knows you only see the good parts of people,” Tom says smoothly, his fingers lacing behind his back as he takes long, even strides beside you, “but it could be very dangerous to ignore the rest.”

“You think I’m ignoring the dangerous parts of you?” you laugh.

Tom looks at you, expression impenetrable. “Does that amuse you?” he asks softly. “I could be anything, after all.”

“Are you going to try to convince me that you’re a secret mass murderer?” you say teasingly.

Tom laughs, much too coldly. “Perhaps not a mass murderer,” he says contemplatively, looking around the corridor with detached interest. “But perhaps I’ve done other things you’d find… abhorrent.”

You draw to a halt and catch his arm, making him stop, too. “You’re being serious,” you say in realisation, frowning.

Tom doesn’t say anything, he only looks down at you with cool, impassive eyes like he was considering his options. Suddenly the dungeon corridor seems too big and too empty, the air colder and darker than moments before.

“Are you dangerous, Tom?” you ask, barely above whisper.

“What would you do if I was?” he replies softly, his head tilting slightly as he turns to you.

Your stomach twists but you try to ignore it. “I’m not sure,” you say slowly. “That might depend on how you’re dangerous.”

Tom’s lips curve into a small smirk and he takes a single step towards you that makes your pulse triple. “Would you really like to know?” he murmurs, lifting a hand and – so gently that your skin erupts into goosebumps – trailing his fingers down your cheek. “Should I tell you what I’m capable of? Would you still want my company afterwards?”

“Are you trying to scare me?” you whisper, swallowing the trembling feeling in your chest.

“Are you scared?” Tom breathes as he steps towards you again, pushing you backwards. Your back hits the wall and you stare up at him, eyes wide. You swallow hard as Tom’s fingers delicately take hold of your jaw and tilt your face up to his, trying to stop your knees from shaking.

“Is that why Lestrange and the others follow you around even though you obviously don’t even like them?” you ask with the faintest tremor in your voice. “Are they afraid of you?”

Tom’s smirk grows and his fingers trail the curve of your jaw and down on your neck, leaving shivers in their wake. “Observant, aren’t you?” he whispers, watching his fingertips brush your skin with interest. “A true Slytherin after all...”

“It would be easier, wouldn’t it?” you manage to say.

Tom’s fingers grow still against your skin, a minute crease appearing between his brows as his eyes dart up to yours. “Easier?” he repeats sharply.

“If I were scared of you,” you whisper, “that way I’d leave you alone.”

His dark eyes flick between yours like he hadn’t been expecting your response.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s scared,” you breathe.

Tom laughs again, a single derisive scoff as he lifts his jaw and looks down at you. “And what about you should frighten me?” he asks contemptuously.

“Maybe you’re scared that I actually like you,” you say quietly, “and maybe it scares you that you like being liked.”

Tom’s eyes widen and his hand drops from your neck like you’ve burned him as he steps back quickly. “It’s late,” he says harshly, looking away down the corridor. “You should get to your dorm.”

You frown. “What about you?”

“I have patrols,” he says curtly, turning on his heel and leaving without another word. You watch him go for a moment and then turn back to the Slytherin common room, your heart still beating fast.

The feeling of Tom’s fingers trailing feather-light across your skin haunts you until you finally fall asleep.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

To request sequels/being tagged in follow-ups, leave a reply in the notes!  💖

[fangirlovestuff]

Okay! I had this idea brewing in my mind (but that’s the most my mind is capable of I’ll leave the writing to the professionals). So Carly or Shana (you can decide) are planning on going away for a vacation with their partner but they’re sceptical of leaving the children alone. So they ask Chris if him and reader (who is Chris’ girlfriend and super close to his family) to babysit the kids over the weekend and they accept. Since Chris is busy with ASP reader mostly entertains the kids, helps them with homework and stuff and Chris sees the way she is with them and imagines their future! Please make it fluffy 🥺❤️❤️

A Tale Of Nephews And Princesses - Chris Evans x reader

a/n - @tonystankschild surprise! i got my ask back somehow so i can properly post this!! thank you so much for this lovely ask, I had so much fun writing it! I chose Carly pretty randomly. her children’s names are online, so that was mostly why lol. in my head i imagined it so Miles is the firstborn, then Stella then Ethan but it doesn’t really matter. they’re all pretty small in the fic so like, the oldest is 10 years old? idk, i didn’t really wana do research because i wanted to respect their privacy lol, so i took creative liberty over most of it. also you calling me a professional?🥺 pls omg i am so far from it but tysm!! I hope you enjoy it!!<3

Word Count: 3k (!!! y’all are getting fed hehe)

Warnings: none! just fluffy fluff :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey babe?" Chris asked, coming into the living room. His hand was on the telephone, so whoever's on the other side was still on the call.

"Yeah?" you replied from your place on the couch.

"Is it okay if Carly's kids come sleep at ours next weekend? It's Carly's anniversary so they wanna go on a weekend away."

"Yeah, sure," you smiled, "watching them is gonna be no problem. Tell her I said congrats!"

"I will," he smiled. "And well, I have some stuff for A Starting Point I gotta do that weekend. I told you about the interview and –"

"It's okay, I don't mind watching them," you smiled and cut him off. "I'll have someone to keep ne company while you're busy."

"You're the best," he blew you a kiss and you smiled as he got back on the phone with his sister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're sure it's okay?" Carly asked, ushering her kids through the door of your and Chris' house.

"Yes, we're sure," you smiled at her. "It's no problem at all."

"Besides, even if we weren't, I don't think you'd have any other options right now," Chris smiled at his sister as well. "Go, have fun, we'll all be here when you come back. If anything, you should worry about them not wanting to leave," he smirked.

"Sure," she drawled out with a smile. "Well, if you need anything at all just call me," she told the both of you.

"It's gonna be fine," you laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling. "I could understand why you'd be worried if you left them with this five-year-old," you nudged Chris with your elbow and he rolled his eyes, "but I'm here and I assure you we're gonna have a lot of fun, isn't that right kids?" you smiled at Chris' nephews and niece, who were still standing there with their bags, waiting to say goodbye to their mom.

"Alright," she laughed. "Well, have fun kids! Bye!" she hugged each one of them and went back to her car, where her husband was waiting to go on a weekend away. It was their anniversary, so you and Chris volunteered to watch Miles, Stella and Ethan while they were away for a couple of days.

Before you managed to say anything, you and Chris were bombarded with questions – "Uncle Chris, can we play Mario Kart?" "No! Can we have a princess tea party?" "Can you read me a story?" "Can we eat cookies?" "Where's Dodger?" "Can we play with the cap shield?"

Chris looked at you and you return his amused look with one of your own. "Okay," you said, effectively silencing them as they looked up at you with wide eyes. "We can do all of these things later, but for now we should put your bags up. Dodger's hiding, so maybe after we find him, we can play with him, alright? But bags first," you smiled at them as they immediately sprinted upstairs with their bags, as best as they could carry them.

"Be careful!" you yelled after them and laughed.

"Is Dodger hiding?" Chris frowned at you.

"Of course not. I got him out in the yard before they arrived so he wouldn't tackle them to the ground," you grinned.

"What would I do without you?" he smiled, wrapping his arms around you.

"My guess? Have more sweaters," you chuckled. "But hey, that's why I'm here!" you showed off the sweater you were currently wearing, which was indeed his, making him laugh.

"C'mon, let's go make sure they're not breaking anything," you pecked his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris was the first one to go outside and play with them and Dodger, while you hung back for a while, cutting up some fruit and getting some juice boxes before stepping outside as well.

"You guys hungry?" you smiled at them when you got out, Dodger immediately running to you and the kids right behind him.

"Yes!" they yelled in unison as you put the plate down on the table before sitting down next to them and Chris.

"Oh, by the way it's 4:15, so you should probably go get ready," you told him. He had an interview for ASP in about 20 minutes, and as much as you'd love for him to stay outside with you, you knew he had to go back inside to his home office.

"Thanks honey," he smiled softly before patting Miles' head and scratching Dodger's ear. "Alright kids, be good while I'm working," he winked at them before disappearing inside.

"Princess auntie?" Stella asked once she finished eating. Your heart melted in your chest at the sound of it, not the princess part of course, since Stella was currently obsessed with Disney and had the habit of calling everyone princes and princesses. No, it was the auntie that tugged at your heartstrings.

You weren't officially a part of the Evans family, well, not yet, you hoped. But their tendency to embrace you as one of their own never failed to make you smile, because there's nothing you'd want to be more.

"Yes, princess Stella?" you smiled at her.

"Can we have a tea party now?"

You chuckled at her request. "Well, I think there's nothing better for a tea party than…" you paused for suspense, "cookies!" at the sound of that all three of them cheered and you laughed. "But you all have to come and help me make them!"

The happy bunch followed you to the kitchen and you let Dodger into the living room on your way so he could rest a little.

"Okay, first of all we all need to wash our hands," you instructed. After a few minutes and some stray drops of water later, you were ready to go.

"Okay, Miles, you can help me measure everything, and Stella can pour it in, and Ethan's gonna stir, sounds good?"

Surprisingly, the kids went with your suggestion without any argument, and you started making the batter.

"Ethan, mix slower, will you?" you contained your laughter once a bit of batter flew out of the bowl and onto Miles' face. "Are you okay Miles?"

You turned to the kid in question to wipe the batter from his face, but you found he already took it on his finger and tasted it. "It's really good," he nodded, and you and you couldn't contain your giggle now.

"I'm glad, but let's try not to eat the cookies until they're ready," you raised your eyebrows at him and he nodded in understanding, although a grin was still on his face so you weren't sure how much he was going to stick to that.

The rest went pretty smoothly, and just as you were dividing your batter and putting the cookies in the baking pan Chris walked in, having just finished his interview.

"Ooooo, what are you guys making?" he smiled.

"Cookies!" Ethan yelled.

"For the tea party!" Stella added.

"But I don't wike tea parties," Miles sulked.

"You don’t have to be in the tea party to eat the cookies," you calmed him down before they'd start fighting.

"Now come on, let's finish up these cookies and then we can go play."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games, the smell of the cookies filling the air as the kids got more and more impatient to have them. Eventually, it was time to take them out, and you tried to slip away unnoticed but unfortunately they noticed and followed you to the kitchen.

"I'm taking out the cookies, but just remember they're very hot and we can't eat them yet, okay?"

You heard a chorus of okays before you opened the oven, the pleasant smell and warmth coming at you in a wave. You grinned and took the cookies out of the oven, warning the kids to stay away from it while you put them on the counter and went to shut off the oven.

After a few minutes you touched the cookies tentatively, and found they were cool enough to give to the kids to taste. They all took a bite and immediately smiled.

"Well? Did we succeed?" you asked with a smile, taking a cookie yourself.

"Yeah!" they all nodded, and ran to the living room, where Chris was still sitting. "Uncle Chris, you have to taste our cookies!" you heard Stella say and smiled, knowing they'd all walk in here in a couple of seconds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You all ate dinner together, cookies for dessert obviously, and before long it was bedtime. Chris needed to get some more work done, so you were the one to put them to bed. The boys were sleeping in the same room and Stella in another one, but all four of you were currently snuggled together in the boys' room, as you read them all a story.

Stella was on one side of you, her eyelids slightly drooping already. Miles and Ethan were on the other side, and you were half sure Ethan was already asleep. Dodger was at the foot of the bed, seemingly listening as well. You were just reading the last page when Chris walked in, a grin stretching on his face at the sight in front of him.

You smiled back and softly finished the rest of the story, closing the book and putting it down on the bedside table. Carefully getting up, you kissed Miles and Ethan's foreheads goodnight before taking a sleepy Stella into your arms, smiling at Chris on your way out of the room as you carried her to her bed, laying her down and tucking her blanket around her.

"Goodnight princess auntie," she mumbled.

"Goodnight princess Stella," you whispered back and smiled, gently tucking her hair away from her face before getting up. Seeing Chris waiting for you at the doorway, you put your finger to your mouth signaling him to be quiet until you softly shut the door nearly all the way behind you, leaving a small crack so it wouldn't be completely dark and so you could hear her if she needed anything.

"Did you get your work done?" you whispered as you wrapped your arms around Chris' neck.

"Yeah," he whispered back. "You're really good with them, you know that?" he smiled, affection dancing in his eyes.

"They're great kids," you smiled back, pecking his lips softly before drawing away. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you awoke to the sound of whispers and padding of feet coming from the hallway. You smiled to yourself before getting away from Chris, whose arms were wrapped tightly around your torso. He stirred when you sat up, mumbling a low "Where are you going?"

"They're awake, but try and get some more sleep, you have a long day today," you whispered back, kissing his cheek before getting out of bed and out of the room, shutting the door behind you.

When they noticed you got up they stopped talking and you smiled at them. "C'mon, let's go downstairs so we won't wake uncle Chris," you whispered.

When you were down you asked them in a low voice, "did you brush your teeth? What do you want for breakfast?"

After they all brushed their teeth, and so did you, you all gathered in the kitchen to make breakfast. You made them some chocolate milk and they drank it while you made something to eat, laying it out of the table and sitting down to eat with them, but not before you put some food aside for Chris.

"What do you wanna do today, huh?" you asked, taking a sip from your mug.

"I have homework," Miles admitted shyly. "Mommy said I was supposed to do them yesterday, but I forgot."

"That's alright, you can do them right now," you ruffled his hair affectionately.

After you were done with breakfast, Miles sat down to do his homework and Stella and Ethan helped you with the dishes. Well, they just handed you the dishes, which you then washed and put in their place, but it kept them occupied long enough.

You were nearly done with the dishes when you felt a tug on the hem of your shirt. "Can you help me?" Miles looked up at you.

"Of course," you smiled. "Stella and Ethan, wait a sec alright? And be careful!"

You walked back to the kitchen table with him, where he showed you the exercise he was struggling with. Just as you were helping him solve it, Chris walked into the kitchen. Thankfully, fully dressed in his everyday clothes, you eye rolled inwardly at your boyfriend's sleeping garments, or lack thereof.

"Hey guys! Did you have breakfast already?" he asked, going to hug Stella and Ethan.

"I left you some," you gestured at the plate on the counter with a smile.

"Thank you," he picked it up and started eating. "What'cha doing there bud?" he asked Miles.

"My homework," he said with a shy grin. "But I'm almost done!"

"Yeah," you smiled. You explained it for him, all the while ignoring Chris' eyes on you. You felt his gaze and smiled, not giving it any attention and helping Miles solve the problem.

"All done!" you high fived him and he cheered.

"Good job!" Chris smiled at the both of you. "I have to do some work, but after I'm done we can go play some more with Dodge, how about that?"

"Yay!" they cheered. He hugged them all and retreated into his office once more. You knew how much he hated not being able to be with them all day while they're here, but he cared about this project a lot, so you were going to make sure everyone had a great time regardless.

"Okay, how about…" you paused to think, "we build a blanket fort! As a surprise for uncle Chris," you smiled at their excited reaction. "But shhh! We have to be very quiet so he won't hear us, because it's a surprise!" knowing Chris needed his focus, you were glad when they nodded their heads. Ethan out a finger to his lips and shushed his siblings, which you giggled at.

"After you," you gestured for them to start walking towards the living room. "The blanket fort isn't going to build itself!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were quiet, whispering to each other as you draped the blankets you had brought from their bedrooms. The only loud sounds were their laughs, which you really couldn't bring yourself to get mad about.

After nearly an hour, the blanket fort was complete. You all cuddled inside, the kids bringing their dolls as well.

"Can we watch a princess movie?" Stella asked once you had suggested they watch a movie.

"No! I don't wike it!" Miles immediately objected.

"Yeah, no princess!" Ethan joined his brother.

"Okay, how about… Peter Pan?" you asked them. Then, you leaned closer to Stella and whispered in her ear, "Tinkerbell's a fairy! That's almost as good as a princess, right?"

She contemplated it for a moment before nodding her head. You kissed the top of her head and put on the movie. You all settle down, and you cuddled Stella close to you, smiling as Ethan and Miles soon joined.

That was how Chris found you, about an hour later, and his heart swelled in his chest at the sight. His niece and nephews all cuddled up with you, watching a Disney movie. He thought about the ring, safely stowed away deep in his bedside drawer, and smiled softly.

With any luck, soon these might be your own kids you'll cuddle with. The thought filled him with giddiness, but also nerves. He didn't really think you'd say no, but hell – you can never know with these things. All he knew was that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, and he was going to ask you if you wanted the same. Soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end of the day finally arrived, and Carly and her husband were coming to pick up the kids.

"You got everything?" you asked them. They all nodded their heads. "Great! Well, your mom's gonna be here in a few, so how about –"

"But I don't wanna go!" Miles complained.

"Yeah, I wanna stay here!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Princess auntie, pretty please can we stay?" Stella looked up at you.

"I'm sorry guys," you smiled, "But you have school tomorrow. Besides, your mom missed you very much, and I'm sure you missed her too. Don't you miss mommy and daddy?"

"Yes," they admitted.

"C'mon, don't be sad," you grinned at them, "you can always come visit us."

At that moment Dodger decided it was a good time to greet them goodbye, jumping up and trying to lick them. They giggled, and you and Chris exchanged a fond glance over their heads. You heard the car pulling up outside, so you caught onto Dodger and made him stop before Chris opened your door, knowing Carly would be coming to get them.

"Mommy!" they all yelled.

"Hey babies!" she greeted them and pulled them all into a big hug.

Dodger tried to escape your hold and join them, but you caught him before he could tackle them. "Don't be jealous," you playfully chastised him and scratched him behind his ear.

"Hello Dodger," Carly smiled and came to pet him as well. "Okay kids, say goodbye, daddy's waiting for us in the car."

"Bye bye!" said and hugged both you and Chris tightly.

"Bye!" you waved at them once they got out, closing the door gently behind them.

Chris came to wrap his arms around you. "You're amazing."

"So are you," you smiled into his neck.

"No, I'm serious. You were amazing with them," he smiled timidly. "And well, in the future, I…" he trailed off.

"Awwww, you were totally thinking about what if they were our kids, weren't you?" you grinned. "That's so cute!" you teased him.

"Whatever," his cheeks tinted slightly. "I guess you don't wanna hear what I think."

"No, I do!" you objected with a smile.

"I think," he started, "that you're gonna be the best mom ever someday. And I am so lucky to have you."

"And you're gonna be the best dad," you smiled before leaning it to kiss him.

When you broke apart, you smiled. You knew how true your words were, and you couldn't wait until that turned into a reality.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

what’d you think??🥰

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[madamenordica]

Tomas and Don.....

By request I’m going to try telling the story of Tomas Escobar and Don Lothario. Tomas arrived in Willow Creek with next to nothing and settled down at Crick Cabana. It was early in the morning, and he didn’t start his job for a few days, so he decided to go to Windenburg for coffee, where he met Marco Arozco and a few other cool simfriends. He and Marco hit it off and did a quickie in the bush by the coffeeshop, but Marco turned out to be an alien. Tomas wasn’t sure what to think and was embarrassed so he ghosted Marco. 

The best friend he made that day was Laurel Marion. She invited  him the next day to the romance festival. He hadn’t really come out to anyone in town yet and wasn’t sure if he wanted to, but he went along for fun and met Akira. He got along great with Akira - they hit it off and might’ve had a lil fun in the closet. He took Akira home with him, but as luck would have it, Karma bit Tomas in the arse and Akira ghosted HIM. 

Next day Travis, Liberty (who was very pregnant by Jules Rico) and Summer stopped over with fruitcake to meet Tomas. He immediately hit it off with Travis, and though they had fun exploring each other, Travis never called or stopped by so Tomas assumed he wasn’t interested.

Then one day out of the blue, this guy appeared on his doorstep. Tomas didn’t know what he wanted, but invited him in. He was a good looking guy and said his name was Don Lothario. Tomas’s heart was in his throat and he could barely speak, because he was just so taken by how handsome Don was. They hit it off and Don ended up staying the night because they just couldn’t help themselves, but next morning after Don left, Tomas was abducted by Aliens. 

By the time the Aliens released him, Tomas was late for his Scientist job and had to scramble but made it through the day. He felt weird when he got home, like he had butterflies in his stomach. He assumed they were for Don, so  he just carried on his relationship with Don which was blossoming beautifully.

As the days passed Tomas began to notice his pants didn’t fit the way they used to and he was regularly feeling nauseous in the morning. When he developed a fever he chalked it up to stomach flu. Meanwhile he had convinced Don to find his dream job, which turned out to be.....yep, you guessed it, a TECH GURU. 

Don really started to buckle down and learn his job. Meanwhile he and Tomas were getting closer and closer. Tomas really wanted Don to live there. He asked Don if he would be roommates with him, but Don declined.

Tomas finally realized after his fever broke he was not ill anymore, he was, in fact, PREGNANT! He made an appointment with an obstetrician and was told he would need to schedule a C Section whent he time came, as he was not equipped to deliver babies. 

Tomas was horrified - what would Don think? Would he believe that Tomas had been abducted? What if he didn’t? What if he thought he’d cheated? Finally the day before Christmas, Tomas sat Don down and explained everything to him. Don was silent. He got up slowly, and walked outside to get some air. Tomas followed him. 

“Don’t” he told Tomas. “You don’t have to explain it. You’re pregnant, and I love you. I’m here for you. I wish they were my babies, but I mean, they’re obviously not. But I love you and I’ll stand by you. Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (1/?)

Summary: When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Do you know what’s a great way to distract yourself from writing and other responsibilities? By writing a story that you shouldn’t be writing. So, here we are, and I hope you enjoy 😂

On AO3 | Here | 

-/-

June

The ocean water runs over his toes before disappearing, heading back to its home beyond the sand. It’s a cool contrast against the heat of the sun that’s warmly beating down on his skin, but it matches the chill of the beer bottle against his palm. Who knows what time it is? From the emptiness of the beach, Killian is guessing it’s mid-morning, but seriously, who the hell knows anymore?

Likely everyone other than him.

After more water washes over his feet and up his ankles, he decides the water is too cold to stay standing this close to the shoreline, so he walks up the path to his house and closes the gate behind him. He sits down at the bench by his pool and then buries his face in his hands before moving to take a sip of the beer.

God, he hopes it’s not truly the morning because he’s one second away from tipping the bottle enough for the beer to tumble down his throat.

Killian yanks it away and tosses it to the ground. He expects the damn thing to shatter against the tile, but it doesn’t. It rolls away into the grass, spilling a little beer with every turn until it stops against the tall grass lining the gate. Killian bends down and picks up another bottle, popping it open, then pouring it out. He does the same thing over and over again until his grass is fertilized with alcohol.

At least his body isn’t.

What a thought to have (presumably) so early in the morning.

His eyes close, the sun no longer blinding his vision, and he starts picking up the bottles, chasing them around and cursing himself for even buying the damn case in the first place. He has no clue what damn day it is, but he does know that it’s too damn early for him to be drinking. And if he’s going to get wasted and waste his day, he might as well do it with rum or whiskey. He doesn’t even like beer.

Killian chucks the bottles in the bin resting against the side of the rental house and goes through the side door into the kitchen. It’s clean today, all the white countertops empty of plates and pitchers and the junk that accumulates over time. The living room is clean as well, all the pillows in the right place, the throw blankets over the correct corners of couches, and he can see vacuum lines in the rug. He’s sure if he were to walk to the mantle, it’d be empty of dust. Ariel must have sent someone in to clean yesterday while he was away from the house. He’s got to have her stop doing that. He’s thirty-five years old. He can clean the house he’s staying in. He doesn’t need her taking care of his life for him.

Though, it is literally her job, but Ariel takes things far past being his manager. He doesn’t know anyone else who does all the things she does for their client, especially when he isn’t bringing in the same amount anymore. Sponsors aren’t exactly lining up at the door for disgraced football – not the American kind as everyone here believes – players, but he still has a few hanging around and good enough investments that he’ll be alright for a long while. Bored as hell with too much time for him to wander to bars in Martha’s Vineyard before talking himself out of them and sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner all night. He’s got his favorites. One has better coffee than the others, but the booths aren’t clean. Another has clean booths but a piss excuse for coffee, and his favorite has a selection of pies that have him eating in ways he hasn’t since he was young. Still, they’re all pathetic little places for him to spend his time so he doesn’t drink more than he can tolerate.

At least no one knows him here. It’s actually why he’s here to begin with. There are obviously less famous towns and places in the world, but he wanted to be near the ocean, wanted to at least have that if he was going to be in disgraced isolation. This area has beach for miles and different nooks to disappear into, and so far, it’s nice. He’d rather be in London or New York, but he knows this is better.

He collapses onto the couch and sees a note on the coffee table in Ariel’s neat script. When was she even here? Honestly.

Killian, Eric and I are in town for the week. Please come to lunch at our house. We’d love to have you! I know you don’t have anything better to do, so don’t bother calling me with an excuse. Hope you enjoy the clean house!

-   A

He runs his hand over his face and scratches at his too-long beard before fumbling for his phone and checking the date and time. It’s half past eight. He can get two, maybe three, hours of sleep now, and he’ll only look half as pissed as he feels when he makes his way to Ariel and Eric’s house a few miles over in Tisbury.

At least he isn’t actually pissed. Always the positives, he guesses.

-/-

Ariel’s house is covered in gray shingles with white trim. The shutters are cherry red, much like her hair, and while there are obvious updates to the place, it looks just as it did in the pictures he’s seen from when Ariel was young. She was raised here, her father a local fisherman, and while she now resides outside of London, on occasion, she returns to Tisbury for a holiday. It’s why he chose to holiday here even if he’s over in Edgartown on the beach in a house too large for one person. He spent years listening to her talk about her childhood, and then visiting when she married Eric here, and he wanted that calm sense of relaxation.

Right now, however, he wants nothing more than to be back in a city. The firing squad won’t be as intrusive there where he can get lost in a crowd instead of being the center of attention.

Killian opens the unlocked front door that squeaks on its hinges, and he immediately smells garlic bread baking in the oven. She must be making her pasta, and his stomach growls for real food. As he walks through the hall at the entrance of the house, he notices that everything is the same, all the family portraits are in the same places, there are a few too many nautical decorations, but it all works. Killian looks into the kitchen, sees that it’s empty, and calls out for Ariel and Eric, no answer. He takes the liberty of checking the oven, and when he notices the bread is slightly overdone, he grabs an oven mitt and takes it out, placing the tray on the stove.

Where the hell are they?

He pushes open the kitchen door that leads to the backyard, and he sees two figures toward the side of the yard. Killian sighs and walks over to them, only stopping when he realizes it’s three people instead of two.

Ariel and Eric are talking to a gorgeous woman in a pair of small white shorts and a fitted polo. She’s got long, thick blonde hair pulled off her neck, and he can’t stop glancing down at her legs. He doesn’t usually pay much attention to people anymore, unless of course they are paying attention to him, but he cannot help but notice her. Because she’s stunning, of course, but also because he wasn’t expecting to see anyone else. He thought they would be isolated, and his gut tells him to turn around and run.

He doesn’t.

“Hello?” he starts, and they all turn to him. “I, uh, took your bread out of the oven.”

“Oh shit,” Ariel mumbles. “I forgot I’d put the bread in the oven. Is it burned?”

“No, I think I saved it just in time, love.”

Ariel’s shoulders deflate, and then she’s closing the distance between them, hugging him tightly, before Eric does the same and claps him on his back several times. He’s missed them, and it feels good to be embraced by something other than a heavy blanket. When Eric releases him, Killian can see the woman still standing in the yard, shifting on her feet.

“Hello,” he greets, nodding in her direction.

“Hi,” she nods back.

“Oh, Emma,” Ariel begins, walking over to her and grabbing her arm, “this is my friend, Killian. He’s staying on the island for awhile. Killian, this is Emma. We rent the house to her for most of the year, so we’ve invaded her home this week, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine,” Emma says. “You guys basically give me the place for free, and I picked up some extra shifts at the club. I’d never be home anyway.”

“What do you do, love?”

“Not your love,” she corrects, and he feels the sting even if he uses the term for many a woman, “and I’m a manager at a little place by the shore, but sometimes during the summer I’ll wait tables at the local country club for extra money. The people will treat you like shit, but at least they tip well since they have no concept of real-life money.”

“What’s the restaurant?” he asks. “Maybe I could eat there.”

Her brows raise, and he gets the feeling she’s not a fan of the idea of him disturbing her at work. He gets the feeling she’s not a fan of him at all. Funny, his first impressions are usually better than this.

“The Blue Dog Tavern.” She points to the logo on her shirt. “I actually have to go there now. I just had to drop by and get my shirt since my boss is coming by today. I’ll stay out of your way when I get home tonight,” she tells Ariel and Eric. “It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Oh, no, honey,” Ariel sighs, smiling at Emma, “we’re the ones disturbing you. I promise, it’ll be a fast week, and then everything can go back to normal.”

Emma nods with a tight smile, and he definitely gets the idea that she isn’t a fan of having Ariel and Eric here. He wouldn’t be either if he had to share his home with his landlords. She walks away into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her, and Killian makes a note of the restaurant she mentioned, not necessarily to see her but to venture somewhere that isn’t a twenty-four-hour diner.

“Is that why I couldn’t stay here?” Killian asks. “Because you already rent it out?”

“Yep. Plus, it’s not on the beach, and that was your request. This isn’t really to your taste anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, A?”

She shrugs and walks toward the kitchen. “Nothing. I’ve got to finish cooking. I was just about to put the pasta on the stove when Emma came in through the back gate, and I got distracted. Thanks for saving the bread, Jones.”

“Is she okay?” Killian asks Eric.

“Yeah, mate, she’s fine.” He claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder. “And what she meant by that is that you’re an ex-football player who is hiding from the world and is used to a certain kind of luxury. You’d lose your mind living in this house for months. It’s smaller than a quarter of your flat back home.”

“I would not lose my mind living here. It’s charming.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “You would. I think the giant crab pillow in the living room would be what pushed you over the edge.”

“That thing is still here?”

“It’ll never leave, and I’ve offered to pay Emma to get rid of it many times. I think she throws it out, and it finds its way back inside.”

Killian snickers and settles down on the bench of the dining table they keep outside, letting Eric follow. He feels like he hasn’t talked to another human being in ages, and he’s only been here for a few weeks. “You know her pretty well then? Emma?”

“No,” Eric starts, waving his hand, “no, no, no, no. You cannot go there.”

“What the hell are you on about? I can’t go where?”

“Emma. You can’t go there. She’s not a one-night stand for you. She lives here, takes care of it since we’re gone all the time. You can’t mess that up. Ariel would murder you if you screwed this arrangement up.”

Killian flashes a smile, the ones he’s used to get whatever he wants a million times. There’s an art to being in the public eye, one he figured out only to ruin it all over again, but he still knows the old tricks. Smile, be charming, never let them see any hesitation in your actions. If a question is too invasive or the answer to telling, redirect. It’s all about the redirection. Killian was never one to lie, but he was certainly one to evade, especially toward the end when he couldn’t handle hearing what everyone had to say.

Here, he doesn’t want to admit that Eric might be right about him, but mostly, he’s tired of people controlling his life because they think he can’t make good decisions.

“What?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You think I’m not capable of simply asking about a woman?”

“I think you are, but I don’t want Ariel to have any reason to kill you.”

“Eric,” Ariel yells from the kitchen, stopping Killian before he can speak, “set the table! We can eat in fifteen.”

Saved by the bell. Or the Ariel.

He hates himself a little for rhyming in his head. If this is how he thinks sober, he’s not sure he wants to stay this way.

“And Killian,” Ariel calls, “you can make the lemonade!”

Okay, so maybe he can, if only because Ariel will kill him if he collapses into the pit again, and she won’t be the only one. He’s had a few downfalls into drowning in alcohol since coming here. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s sadness, who the hell knows? What he does know is that it makes the demons all disappear for the night, sometimes the morning too, but then it all comes roaring back in screaming color.

And with a hell of a screaming headache.

One or two drinks every few days, he reminds himself. That’s what he’s working with, and besides the few slips, he’s been pretty damn successful.

Killian heads inside to help Ariel, though he thinks he hinders her more than helps since he can’t find a damn thing, but eventually they get it all done and eat. Mostly, he has to listen to Ariel give him a briefing on things he has to do over the next few weeks. He has contracts to sign, video interviews and conferences to attend, and they need to happen at certain times. That’s a bit obnoxious, but he can’t complain. He’d be the biggest ass in the world if he did, and he’s certainly already in the running for that title. People still want his face and brand to represent them, and he doesn’t even kick around a ball anymore.

Fools. All of them.

Ariel asks him to stay for dessert, but he’s already eaten too much off his usual diet. Old habits die hard, and he isn’t working out like he used to. Maybe he’ll take up running again soon, but right now, the thought is exhausting. Killian excuses himself from the table, hugging the Fishers goodbye and wishing them goodnight. He’s sure he’ll see them before they return to England and go back to their regular lives. Ariel still has Will and Rob to manage, so she can’t spend all of her time on him. There are other pieces of work out there.

The streets are crowded as Killian drives back to his rental house. Tourists and native islanders alike are out to go to dinner or bars, likely a party or two, and while Killian is tempted to take a turn and go out himself, he doesn’t. He continues along the GPS guide back to his rental house until the garage door is closing behind him.

Day seventeen of being here - now that he knows the date, he’s reminded of when he arrived - is done and dusted, and he cannot wait to close his eyes and go to sleep. He’s been running on fumes all day.

Once inside, Killian quickly showers and puts on a pair of pajama bottoms, collapsing under the covers of his bed as soon as possible. So, of course, that’s when his phone rings.

“It’s bloody half past one in the morning where you are.”

“And only half past eight where you are, so why are you in bed? You look horrible.”

Killian groans and pinches his nose as he props the phone up to get a better look at the screen. “Thanks, Els.”

“No problem.” She flips her blonde braid over her shoulder, and despite the time, she looks as if she could be up and ready for work in minutes. “I was up, couldn’t sleep, and I figured I needed to check on you. I’m sorry I don’t have the girls with me.”

“Did you tell Ally and Sophia I love them?”

“I tell them every day, but I think they’d appreciate it more if they heard it from their actual uncle.”

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Good,” Elsa sighs. She adjusts herself on her couch, pulling her blanket up higher on her body, and the familiar pang of guilt hits Killian. It happens anytime he talks to just Elsa. The girls act as a buffer, and he feels guilty for using them like that. He feels guilt about a lot of things. “How are you?”

“Good,” he lies. “Really good. I think I’m going to take up real running again soon, maybe finally check out the gym in the basement of this house. What about you, love?”

“I’m okay. Work has kept me really busy, which I like. I have this one house with the biggest garden I’ve ever seen, and designing it has proven to be a bit of a challenge. But I miss spending time with the girls. Anna has been such a big help, though. I love having her here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that’s great.” Killian runs his hand through his hair, yanking at the strands, and sinks a little further into the bed. It’s nice that Anna is around, that she’s been around this entire time while Killian fucked off across western Europe and then eventually to America. Yet again, he’s let someone he loves down because he’s an absolute tosser. “It’s nice to have a family you can count on.”

“Hey, don’t start that again, Killian. I’m not here for self-pity. You’ve had a hard year, and you needed some time away. No one is blaming you for that.”

“I’m not the one who lost my husband, love. I wasn’t left with two little girls with no father.”

Killian tilts his head up so he doesn’t have to see Elsa as water gathers around his eyes. Today was an okay day. Started off rough, but it ended up being alright. Now he’s gone and made Elsa talk about Liam’s death instead of having a normal conversation with her.

“My grief doesn’t negate yours, darling. You lost your brother, who was your best friend, and you lost the career you spent your entire life building. We can both be sad. It’s not a competition.”

Killian blows air out his nose and blinks the forming tears away. “How’d you get so wise?”

“Well, you see, when a child with a head the size of a football comes out of your vagina, you get special emotional intelligence. It’s something to do with all the hormones and pain.”

Killian finally looks down at his phone to see Elsa laughing, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “You make me glad to be a man.”

“You should be glad. You’re at least fifteen steps ahead of every woman in the world. Now, come on, I want to hear about everything you’ve been doing. Have you made any friends?”

“What am I? A lad in reception?”

“No, because my child in reception has many friends.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Well, I met the loveliest waitress last night. Reminded me of my Gran, and, uh, today I met the woman who lives in Ariel and Eric’s house. Don’t think she was a fan of me.”

“However could a woman resist your charms?”

He laughs, even if he doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and this time when he sinks a little deeper into the bed, it’s for comfort and not to hide. When Killian got the news Liam died in a Naval accident, it felt like his world was ending, that the ground was crumbling underneath his feet. He was at the club warming up to head out onto the pitch, and suddenly his sacred place wasn’t so sacred. He couldn’t understand any words leaving Elsa’s voice over the phone. Everything was ringing, and his legs collapsed from underneath him.

He’ll never forget that day. One moment everything in his world was right, and then it wasn’t. and he’ll never get over the fact that Elsa has been the one who has had to continue holding him up when she lost someone too.

“Well, if their names are Ally and Sophia Jones, they are experts at resisting my charms.”

“Unless you give them sweets.”

Killian chuckles. “Those are my good charms.” Elsa smiles and yawns on the other end of the line. “Els, I think you need to go to sleep. I promise to call the girls tomorrow.”

She nods and flips her braid over. “Don’t go breaking your promises to them.”

“Never, love. I’m a man of my word.”

Or, at least, he used to be. His word seems to falter lately, but mostly only his words to himself. Killian looks out the glass doors and windows toward the ocean, watching the water crest much like this morning, but he hopes that tomorrow morning he won’t be standing there with a bottle of beer in his hands.

Maybe he can keep that promise to himself at least.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @marrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @elizabeethan​ @jrob64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @cowboys-likeme​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @captain-emmajones​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @capthamm​ 

(You can be added or removed at any time. I don’t know where my list went, so I’ve just taken it from my last story 😘)

[onebizarrekai]

I think that lucia di lammermoor is one of my new favorite operas not just because of the mad scene but because the opera makes no sense whatsoever

there are literally so many plot holes in the libretto. there are so many unexplained facets of the narrative, unresolved arcs, dialogues that mandate copious creative liberties, things that only happen off-stage, and some unsolvable problems that can only be fixed by cutting things or directing things a certain way. there’s so much nonsense it’s actually hilarious. if you read the source story of the bride of lammermoor the opera diverts quite a bit, but the bride of lammermoor is actually even worse, so let’s put that to the side.

let’s just start from the beginning of the opera, paraphrasing as much as possible. lucia’s evil brother, enrico, is the first lead to greet the stage, minutes after his goony normano. normano tells enrico the tale of how enrico’s archenemy, edgardo, saved the life of lucia, and he reluctantly admits that they are now in love with each other and are secretly meeting up all the time. enrico flips his shit and sings about how he’s going to kill edgardo or whatever. bide the bent (aka raimondo, but schirmir really said bide the bent, whatever the hell that means) exists and does priest stuff because he’s a priest. by the way, there’s this whole thing about how the ashton family (aka lucia and enrico) are protestant and edgardo is catholic and that’s why they hate each other and that’s why there’s a priest.

anyway they all leave, and then lucia and alice enter. lucia is, naturally, waiting for her illegal boyfriend: edgardo. she is very scared because enrico is a piece of shit and wants to kill her boyfriend. alice is like “yo man this is a bad idea” and lucia is like “where’s edgardo” but lucia is also perturbed by something else. she has a ghost story to tell about this nondescript fountain and tells alice about the girl who was killed by her lover at this fountain, and then suddenly goes like “by the way the ghost of the dead woman appeared to me” and like wow ok lucia. after singing about all of the water turning to blood in her hallucination, she proceeds to completely change moods and sing about how much she loves edgardo because she is crazy. after all of this, edgardo finally arrives and tells lucia about how he actually has to go to france to do ambassador stuff and disappear for an indefinite period of time. he says that they should finally tell enrico about their relationship. lucia completely shuts him down, and then edgardo cries about how enrico has killed his family and how she’s the only light of his life. they end up deciding to keep their relationship a secret anyway and then vow to marry each other.

act 2, enrico has ordered normano to forge a break-up letter from edgardo to send it to lucia. normano shows up to give it to enrico, enrico summons lucia into wherever he is to tell her that he needs to marry her off to some other guy in order to save their family. lucia is like “but I’m marrying someone else” and enrico is like “oh yeah? read this” and gives her the letter, and lucia naturally breaks down because it’s a big lie about how edgardo has found someone else in france. she cries about it until this big fanfare plays to welcome her new husband, arturo. at this point lucia is singing about nothing except how much death would benefit her right now. enrico leaves after being an asshole for a few more minutes, and then in comes bide the bent to lecture lucia about the invalidity of her previous marital vows. she leaves to change into a wedding gown.

enter arturo, this random loser that enrico wants lucia to marry. his lines are so cliché that he’s probably reading them off a sheet of paper (which is exactly how we staged the production I am currently doing). somehow arturo knows about lucia’s affair with edgardo because those two were actually horrible at being secretive, but also he doesn’t care because he gets to marry a hottie. enrico tells arturo about how lucia’s mother died and that’s why she’s crying about the wedding. lo and behold, lucia enters and she is crying. they hold the wedding right then and there under the Authority™ of bide the bent, enrico forces lucia to sign the wedding documents, and then everyone is like “wait who’s at the door?” and then EDGARDO BREAKS IN and he’s like “EDGAAAAAARDO” and they sing a whole sextet that borders a confusion ensemble except it’s a bel canto tragedy.

edgardo is like “yeah man! it’s my right to be here since I’m engaged to lucia!” and enrico is like “PSH” and bide the bent comes up like “sorry she just signed this Other Marriage Contract” and shows it to edgardo and edgardo is like WHAT and he comes up to lucia like BRUH YOU DONE THIS?? and lucia doesn’t even know what’s happening at this point, she’s just like “yes?? but” and then edgardo takes off his ring and hers and then throws a temper tantrum before he gets kicked out.

behold the wolf’s craig duet, the most stupid and pointless thing in this opera considering what happens later. enrico barges into edgardo’s house and they sing about how they’re going to kill each other and duel at the graveyard. that’s it. there’s probably sexual tension.

after that, there’s a wedding party, except with a Horrifying Twist. lucia goes upstairs with arturo and fucking kills him. having lost her mind, she comes out covered in blood and sings for like twenty minutes in a very impressive manor. she collapses on the floor at the very end.

there’s a random recit right afterwards where enrico, bide the bent and normano briefly talk about lucia losing her mind. while enrico is crying about lucia, bide the bent literally blames normano of all people, who did exactly nothing, for every bad thing that happened to lucia.

the final scene begins at the graveyard. now, I know what you’re thinking. edgardo and enrico promised to duel each other here, right? right! so where the hell is enrico? I dunno, not here. edgardo is here, and he’s crying and stuff about his dead father. he’s very sad and probably wants to perish. a chorus shows up mourning something. edgardo asks about it and no one wants to tell him. bide the bent appears in all his priestliness and tells edgardo that lucia is now in heaven. how did she die? beats me. she died of insanity or something. edgardo has lost the final thing in his life that matters to him, so he decides to “go see her” and stabs himself.

the opera ends.

welcome to lucia di lammermoor. now, some of these plot holes are resolvable through directing. for example, lucia’s insanity is inexplicable in the libretto. nobody is just sad about their boyfriend and commits murder–granted, her first aria had her singing about a ghost and a fountain of blood. why’s she like this, though? she’s probably not ok. so like, some people explain this by making enrico way way worse than just a big liar. in the production that I’m doing, enrico is being depicted as sexually abusive towards lucia, and like, yeah that helps do some explaining. but you know what it doesn’t help? the parts of the opera that normally get cut, like the stupidass wolf’s craig duet that exists for no reason and usually gets cut because it makes no sense. also, the scene right after the mad scene where bide the bent comically blames normano for everything even though it is clearly enrico’s fault and enrico is randomly mourning lucia even though he was horrible to her for the whole opera. unfortunately, when you have companies like the met, which do full operas with no cuts, you get the whole, nonsensical story in its full glory, not to mention the met tends to shy away from taking creative liberties with the directing.

so like, why do I say this opera is a new favorite? well, aside from it being fun to sing, since I’m doing it for the first time, it’s absolutely hilarious to consider who the real mastermind here is, since for some reason, the librettist seems to think that it’s normano. you have to make up so much subtext in this story in order to even make it begin to make sense, so how far can you take it? how much nonsense can you create?

easy mode is assuming the mastermind is enrico. he’s a horrible person. obviously bide the bent accuses normano because he’s trying to divert the blame from enrico, who may or may not kill him if he says the truth. however, enrico does not go to the graveyard to kill edgardo and tie off loose ends (which I personally think he should have). enrico just kind of disappears, honestly, in spite of being the main bad guy.

bide the bent is another viable option. he blames normano to divert attention from himself. he plays the role of the peacemaker between edgardo and enrico during the sextet, but it’s all a sham. the reason bide the bent appears in the final graveyard scene is because he’s the true villain here. he simply took advantage of everyone around him in order to make sure everything went according to plan. enrico’s bs towards lucia, lucia’s insanity, edgardo’s depression, normano loyalty, the whole deal. he wishes to rise in power… perhaps the reason enrico does not show up in the final scene is because bide the bent has already disposed of him.

what if it was edgardo? what if he and lucia devised a plan to create an opening that would allow them to run away? what if arturo was in on it? lucia pretends to murder arturo, pretends to go insane, and the plan was to finally flee with edgardo… but then they were INTERCEPTED. their plan was ruined. lucia was disposed of by the enemy off-stage and it was too late. they claim she died of insanity, but she was killed by normano under enrico’s orders, or whoever else is the designated evil one here.

in the met, for some reason, they decide to have lucia’s ghost come in during the final scene and silently “coerce” edgardo into ending his life, which sounds cool, but it was ridiculous. I just remember the blood bag being in the wrong place so he had to stab himself in the kidney and lucia actually pushed the prop knife in like she wasn’t literally a ghost. there was also a ghost during lucia’s first aria that totally upstaged her. this opens up many stupid doors for directing such as arturo’s ghost returning as well if need be. anyone’s ghost could be there. ghosts canonically exist at the met. arturo could be fortnite dancing during the mad scene.

behold, a terrible take. edgardo is having a secret affair after all, but he’s having an affair with enrico. enrico is enraged when he discovers edgardo’s relationship with his sister because he thought that THEY had a thing. he vengefully tries to break them up by marrying lucia off to arturo. enrico and edgardo sing the wolf’s craig duet as a not-tragic breakup song.

honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this goddamn cast was sleeping with each other. the possibilities are endless

during the staging period of the show, we all came up with so many stupid and hilarious ideas that we could stage an entire comedy version of this opera. maybe one day it could happen. maybe…

anyway it’s like midnight and I’m doing my cast’s performance of this opera in two days, and I just drove home a while ago from performance 1 today talking with my family about all of these stupid possibilities, so it’s all on my mind. at least the mad scene is fun to sing

[eunoiaflow3r]

Sick And Tired

A/N: I know I changed the third request a little, I’m sorry. I still hope you enjoy. 

Warnings: fluff, mistakes... fem!reader.

Word Count: 1.5k

Requests: 

Spencer Reid request!! Can you do one where reader is at home when he arrives for his latest case and he’s sick or injured and she takes care of him? And he definitely tried to hide it and pretend like nothings wrong but she figures it out

Ooooh so I just read your “slow dance” one and it gave me an idea for a request. What if Spencer’s feeling kinda sick all day and throughout the day, the individual team members bring it up (I especially love the fatherly relationship he has with hotch so :}) anyway, by the time it gets to the end of the night, he’s barely keeping his eyes open and focused but won’t leave and reader comes up to his desk and finally convinced him to go home and takes care of him a little bit Is that too much?

ok. so. i just read THE coolest study on chicken noodle soup that talked about mitigation of neutrophil migration, and thus inflammation meaning !!! it actually DOES help a cold !!! point is, i would love if you could possibly write something abt reid caring for his S/O while they’re sick and being a little uncomfy because he finds it difficult to be intimate and caring without seeming overbearing? sorry if this is too bizarre/ oddly specific bahaha but tysm either way! ur writing is awesome :)   

Summary: y/n helps spencer when he’s sick.

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning ran pretty well for the most part. 

Everyone was just sort of hanging around until JJ shows up so that meant, Morgan was sleeping, Prentiss was talking with Garcia, Rossi was in his office, and you and Reid were where the coffee was like usual.

Spencer had asked you out about a year ago, and ever since then, you’ve been dating. You’re pretty sure that the team doesn’t know, but there’s always that chance that they do. Because of this at work, you and Spencer try to stay strictly professional, but even then it’s very hard.

“Jesus Christ!” Spencer yelled. He had gone from gently blowing and stirring his coffee to loudly sneezing and spilling a portion of his coffee onto his beige sweater.

“Oh my God, are you okay Spencer?” You asked worriedly taking the cup from his hands and trying to help him out of his hot sweater quickly. You both had secretly hoped it hadn’t got on his shirt underneath, but it had, and now he had to take that off too.

You blushed at the sight of him, but quickly wet a towel and gave it to him so that he could wipe the coffee off of his stomach.

“The one day I don’t have extra clothes with me, this happens.” He scolded himself. 

Morgan came into the room shortly after the incident, (he had heard the shouting), and was greatly amused to find a shirtless Spencer and a blushing, worried you.

“What happened here? Am I interrupting something?” He asked smirking.

“Interrupting what?” Spencer questioned, trying to get the spot of coffee off of his pants as well.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, but before you could say anything, Spencer went from coughing hardly to sneezing and neither you or Morgan knew what to do except to say “bless you.”

After he was done you both asked if he was alright but he insisted that he was fine, and it was nothing to worry about. You and Morgan knew that he wasn’t fine, but you let it drop anyway.

_

On the plane, after the team reviewed the case, it was mostly silent except for the occasional cough from Spencer. You passed him a few cough drops and he thanked you silently, but he insisted that he did not need them and he was perfectly fine. 

When you weren’t looking though, he put one into his mouth and soon fell asleep.

As he was sleeping, both you and the team noticed he was shifting uncomfortably, half because of the ACDC shirt Morgan let him borrow, and half because as you had assumed, he was sick. You weren’t sure why he wouldn’t admit it to himself but you were going to try to help him any way you could.

“What’s up with Reid?” Prentiss asked noticing how Spencer would wake up with a sneeze every so often.

“He’s sick, I’m pretty sure.” You answer. “Probably a cold. He would know better than I would but he says he’s fine.”

_

Once you landed, Hotch told you and Spencer to go to the station and try to set up a geographic profile from there. Along with telling you he’d call with updates, he also told you to look after Reid and make sure that he was going to be okay. The way he said it made it seem like he knew more about the both of you than the two of you let on but at this point, you were glad you were paired with Reid so that you could try to help him.

A few hours had gone by, and Hotch called a few times helping you and Spencer build and better profile, but it seemed as though Spencer was only getting worse. His eyes had reddened, and his throat was sore meaning that the talking between the two of you was kept to a minimum. One of the nearby cops noticed he was somewhat losing his voice, and they had offered him some tea, but Spencer kindly refused.

You thanked the officer and took the tea anyway. You set it next to him, and you weren’t looking, the whole cup ended up empty. 

You smiled.

The team came back to give a profile to the public, and because Reid couldn’t do it because of his voice, you gave the geographic one.

Later on the plane home, the whole team had noticed Spencer’s behavior. His hair was a mess he didn’t bother fixing, he was sweating, his cheeks were flushed, and he just looked miserable. JJ gave him some Tylenol to take, and Rossi offered him some water, but he refused. 

Eventually, he gave in and took the medicine, but not without making sure that no one was paying attention to him and what he was doing.

Back at the office, everyone said their goodbyes, but Spencer had insisted to stay behind and work on the papers. You didn’t want to argue with him, so instead, you walked over to your desk and finished up files of your own that you could. A few minutes later, you decided to look over at Spencer’s desk, and just like you had suspected he had fallen straight asleep.

“L/N.” A deep voice had called from above. 

“Oh hey, Hotch.”

“Can I see you for a second?”

Once you were in Hotch’s office, you sat down and you noticed that he looked just as tired as Spencer was. His tie was undone, his hair a mess, and his desk was even messier.

“Y/N, I know about you and Spencer, and before you say anything I need you to know that it’s alright as long as it doesn’t interfere with the both of you doing your job.” He was serious until now. “I’m happy for you guys, you should see the way he looks at you.” You blushed at that. “Please take care of him tonight. He needs it. I’m not sure why he’s refusing to admit it, but please take care of him in any way you can. Take tomorrow off.”

You weren’t sure what to say other than the routine, “yes sir,” so along with that, you said “thank you,” and shuffled your way out of his office.

Spencer was still sleeping by the time you got back down so you took the liberty to pack up for him and you as well. When you were done, you went over to try to gently shake Spencer awake.

“Spencer, let me take you home.”

He woke up groggily and confused and said, “No. No, I’m okay I still gotta uhm, I gotta finish this.”

“You’re tired and hungry. Let’s get you to your apartment.”

Eventually, you convinced him, and you drove him to his ultimately very neat apartment other than a  few stray books on the table and the couch.

You tell him to go change so that you can make some food for him.

“Oh really? What are you making?”

“Chicken noodle soup.” You smile. “Obviously. You have some kind of cold. I guess soup helps.”

“Actually, it really does!” he smiles excitedly. “Did you know that chicken noodle soup helps clear nasal congestion as well as the thin mucus and it also has an anti-inflammatory effect than can help ease symptoms like congestion, anosmia, erythema, and irritation?” He pauses to sneeze.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you. Anyway, another effect of chicken noodle soup is also mitigating inflammation, so that’s pretty cool too.”

“That is very cool Spencer.” He nods in agreement before going into his bedroom to change.

By the time he was done showering and changing, the soup was ready. You had a bowl placed for each of you on the table, and as soon as he sat down to eat, you did too.

It was silent, and he wasn’t eating yet.

He looked nervous, and you grew worried.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded not looking at you. It looked like he was trying to tell you something but he couldn’t find the right words. He was fidgeting, and his leg was moving, and one of his hands raked through his hair the way it does when he’s really thinking about something.

“Spence?”

Instead of answering he pushed a key to you still without looking at you, and shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth but then regretted that because it was still a tad too hot.

After making sure he was okay, you looked down and picked up the key.

“Is this?” You question searching for Spencer’s eyes.

He nodded, smiling at you.

“And you want me to use it?” You were in disbelief.

“I don’t want you to just use it Y/N, I want you to move in with me.”

“Move in with you?”

“Please.”

You nodded and kissed his cheek. “Of course I will.”

While you were in the bathroom to tell JJ the good news, (of course she knew about you and Spencer), Spencer called Morgan (he knew too) to tell him that you had agreed to move in with him. Spencer was beyond ecstatic he’d finally built up the courage to ask you. He was red all over and smiling to himself. Despite being sick, this was probably one of the most happiest moments of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~

feedback always appreciated!!

~~~~~~~~~~

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8

- Chapter 9 -

When Nie Huaisang was old enough to attend the lectures at the Cloud Recesses for what would prove to be the first of three times – they’d only planned to send him the once, when the right time came, but circumstances and an unusually uneasy border conspired to need them to send him early, and Nie Huaisang gamely volunteered to do so badly at his lessons that they’d have no choice but to take him back, as if he weren’t more-than-likely to get that result even if he were trying given that he was too busy using his brain for all sorts of other things – Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue made a point of coming in person to drop him off and pick him up.

The first time, Nie Mingjue loudly scolded Nie Huaisang about needing to do well, while Meng Yao hung around his shoulder with a worried expression that suggested he thought the entire thing was causing the Nie sect to lose face, and then they went to the hanshi to visit Lan Xichen and only just barely managed to hurry through the door before Nie Mingjue started laughing.

“It was a good idea,” Meng Yao scolded him, while Lan Xichen laughed into his sleeve in confused sympathy even though he had no idea what was so funny. “It’s going to work, mark my words.”

“I know, I know, it’s only – his face –”

Nie Huaisang had in fact been perhaps slightly overselling the ‘poor terrified younger brother who’s going to make a terrible fool of himself’ shtick.

Meng Yao’s lips twitched. “I understand that some exaggeration is common in beginning actors.”

“Huaisang can lie to my face without blinking an eye,” Nie Mingjue retorted, “and you taught him that. You were doing that on purpose. Both of you!”

They had been.

“Some points need to be driven home,” Meng Yao allowed. “Not everyone understands subtlety.”

“Do I want to know?” Lan Xichen put in, looking back and forth between them with a smile.

“We’re trying to get people to underestimate Huaisang,” Meng Yao explained. “And to think that he and da-ge aren’t as close as they are. As a matter of strategy.”

“Someone tried to kidnap him,” Nie Mingjue said, his laughter dying off. “He’s too young to defend himself, too independent to feel comfortable being guarded…Meng Yao proposed a middle path.”

“One that takes advantage of his already existing skillset,” Meng Yao put in.

“If by skillset you mean total inability to recall things he doesn’t care about.”

“I do, as it happens. It’s actually rather impressive how thoroughly facts flow out of his head like water, unless they’re about fans, or art, or – ”

Vengeance.

“ – other things like that.”

“He’s going to fail your uncle’s classes,” Nie Mingjue told Lan Xichen bluntly. “He was probably going to fail them anyway, but now it’s certain.”

Lan Xichen’s smile had faded as well, and he nodded. “I wish you did not have to make such calculations.”

“I wish your uncle were willing to make more of them,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. He did not mention Lan Xichen’s father, the nominal sect leader; the man hadn’t been seen in years and likely wouldn’t be for the rest of his life. “Even outside of wanting to make sure no one uses him as a bargaining chip against me, I don’t want anyone getting the idea that Huaisang is a younger and more vulnerable version of me.”

Anyone like Wen Ruohan, he meant, and Meng Yao didn’t have the heart to tell him that Wen Ruohan’s obsession with him was still startlingly personal. He’d had to see it again and again during the Discussion Conferences, all the little liberties Wen Ruohan enjoyed taking: sitting too close when possible, stroking his hand with his thumb while passing him a document, all but openly leering at him…

The other sect leaders pretended they didn’t notice, except only Lan Qiren who scowled helplessly whenever it got a bit too blatant – though Meng Yao suspected he might have mistaken the harassment as being mutual flirtation, which was somehow very nearly worse.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Lan Xichen promised. “Can you two stay for a while, or will the Unclean Realm collapse if you don’t return at once?”

Nie Mingjue smiled. He didn’t do that often anymore, and the effect of it had somehow – in some grotesque, unfortunate twist of the universe – only magnified; Meng Yao’s sole consolation was that Lan Xichen seemed as stunned by it as him. “I think we can manage to stay for a little while, just to make sure Huaisang is on the right track.”

They didn’t really have that excuse when they came to pick him up, but Lan Xichen found them a supposedly private place with really great acoustics and Nie Mingjue got to use his battlefield voice to shout at Nie Huaisang in such a way that everyone heard, without the benefit of seeing the increasingly ridiculous faces Nie Huaisang was making in response.

After that, even Lan Qiren had delicately suggested that they stay a few days longer, quite obviously meant to allow Nie Mingjue some time to cool off his temper before a long flight home, and they’d wisely stayed with Lan Xichen the entire time to allow Nie Huaisang to go dramatically lick his wounds where everyone would be able to hear about it.

After all, Nie Mingjue’s ability to keep straight face was good, but not that good.

The second time they came to visit, they also didn’t have any excuse, but Lan Xichen asked them to stay longer anyway, looking very serious, so they did.

He took them to a secluded field and plied them with treats and started in on the small talk and the disclaimers to the point that Meng Yao – who was very good at this sort of thing, but couldn’t stand the increasing distress on Nie Mingjue’s face at the unexpected barrage of excessive politeness – finally interrupted and said, “If there’s something you’d like to tell us, Xichen-xiong, please do.”

Lan Xichen looked uncertain, so Meng Yao added, “Before da-ge explodes.”

Lan Xichen glanced over at Nie Mingjue and snorted with involuntary laughter at his woeful expression. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous, that’s all.”

“That,” Nie Mingjue said, “is what’s making me nervous. Are you trying to break some sort of bad news to us?”

“No! No, not at all – at least, I hope it’s not bad. It might even be good.”

“And it is..?” Meng Yao prompted, amused. The behavior was classic Lan, for all that he wasn’t sure exactly what Lan Xichen was thinking about that had put him on edge to such a degree – one would think, looking at him, that he was about to confess his affections, rather than chatting with his friends.

The two, it turned out, were one and the same.

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue said, interrupting about halfway through the somewhat overly flowery and abstruse speech. “You like both of us?”

“I do,” Lan Xichen said. “Very much.”

Meng Yao’s mind was racing and his breath was a little short: for once in his life he didn’t know how to reach or think or feel or anything.

Because Lan Xichen remained just what Meng Yao had always thought he was, kind and generous, a gentleman, perfect, just what anyone could ever want, someone Meng Yao secretly did want but couldn’t have because it would mean leaving the Unclean Realm, leaving Nie Mingjue, and he couldn’t do that.

Because actually he really had started to get worried that Lan Xichen liked Nie Mingjue the way Nie Mingjue so very obviously liked him back because if he did then there really wasn’t anything Meng Yao could say to oppose it other than but you’re mine and it wouldn’t just be about Lan Xichen, either, but of course that wouldn’t work because they were brothers, though not by blood; that meant it would be wrong and Nie Mingjue didn’t do the wrong thing.

Because he’d never, for all his cleverness, thought of asking for both, because he couldn’t have both.

He couldn’t even have one.

“I thought you liked Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue said blankly, and Meng Yao felt a shiver of fear crawl up his spine: had Nie Mingjue only been holding back from pursuing Lan Xichen because of consideration for Meng Yao?

“I do. I just like you, too.”

“What are you proposing, exactly?” Meng Yao asked, and he only barely kept his voice even. “Would we trade off visits, perhaps? Set up a schedule?”

Lan Xichen blinked at him. “Why would you need to trade off visits? I had thought we could spend time together, as we’ve always done.”

Meng Yao wondered if there was a polite way to talk about the difficulties of having threesomes in which two parties didn’t touch with someone from the ever-repressed Lan sect. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Lan Xichen, he did, but he might actually die of jealousy if he had to watch him make love to Nie Mingjue, knowing that he could only touch the one and not the other.  

“I thought the same might be true for love,” Lan Xichen said, with only the tightness of his hands in front of him revealing his nervousness now. “If you two would be willing to accept me, that is – I would never presume to interfere with your love for each other.”

Oh, no. Meng Yao was going to have to explain this, and then he would die.

A pity. It’d been a pretty decent life, as they went.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue hissed, his cheeks bright red, and Meng Yao already knew what he would say: that it was incest, legally speaking, even if they were not related by blood; that he thought of Meng Yao only as a little brother; that he’d never thought of it once, that it was disgusting, that he – “That was shared in confidence!”

Meng Yao blinked. His mind, which had never once stopped moving, seemed to be unable to function.

“But Mingjue-xiong, it’s important –”

“But he doesn’t – I don’t want him to feel like – ” Nie Mingjue’s eyes flickered over to him, panicked, and Meng Yao recognized it from what was now over a decade earlier, that nervousness and anxiety that was all for Meng Yao’s sake, a fear that he would feel like a stranger, unwanted, that he would think that he had to pay something for all that he had received, when all Nie Mingjue had ever wanted was his happiness.

“I think this plan of yours will work,” Meng Yao said to Lan Xichen, suddenly calm.

Calm, and very, very happy.

They both stared at him, and Meng Yao smiled. “I like you,” he said to Lan Xichen, and then, to Nie Mingjue, “I like you, too.”

Words didn’t exist that defined exactly what he felt for Nie Mingjue, something so far beyond love that it went into possessiveness and had come out the other side as liking; he wasn’t anywhere near there with Lan Xichen yet, had never allowed himself to go there with Lan Xichen because he knew his heart had already been taken, but they’d made a decent start and he thought they could get there, one day.

“I think you like him, too,” he told his da-ge, who’d always been bad at categorizing his own emotions and would definitely have no idea that he might have feelings for the childhood friend he’d allowed to grow nearly as close as his own family. “And – me, as well.”

“Meng Yao –”

“I don’t think of it as an obligation, or as something to endured,” Meng Yao continued, not letting him have a chance to speak. Not for the first time, he cursed Wen Ruohan in his mind: he ought to have considered the damage Wen Ruohan’s relentless pursuit had wrought on Nie Mingjue’s view of romantic relationships; it wasn’t really a surprise that even the whiff of a suggestion that consent might be questionable would send him fleeing. “But rather as a gift that I have been honored to be given.”

Nie Mingjue seemed almost dumbstruck by his words, although the fear in his eyes was slowly receding – still wary, but now with the possibility of joy. “I didn’t – it’s not – I don’t feel that way about Huaisang or anything. It’s just you.” A glance at Lan Xichen. “Both of you.”

“You never said anything,” Meng Yao teased lightly, and reached out a hand to hold Lan Xichen’s, squeezing it in gratitude for his bravery. Lan Xichen squeezed back, looking increasingly delighted at the way things were going.

“I couldn’t,” Nie Mingjue said, expression solemn. “I’m older, taller, stronger, with a temper I can’t always control; my political position is stronger, sect leader as opposed to a sect heir and an advisor. It would not be easy to say no –”

As if they couldn’t blow Nie Mingjue around like a paper lantern – he, who folded like a stack of cards at their every request.

“– and any consequences from a relationship would be borne by you. I could not bear to cause either of you pain.”

Lan Xichen, whose uncle would never approve of his having fallen in love with someone inappropriate; Meng Yao, who the world would whisper was just like his mother – yes, Meng Yao could see the problem, and the problem was only magnified by the fact that Nie Mingjue liked them both. How could Nie Mingjue accept Lan Xichen, when Meng Yao was in his heart? How could he speak to Meng Yao, who owed him everything, in a way that would let him know that the response was sincere? And of course if he let them be together instead, he was not so good an actor that they would be able to avoid all the problems associated with that; no matter what they did, there would always be rumors that one or another might be stolen away –

The plan blossomed to life in Meng Yao’s mind, fully formed.

He turned it around in his head a few times, only half-listening to Lan Xichen’s passionate declaration that it was pain he was willing to bear for love, his explanation that he knew that he was not yet in either of their hearts the way they were for each other, that he was only asking for the opportunity to try, but in the end he really couldn’t see any flaws with the idea at all. It would work perfectly with everything he’d already established, the groundwork years in the making, and no one would have any reason to question it.

It would be easy enough to convince Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen that it made more sense for the public aspects of their romance to start with Meng Yao and Lan Xichen – perhaps he could stay longer at the Cloud Recesses, which Nie Mingjue could not, or find some reason to come alone when the time came to pick up Nie Huaisang. He could make his smiles wider, his eyes more shining, paint himself as the perfect picture of a man in love – it’d be easy, given that he was already halfway there.

And when the time came, perhaps next year when all the other sect heirs came for their turn at the famous lectures of the Cloud Recesses, when Nie Mingjue took his turn at being the one who was affectionate, the entire world would think that Nie Mingjue had stolen Lan Xichen away from Meng Yao.

The entire world –

And Wen Ruohan, too.

It was the perfect plan.

[inonibird]

Sahuldeem Q&A!

I’ve gotten A FEW [mostly anonymous] asks in my inbox regarding my silly Star Wars fanfic, and I’ve been slowly letting them pile up until it became overwhelming to consider answering them all individually...so INSTEAD, I’ve grabbed several and shoved them and my responses all into one post! Enjoy! (questions bold; answers italic)

Do you have any advice for someone trying to make a Kaleesh OC? There’s so little info on them but they’re really cool Well, the first Kaleesh character I technically made was for a Fantasy Flight TTRPG campaign, which DOES include information about Kaleesh in the species guide. It’s definitely a good starting point! …But I personally took some liberties, heh.

Any general headcanons about Kalee? There’s so little information on it, it’s so sad I’ve drawn a map! :D I’m still improving it, so I’m not quite ready to share it yet. Hmm, Kuunsi represent a pretty solid headcanon for me. When you’ve got all these obvious Mongolian parallels with the Kaleesh, it seemed like a given that they should have SOME sort of riding animal that’s important to their culture. Also, resources! It’s established that the Yam’rii did not find many resources on Kalee that they “deemed adequate”—which doesn’t necessarily mean that Kalee has no resources, just that there are other equivalents out there in the GFFA that are worth more. But Kalee has such things as (headcanon time) kuluha (the metal traditionally used in Lig swords), simsu (a blue resin used for ceremonial purposes) and zigmash (a mild spice used mostly as a painkiller). Obviously, there exists stronger metal and stronger spice; so the Yam’rii focused their energies elsewhere. Their awful, evil energies. >:(

How did you decided on what the face of the Kaleesh looked like? Cause i mean everyone has their own internepation at this point, some like yours follow a closer human desighn while more go for their cool bat look stuff. So what you to choose your style of their face? Chalk it up to economy of effort, and style. I skew a bit cartoony with my Kaleesh art, especially since I was tailoring their look to a potential comic. I mean, just LOOK how big I draw their dang eyes! I’m betting if I sat down and tried to paint a realistic Kaleesh, it would look a fair bit more alien. Hm. I should try that some day.

I wish Abel G. Peña could read Sahuldeem HAH, well, he’s apparently on Twitter, but I don’t have the balls to link him to my dumb passion project.

I've always speculated that Sheelal might have been at least slightly Force sensitive on the strength of his prophetic dreams, thoughts? I mean…yes, of course. And this IS explored within my story. But it seems to me there was never any question of it.

Are we allowed to use your Ronderu and Qymaen designs with credit? They’re great I’m honored! Go forth and use (with credit, yes, please).

I wonder how Grievous got Gor Me too. That…is honestly not something I dwelled on in my script. >_>

How common is polygamy on Kalee? Not uncommon! The way I see it, chieftains and Khans and the like (leadership, that is) are more likely to practice polygamy and keep harems…and the size of the harem is indicative of that individual’s power. Boy, I’m sure this won’t ever be relevant.

Wait wait... If a Kaleesh foundling became a Mandalorian, would their helmet look like a mythosaur kakmusme? I LIKE IT. Someone write/draw this. Please.

Does "íb-ku huul" have a direct translation? Yyyyeeennnnoooo?? I smashed some words together and called it cursing. Really, it’s just a way to have the Kaleesh swear. In strength, it lands somewhere between “ah, what ill fortune” and “oh god-shitting-damnit”. There are some other oaths that have yet to show up in the story. “Igni” is not as strong; “lug huul” is stronger.

Do Kaleesh ages work like human ages? Is Qymaen SEVENTEEN seventeen??? He’s BABIE I feel like I’ve seen numbers floating around that would suggest that Kaleesh are at least similar to humans when it comes to aging. That’s what I went with, give or take a few years. Culturally, 12 years old is when a Kaleesh no longer considered a child (it’s this whole thing), but you sure aren’t going to find a lot of 12-year-olds running villages or leading hordes. Such authority and prestige isn’t often earned until you’re at least in your 20s. *squints at Qymaen* So…yeah, 17 IS pretty darn baby.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Interlude: How He Sees The World

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: The long-awaited 'beneath the helmet' installment! Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @hoodedbirdie @fioccodineveautunnale @thyestean-feast @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell @theorderoffallenstars @iwantsethrollinstohitmeintheface

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

Part Nine: Swan Song

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vivid depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

The helmet is both friend and foe. 

His longest companion and the one thing that stands between himself and the rest of the universe. Well, that and fifty more pounds of beskar plate, give or take. His new gear seems a little lighter.

He's used to it, though. 

Used to how it cups his ears and muffles everything. Used to how it leaves the bridge of his nose bruised and tender whenever he's a little too active for his own good. Used to the headaches he gets behind his eyes if he keeps the infrared on for too long.

His life is fed to him in a series of analytics, energy readings and static-softened visuals. 

And he's used to it. It's normal.

...

He's back in his ship, the kid in tow. He's just taken off and climbed down into the hold, trying to decide whether he's going to come to terms with the fact that he shot his proverbial gift horse point blank in the chest and he knows damn well that Karga's underplate is just trashy durasteel--

What the hell was that noise.

He swings his head around, takes a step forward and the toe of his boot hits something that gives a little. 

The something groans. 

His rifle is ready before he even thinks, and he's a breath away from jabbing the prongs down. But then…he sees the kid watching him intently out of the corner of his eye.

And he hesitates.

There's blood on your face when you get up, squinting in the dim light of the hold. You're in a babbling panic and he can feel himself start to relax a little. You're either not a threat or you're a damn good actor, and he'd bet the last of his credits on it being the former. Your nose looks almost as bad as his does after he's graced a belligerent quarry with a thunderous Keldabe kiss.

The ingot of beskar has him...he's not sure, really. Angry? No, not entirely right. Heated, maybe. Simmering. Guilty, too, as he shoots the kid a glance from the safety of his impenetrable visor. Beskar is everything. It's what keeps the Mando'ade safe, and to come across it so casually…

He weighs it in his palm, thinking hard. He can't take you back to Nevarro, but maybe you'll find Sorgan agreeable. You don't have much choice in the matter. 

He'll see if he can trust you with the kid; having the little womp rat in the pilot's seat with him hasn't exactly been a viable option or one that will contribute to the longevity of his sanity.

He retreats back to the cockpit, keeping his helmet audio sensors jacked up to the maximum sensitivity and switching on the thermal to keep an eye on you. Just because you don't know he's watching doesn't mean he isn't. He'll see how you behave when you think he's not paying attention.

You sing for the kid. 

He isn't expecting that. He expects you to cry or have a meltdown. But no. 

You sing. 

...

If he has to say when he first got the idea that he might be in over his head, it's probably during your stint on Sorgan. 

It's not when you pass him the food you had saved for him, although that does get him to pause for a second. He remembers staring down at the small bundle in your hand for much longer than he needs to and then feeling like an idiot for expecting you to take it back or throw it in his face. You're probably just trying to get on his good side.

It's not when he's got his helmet off for a few rare moments during the daylight, wolfing down the food Omera left for him and watching you play and sing with their younglings and the kid in a way that makes him feel fucking homesick, of all things.

It's not even when you almost get naked in front of him. He doesn't actually care about that. Well, not to the point where he would bring it up. He wears beskar, he's not made of it. That is to say, he...appreciates a good view when it's freely offered, but he won't be some slack-jawed dirt scuffer ogling anything within reach. He averts his eyes, turns his head. It's better that way. Less complicated.

It's not any of those instances. Rather, it's right after Cara tells him you took down 'a few' raiders. 

He rushes to the hut post-fight, his adrenaline still slamming and six fucking raiders are on the ground. You. You weren't even supposed to catch a hint of action.

Seven fucking raiders, he realizes once he enters the hut and comes helmet to helmet...er, helmet to face with you. You're whipping out the knife as he comes in and you're fast, operating on instinct, your other arm secure around the Foundlings in your lap while you glare fiercely upwards at him. 

He is abruptly, painfully aware of his body's enthusiastic reaction to the challenge you're unwittingly issuing. Arousal hits him with a tenacity that's borderline pubescent; stars, what the hell is the matter with him?

The vibroblade whirs and trembles in the dim light, but in that breathless instant it isn't a knife. It's the deadly solo weapon of a ferocious mudhorn, protecting their egg with every fiber of their body. He can tell that you don't see him in that moment, all you see is a threat encroaching on your territory. Your eyes scream danger!, that you wouldn't hesitate to take him apart if he dares to approach and he feels the air in his lungs seize at that look. Him, the Mandalorian that shacked up with Ranzar Malk's gang and somehow managed to leave without getting his brains blown out the back of his helmet. 

He would get hard over someone covered in blood with a lap full of younglings. Ticks every fucking Mandalorian box he's got; the paternal, the protective, the primal--

He shoves it down and blames it on the fight. He hasn't had a real good spike of adrenaline since Nevarro and it always gets his blood pumping. 

Obviously it's the fight. It's got nothing to do with you.

He immediately slows, immediately makes himself smaller, and you respond by allowing him to take the knife from you. Your face is damp with sweat and tears when he presses his forehead to your own, and he urges you to stay awake for just a bit longer.

His little mudhorn.

When he pulls you to your feet is when everything falls apart and everything slides into place for him. 

You collapse against him, the blood from your shoulder staining his gloves a dirty crimson and he realizes he's panting, like he can't get enough air through his filters. Like something is wrong with his helmet. 

But no, he's apparently just panicking. Just entirely losing his cool. Which is fine, honestly, he's allowed to have a mental moment every now and then. A little inconvenient, with the kid cradled sound asleep in the crook of his elbow and you slung over his shoulder and the breath wheezing in his chest like a hacksaw blade. It's fine, though, his helmet affords him some liberties. He can easily play it off like there's trouble with his modulator.

Things somehow get more complicated instead of less, though. 

...

He knows your name but he still calls you stowaway, the word colored with amusement or exasperation. He doesn't think about it and he definitely doesn't want you working on his ship. The sooner he can get you out of his hair, the sooner he can get on with the shit show that his life has turned into. This would be miles less complicated if you weren't so hellbent on being helpful, if you had just stayed on Sorgan like he thought you would.

He's not sure why you being on top of his ship when he isn't around sends his brain into high gear, but he's also not fast enough to stop himself from scolding you like an anxious parent when he sees you topside, body buried in that booster. For fuck's sake, you might have agreed to come with him from Sorgan but you had not signed on for the rest of this. He needs to figure something out before you end up actually injured.

He's not sure what he had originally planned to do to Calican. He forgets it the second he realizes that Toro has you at gunpoint.

The sound of pain you make when Calican torques your wrist down has him ready to kill, legitimately kill, tear that little bastard apart just for touching you, and he realizes he's fucked. 

He's exhausted, thirsty, sore, and it all just fades to background noise because Calican has you. And the kid, he reminds himself, knowing he's lying. It's a false equivalence, but he's clinging to it. That shot he takes has his guts twisting in fear, he's certain of his aim but he isn't sure and the kid is fucking wailing like a banshee--

The relief that hits him is a tangible force, like water to his parched body. He vaguely remembers dropping to his knees because his legs won't stop shaking, running his hands over the child to assure himself that they're alright. And you, you, even though he had been such an asshole before he left, you still…

He can feel you shivering even through his beskar. Your bravery is accidental, honest, haphazard. You weren't raised like him, weren't taught to find your calm in the hum of vibrating steel or the crack of blaster fire. You've never had to stare down four stormtroopers at once and proclaim that you liked your odds, you've never had to fight your way out of an entire town. 

But you chucked your knife aside in a second for the kid. Your only means of defense, and you pitched it to take the kid. He can respect that tenacity, even if it was a fucking stupid move.

His little mudhorn. All helmet and no brains.

When he comes up the ladder and you...and you...and he thanks the stars for his helmet because you can't see where he's looking, can't feel his eyes raking over you like he's some kind of scumbag. 

He's never seen you without your tunic before, he looked away on Sorgan but he can't bring himself to now. He feels weak and he can't get enough air because of course, of course you're beautiful, he knows that already even though he doesn't think about it. On top of that you're perfect and your breast band looks like it's on its last legs and really, he is not prepared for this level of trial from the universe.

The mark on your hip makes him want to go back to Tattooine and put a few more holes in Calican. He tells himself he only touches you because he's not certain you can manage the task by yourself, but...but your skin is warm, warm even through his gloves. He doesn't care about the stains. The fact that you do gives him pause, makes his chest tight.

The salve is a lie. He can't even remember what he came up to the cockpit for originally, but he'll sure as shit take the out that you've given him to retreat before he does something even dumber than putting his hands on you.

He's no stranger to self-gratification. For someone like him, it's a necessity. But this adds a new layer to his tame, stale fantasies; it has him fucking his hand in the tiny excuse for a shower in the fresher just to blunt the sharp, hungry edge in his stomach. What is wrong with him? He's so tired, he shouldn't even be able to consider something like that right now, something like...something like peeling you out of your breeches and fingering your cunt until you forget all about how sore--

Maker, what is the matter with him?! 

When he opens the fresher door and you're there, he almost trips over himself before he can hit the switch in time to kill the light. Stars, he's too tired to think straight. He's warm and clean, sated and his bunk is calling his name. 

Then he touches you, absently grabbing your arm to guide you to your bedroll. Skin to skin. Without the barrier of his gloves or the beskar. 

You jump and he feels the goosebumps that rise on your arm. He touches you again because he's curious, hungry for the brush of his skin against your own. Just once more. He gets bold in the darkness and he presses his chin against your forehead, mumbling some platitude before he tears himself away. 

When he wakes back up, he can't remember if he dreamt it or not.

... 

Falling in with Ranzar once again is a terrible choice. Made of desperation and sheer stupidity; the supply situation is worse than he wants you to know and of course the Crest needs more repairs. So he swallows his pride and throws his lot back in with an unfamiliar set of stakes. 

Xi'an telling that smug ex-Imp shit Mayfeld to ask about Alzoc Three has his blood curdling. She snickers, knowing full well that he was a nervous wreck for cycles afterwards, but anything to get a rise out of the fucking Mando, right? His stomach twists into a tight knot and if he's a little more aggressive with that Devaronian, well, these things happen.

The part about the beskar he makes up on the spot, just to watch Mayfeld squirm. People usually believe him when he pontificates about 'Mando' things, so this is absolutely not the most outlandish tradition he's ever claimed his people take part in, not by a long shot. Mating rituals are always entertaining to embellish; on at least two occasions he's convinced gullible drifters that Mandalorians build nests. 

He can still feel your fingers intertwining with his, can still hear the syrupy, "sweetheart" that you coo in parody of an endearment. It's only after the others leave that you allow him to see you, really see you, see the fear that has you in its grip and he can't stop himself from wrapping his entire body around you. 

He wants to protect you and you aren't even his to protect.

He can feel it seething underneath his skin. The nasty, bastard urge to let himself loose. It's been ages since he felt so close to the edge and he loathes it. He actually debates slamming the hatch shut and ditching Ranzar's shitty little gang in that prison. But he thinks of the credits, thinks of you and the kid going hungry…

Damn it all.

Once shit goes sideways, he barely remembers any of it. Xi'an, the knife sliding home in the shoulder that got crushed on Alzoc Three. Flashing red lights, that bastard Burg throwing him around like a rag doll. 

Qin.

He doesn't kill, even though he wants to. Maker, how he wants to, his finger twitching on the trigger as he stands over Mayfeld's unconscious body, illuminated by nothing but those hellish red lights. 

But he doesn't let himself loose.

Feverish, legs shaking, he all but staggers back to the Razor Crest with his quarry in tow. This is a familiar feeling, returning limping but ultimately triumphant.

His already-shuttered world focuses down to a single, white-hot point of blind terror when he sees that fucking droid, that droid, that droid-!

The heavy blaster trembles unsteadily and he jams the palm of his off-hand against the grip to brace it when he pulls the trigger. Panic rises sour in his mouth; he's certain he hasn't made it in time. So when he realizes you're still alive, the relief makes him absolutely frenzied. 

Dragging your body out of that bunk...you could have weighed a thousand tons and he still would have managed it, just to grip you tight again, just to feel you. You're solid and real in the drifting, fevery dreamstate; an oasis of calm for his battered body.

He can't keep his eyes open. He barely manages to get Qin off the fucking ship, barely manages to plant the transmitter on him and get the fuck out of there before the Republic's finest arrive to blow the place to pieces. 

He's never told anyone else about the atrocities of Alzoc Three. He doesn't remember most of what he says to you. And sure, he could blame the poison for the words that spill out of his mouth, but that isn't the only reason.

It's you. 

You, listening. Your hands are on his chest and Maker, he could die, no one has touched his skin in years and there's no way he dreamed that he took your arm in the hold that one time, no way he imagined the drag of his stubble along the skin of your forehead. 

He's so used to getting headbutted that he doesn't even know how to react to you. You're so tender, like he could break, like he might shatter into thousands of pieces at the slightest amount of roughness. He hasn't been taken care of like this since he was a boy. He doesn't...stars, he can't keep track of what he's saying and he can't keep his eyes open... 

He wakes up on the floor, his head in your lap, and he indulges himself when he picks you up and settles you carefully into the co-pilot seat. His fingers trail gently down the side of your face and his sigh is heavy enough that he feels his whole body sink an inch.

His little mudhorn. All heart and no armor.

Karga's message gets under his skin, hammering down on his last nerve. He knows he's angry, dangerously angry, inches from letting himself loose again but it only matters when he turns around and sees you staring up at him, your eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He had actually forgotten you were there for a second. 

Maker, he could just push his-

He jerks that thought to a grinding halt, shoving himself back into his armor even faster and smothering the anger down with it. No no no, a thousand times no. Just because you might be willing doesn't give him the right to take like a fucking--

No.

...

He needs the distance, needs to recenter himself. He comes up with the excuse of having you guard the ship. He figures it'll work, it'll afford him the time he needs to get his head straightened out again.

Until you stumble into him. 

You're soft and warm, everything that he can't have and stars, he is so fucked. So fucked. Every jury in the galaxy would condemn him for the writhing, heated things that run through his mind when you stare up at him, all concerned. He doesn't deserve to be looked at with such care. It makes his skin crawl, makes him feel like a liar. If only you knew the shit he had done. You would never look at him like that if you only knew. 

He sets a brutal pace when he leaves the ship, the kid slung across his chest in a makeshift birikad. Of course it's stupid to overwork his body like this, he's the only one who can keep watch tonight after all, but he needs strenuous activity to silence his thoughts. 

His plan backfires horribly, as they often seem to. Really, he's uncertain of the last time one of his plans functioned properly.

He had warned you about the comlink button. You must have forgotten. At first, it's comforting to hear you rustling around and murmuring in his ear after you wish him a good night. Dangerous, because he nearly dozes off, but comforting. 

But then…

His hands slam down on his cuisses and he sits bolt upright, his heart in his throat. That noise-! It sounds pained, a breathless little whine. Did something happen? Are you being attacked? 

Heat floods his face when he realizes what's transpiring. He tries multiple times to broadcast through, but he can't override the frequency without having the comlink there. He could mute the whole channel.

He doesn't, though. He tells himself it's in case there's an emergency, but really...really it's because he's a bastard. He sits there with his jaw locked, impassive, listening to you begging for him and clenching his fists tight enough that his forearms ache for hours afterwards. 

He doesn't sleep that night.

When he finally gets back to the ship it takes every ounce of his restraint to move past you with nothing but a little forehead bump. It feels like a lie of omission, because what he wants to do--

No.

He shuts himself in the cockpit, locks the door and, once the Crest is safely in hyperspace, he shoves his hand into his flight suit and wraps his fingers around his aching cock to finally jerk himself off. He wonders where you were when you were fucking yourself, wonders if you would cry out like that if you knew he could hear you.

His hand is dry but he doesn't care. He's so wound from the prolonged arousal that one isn't even close to enough. He's gasping into his helmet, the visor foggy and the whole damn thing is as hot as a Mos Eisley rooftop and he wrenches two orgasms out back to back, his balls tightening up against his body as he paints his stomach with shuddering ecstasy. 

It's only as he's entirely exhausted, on the brink of coming a third time while fantasizing about sinking his cock into your wet, hot cunt that he allows himself to do it.

He whispers your name, and he wishes he could scream it.

…

He doesn't want you to get trapped in this mess, why can't you see that? It's dangerous, and he can't find the words to impress upon you just how fucking dangerous it could be. He trusts Karga about as far as he can throw him.

He tells you he wants you to stay safe. He lies and says he doesn't want you to come along; he tries to close himself off. Your tears make him want to bang his head against the wall, he doesn't want to hurt you but he doesn't want you to get hurt. 

And then he fails. He fails, falters, falls into your embrace like the greedy, selfish fuck that he is and he takes.

He's ruined everything. Everything.

You're staring up at him like he just ripped the heart out of your chest and he's ruined everything. The way you shrug off his help, the way you move like you're wounded, you won't meet his eyes anymore…

The idea that he might have actually harmed you makes him queasy. He wants to hold you, to make sure he didn't do anything too--that he hadn't...Maker, he had been so rough-

He damns himself over and over because it hurts. It hurts. He didn't expect it to be this bad. He never says the right thing. It's not your fault that his control snapped at the first brush of your mouth on his knuckles. If he had control in the first place, this wouldn't have happened.

It's not your fault that he gets so caught up in the fantasy of having you that he takes what isn't his. It's not your fault that he's touch-starved, sensation-muted, shut off from the rest of the universe by layers of clothing and beskar so that all it takes is the slightest--the barest fraction--of tenderness and he goes to pieces.

He could never blame you. None of this is your fault. He's just an idiot. 

His insides lurch as a new horror dawns on him. What if you didn't want it? What if you were scared of him? What if this whole thing was just him forcing himself on you, playing out his lonely little fantasies--

Maker, he's a bastard. He's a greedy, selfish bastard. 

Stay, he wants to plead, he wants to beg, let me explain. But he's the one who doesn't deserve that sort of chance and he can't...he won't fault you for not giving it to him.

He peels his helmet off after you go back down the ladder, sitting in the captain's chair with his head in his hands.

This is the Way.

He never worried about not coming back before.

...

You leave in the middle of the night. 

He watches you, the way you're so tender with the kid as you tuck them in the final time, and it twists a blade between his ribs. The beskar can't do anything against you; it crumbles like wet sand. 

All he can do is tell you to stay safe, and he doesn't even trust his voice to say it. Inches from you, inches; he wants to drag you against his armor, tear off his helmet, shove himself between your legs and devour you until he can't, until his body gives out and until his words finally fucking untangle so he can apologize, try and explain his broken emotions instead of just losing himself in the world-shattering warmth of your body--

Please don't go, I need you, I love you. 

But he still lets you leave, his throat numb and aching with everything that he desperately needs to say to you. He cops out and he draws his fucking circle and he taps his knuckles and he doesn't say a single goddamn thing.

Not even when you give him the vibroblade back.

…

He's certain Cara wants to legitimately kill him. He made the mistake of giving an honest answer as to why you vanished in the night.

I hurt them.

He leaves it at that and Dune is livid, she's kicking crates over in the hold and accusing him of every horrible thing under the suns and honestly, honestly, he deserves it. He can see that she absolutely wants to murder him. Even if she doesn't know the specifics of his sins, she knows that he's a bastard and calls him one in about fifteen different languages. 

Kuiil just studies him silently and the old Ugnaught doubtlessly knows more than he's letting on, but he's keeping his mouth shut.

It's better this way, though. Driving you off isn't some heroic deed, it's a selfish gesture of the highest caliber and an avoidance of the consequences he made. He may not have told you to leave in so many words, but he might as well have. You obviously cared about him. 

And he told you he didn't need you.

He thinks of you offering yourself, offering everything to him in what he now realizes was a plea for him to not throw himself at death, and his stomach churns in a nauseating mixture of forlorn arousal and guilt. 

Maker, he's a bastard.

...

The gun is so heavy in his hands. He can feel his shoulders ripping to pieces underneath the strain, rotator cuffs shrieking for mercy as they're pushed beyond their limits. His control is wavering, unraveling. 

He doesn't care. 

His chest aches but the words won't stop, pouring out of him in a screaming torrent of primal Mando'a anguish. Battle-rattle. Now he can talk. He stomps his feet and he squares his shoulders and he roars; he is the loudest, the loneliest, the largest target on the battlefield.

He loses himself. He's killing, indiscriminate, unthinking, wave after wave of white armor chewed through like paper. He's loose. He hasn't done this since Alzoc Three. His shoulder throbs hard with the memory, phantom pain or real, he doesn't know, blood everywhere and the heady scent of smoke and ozone in his helmet. He's killing again, he's killing and killing and killing and--

He hears you over the thundering report of the E-web and he thinks he's imagining things. 

He hears you crying out a warning in his people's tongue and he fears he's finally lost his grip on reality along with his control. 

He doesn't register that it's actually you for a split second and then he sees you. You. Why are you even here? You're not supposed to be here, you're supposed to be safe!

You see him, he knows you do, your eyes are locked on his visor. You're finally seeing what happens when he gives in. He feels like he's failed all over again and it's torture. His body grinds to a halt, everything that he's ever done wrong running in front of his eyes like a cheap imagecast and he can hear you screaming for him to move, but he just...

A hot, fresh wound blooms on the back of his skull from the unexpected impact and he knows a death blow when he fucking feels it. He reels with the gun, staggering, struggling, adrenaline and grit the only things keeping him in motion and Gideon gives him that slimy smirk before he's engulfed in a shrapnel-filled explosion.

The next thing he knows he's laying there, just staring up at the blazing sun while the darkness of Alzoc Three creeps in. He can feel every beat of his heart in the back of his head as he bleeds out in the sand. He wonders idly whether the blood loss from the head trauma will kill him first or whether he'll be treated to the sight of Moff Gideon standing over him with that smug little grin before he's permitted to die.

The sound of the battlefield around him echoes in his ears, the slow throb of his pulse threatening to drown it all out. 

Someone's hands claw underneath his arms and he almost vomits in his helmet from the blunt stab of pain in the back of his head, only vaguely aware that he's being dragged backwards.

White glares alongside him and it's a miracle that he can even raise his hand enough to get his thrower clear of his body. The motion sends a new wave of agony up to his destroyed shoulders and he bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough that he takes a chunk out. Your voice hits his ears and he wishes he was dead. You weren't supposed to get involved in this, you weren't even supposed to catch a hint of action.

Seven fucking raiders.  

He can feel the life leaving his body. It's incredibly terrifying, an overwhelming sense of dread that bears down on his chest through the beskar and makes it so, so incredibly hard to breathe.

You push your forehead against his in that familiar Keldabe kiss gesture and he can't help the sob that escapes him because he can feel everything and Maker it hurts so much. If this is his retribution, he accepts it with open arms. He deserves it, he knows he does, for every terrible thing he's done, for how much he hurt you. He'll take it all.

But you're still here with him. Your voice scares the darkness out of his helmet, keeps him conscious long enough for that droid to save his life. And isn't that just a kick in the teeth, having a droid (a droid that he killed once, no less) pump him full of some off-market pressure spray bacta that has his heart rate tripping over itself to haul ass back up out of the sand. 

He doesn't complain. He's not sure why any gods, Mandalorian or otherwise, would want to keep him around, but he's not going to complain. 

You put his helmet back on before you do anything else and his heart squeezes in his chest at the gesture.

You came back for him. You came back for him. 

…

He feels like the air has been sucked out of his helmet. He's struggling, gasping, and it's bad. How did he not notice the wound? How? 

Your tunic is bunched up against your side under your cloak, soaked rusty with blood; he can see the marks on your skin where his armor burned you when you carried him and it's ugly, so ugly. 

When had you even gotten shot? He's trying to think, trying to think through the panic, and then Cara speaks up and he realizes that his retribution is ongoing. 

You were running to get him. Running through a hail of gunfire, of course you would get tagged by one of the bastards. You've been wounded this whole time.

His little mudhorn, bleeding out on the lava flats.

You're trembling with pain and shock, stammering out half-sentences, trying to tell him you're sorry, trying to go to sleep and he wants to scream. He's spent his entire life fighting only to find out that he's helpless in the end.

He's shaky with the cauterizer but he needs Cara and Greef to hold you still, he doesn't trust himself enough to do it. He grits his teeth and he pins your head down with his helm and when you vomit, he rolls you to the side so you don't choke. The smell permeates his helmet; burning skin and hot sick and Alzoc Three's darkness is trickling in and he's begging, begging you to sing that song the kid likes so you don't lose consciousness.

Your voice cracks and dies with his heart.

…

The bacta tank costs about as much as an ingot of black market beskar. He doesn't bat an eye. If he's reducing it all down to clinical credits, food and fuel, he owes you that much at least. It's not military grade, but it's also not back-alley medisludge. It just might take a little longer for you to wake up. 

If you do at all. The amount of blood you lost doesn't paint a spectacular picture for the odds of survival.

He buries Kuiil where he fell out in the lava flats. He stands over the grave for a long time, his fists bunched up and his eyes aching.

Karga throws him jobs like apologies, three at a time whenever he comes asking. Pucks slide across the table and he's back out the door, shoulders rigid. He's scared, he can feel it, gripping his spine like a vice. What if you don't wake up? What if you don't pull through? You almost had to bury him, and now he has to wonder if he'll have to bury you.

He slams another bail jumper in carbonite, betting yet again in favor of the forty-sixty split of mortality from the mobile freezing option. He doesn't talk, aside from when he's dealing with Greef. He spends his days in silence, moving from planet to planet with forced tunnel vision. Your shatter-voiced lullaby haunts him and his skin hums with barely-leashed threat, he wants to fucking explode.

The full racks sway gently in the hold and he stumbles up the ladder to the cockpit, picks up the silent kid and just presses their foreheads together. We'll go back today, he decides, maybe they'll be awake today.

Out of his periphery he sees the kid raise their tiny hands and place them on the jaw contours of his helmet. It makes his stomach cave in on itself when the child whimpers, those huge eyes welling up. 

"I'm so sorry, kid." He mutters. "I ruined everything."

Part Ten