#The Crooked Billet

[taylortruther]

same i feel like whether or not the place she saw he was at was the black dog doesn't change the meaning of the song. it could've been something dumb sounding like crooked billet or prospect of whitby (actual london pubs!) and she was like,,, well that's not gonna work, let's find something better 😂

AND I HOPE IT'S SHITTY AT THE PROSPECT OF WHITBY

[kvetchlandia]

Bill Brandt      Bartender at the Crooked Billet, Tower Hill, London     1939

[sanguinarysanguinity]

"And the work?" "Is purely nominal." "What do you call purely nominal?" "Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time." "It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving," said I. "No excuse will avail," said Mr. Duncan Ross; "neither sickness nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your billet."

Arthur Conan Doyle, “The Red-Head League,” The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

omg, this hits very differently in 2023 than it did pre-pandemic. The only requirement of this job -- and I do mean the only requirement -- is that you do it in the office. They don’t give a flying crap about what you actually do with your time, but you must, must -- and they are absolutely immovable on this point! -- come in and do it at the office.

And Sherlock Holmes’ assessment of all this? If your boss doesn’t let you work from home, he’s obviously a confidence-trickster and a crook!

[olvale]

It was crooked. The whole thing leaned to the left. Its rough crust was bleached and pale, bleeding. The front corner weighed down, buckling at the knuckle.

Once a place where the thrumming pulse of life could be felt underfoot, it was now a monument of time and the decay that sets in with neglect. One could say a life well lived, long and fruitful, from baying and cribbing to shouts and laughter. From quiet calls of game replaced by cacophonous thunderclaps and shrieks. It had seen more than most, even with its wax paper eyes, and felt the fingerprints of a thousand touches.

Inside, dust filtered down from the sky parlor, lit by dreary beams of light that forced themselves between ever widening gaps. Pallets, once full of bounty, lay broken and splintered, stained by the very beasts that emptied them and gnawed at their bones. Billets were covered with lumps of forage, yellow stalks now brittle and covered with brown time. Quilted love, crumpled and abandoned in the corners, called out for the touch of their guard whose fate they are oblivious.

But now, quiet. Now, shock.

To see the shell of it, injured but cared for only by the harsh rays of yellow sun and the blue ice of rain.

This and that lay camped about, a discarded skirt of fresh rust, covered by worn wads of ejected loam, invaded by the tendrils of nature it had once sought to hold at bay. The arena around, broken dirt blackened and burnt before, was now covered in grün though the scars beneath remained. A testament to violence.

It mocked. Laughed. Taunted.

It bit its thumb at desire and smote raw impetus spurred by empty bottles and crushing misery. It stood its ground against intruders, false and true, and waited.

Waiting... Waiting for life. Waiting for sorrow. Waiting for acceptance.

A famous prompt: Describe a barn as seen by a man whose son has just been killed in a war. Do not mention the son, or war, or death. Do not mention the man who does the seeing.

[qudachuk]

This stroll past beach huts, wartime ruins and wildfowl cuts through Southend and ends in a 16th-century boozerWhy is the Essex coast so underrated? Close to London, and arguably as pretty as any other, is it because there’s something...

[forestraydentists]

London 9

Whether you are a tourist or a local, London is the place to be for fun things to do outdoors. You can visit outdoor festivals, take a boat cruise, play crazy golf or visit a rooftop bar. These are just some of the fun activities you can do in London during summer. If you are looking for the perfect spot for an alfresco lunch or dinner, London has plenty of restaurants and cafes. The city has plenty of parks and green spaces as well. For example, Hampstead Heath has one of the best views of London. The park is open 365 days a year and offers a range of sports facilities, such as an open lido, butterfly house, zoo, and playground. The park is free to enter and is located four miles from Trafalgar Square. Learn more.

If you’re looking for some family fun, the Serpentine Lido in Hyde Park is ideal. The Lido has a special kids’ paddling pool, as well as row and pedal boats for hire. You can also book a ride on the Serpentine River. If you want to explore the city, take a self-guided walking tour. There are many options to choose from, such as a riverside walk in North Woolwich, a sculpture trail at Primrose Hill, or a walk along the London Eye.

During the summer months, London has a range of rooftop bars. Some of them are heated, meaning you can enjoy a drink or meal in a comfortable setting. Other rooftop bars have games and heated huts, allowing you to play while enjoying a panoramic view of the city. There are also a number of fun things to do outdoors in London during the winter months. If you’re a fan of ice skating, there are plenty of rinks in the center of the city. You can also join a guided bicycle tour. For a more unique experience, try the official Sherlock live game. You can solve clues, play detective, and have a drink at the same time. You can also enjoy a s’mores picnic on a campfire.

If you’re interested in food, you can visit The Hackney Social, a black-owned business. You can also head to Chinatown to see Chinese decorations. This area is also home to some of the best food hotspots in the city. You can visit a variety of restaurants and cafes, including the Crate Brewery, The Crooked Billet, and The People’s Park Tavern. You can even head to the Windsor Great Outdoors. There are numerous outdoor markets and festivals during the summer and winter. If you’re looking for a more adventurous activity, consider going to the Go Ape outdoor activity center. It’s suitable for children aged 10 and up and includes a climb suit, safety harness, and shoes. The outdoor activity center is also ideal for adults, offering an urban jungle experience. The center is spread out over three locations. There are also a few fun things to do outdoors in London during the Chinese New Year. You can visit the World Wildlife Trust’s Wetland Centre in Barnes. During the festival, you can watch lion dances and participate in some traditional Chinese food. In addition, the city’s many open-air cinemas offer great viewing. Next blog post

Point of Interest #1 Home Office, 2 Marsham St, London SW1P 4DF Point of Interest #2 Spencer House, 27 St James’s Pl, St. James’s, London SW1A 1NR Point of Interest #3 London Bridge, London EC4R 9HA

Driving Directions TO Forest & Ray – Dentists, Orthodontists, Implant Surgeons From London Bridge

  Originally published here: https://forestray.dentist/london/london-9/

[lookitcookit]

On cabbages and.......

The ornamental cabbage is a strange concept.  According to James Alexander-Sinclair, it’s easy to be sniffy about them. It is quite a strange concept; “an odd, Frankensteinish amalgam of vegetable and bedding plant.” They are edible but most people prefer to look at them.

The ones in the picture were at an Oxfordshire pub called The Crooked Billet in the village of Stoke Row near Henley. We’d gone for a walk in the countryside with friends. The weather was decidedly drizzly but they were up for the planned morning activity, so we didn’t complain and walked through fields, mulchy leaves and woodland. I have to say that June would have been better than January for the outdoors part of our get together, but never mind, after the healthy ramble, we were more than ready for the welcoming log fire and interesting menu.

I am always looking out for vegetarian-friendly restaurants and this one, like Allora that I wrote about last week, has a menu with many items that non meat eaters would enjoy.  I’m not a vegetarian, but for religious reasons I don’t eat meat that is not kosher, so it’s always good to be offered a menu that has several inspiring vegetarian suggestions as well as two or three fish choices.

The Crooked Billet has a 2-course menu at £16.95 -  great value for us Londoners who are used to far higher prices. It included cured salmon with dill cream cheese and an excellent onion tart baked with local Nettlebed cheese and a tomato compote. For main courses there was sea bass with pureed artichoke, fennel and crispy kale or a John Dory fillet with harissa and chargrilled Mediterranean vegetables. (My one criticism is that the vegetable was a sadly undercooked aubergine). Wild mushrooms made an appearance in two dishes: a starter of mozzarella risotto cakes with rocket and a filo ‘tart’ filled with spinach cream. The robustly flavoured tart came with roasted salsify and pearl barley.

We were too full for dessert (the others at the table having chosen a generous bowl of fish soup with rouille etc. followed by slow braised venison or a duck leg with red cabbage and prune jus.)

However, we managed to share an excelled apple and almond Bakewell tart. This can be a slightly heavy pastry based cake, but here it was moist and warm, offset by a cool raspberry sorbet.

If, as we were, you are impressed by the cooking, you can even join a class with the chef and produce your own dinner at the end of it.  To find out more, click here.

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic. // no hard feelings.

it's important to take a break sometimes.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

last update for this week i swear I just needed to get this out before I combust

TAGLIST: @softguarnere , @liebgotts-lovergirl , @monalistastwin

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: there are two distinct groups in the Nursing Company — those who go out and those who don't. Apparently, Daisy is meant to spend a night with the former.

In their Company, there seems to be two distinct groups.

About twenty of their women belonged to some hospital prior to this one. Transfers from 128th, or 42nd, or whichever field hospitals dotted the shores of Normandy or even came from the cities themselves. The other fifty are fresh-faced 2nd Lieutenants, straight off the boat. She figured that one out when she stopped by Ginny’s billet one night to ensure their Captain hadn’t worked herself into an early grave.

After getting the numbers, it seemed to make itself more apparent in real life as well.

A lot of the newer women are absolutely enamored with the idea of going to the Bell, or the Boar when off-duty. Sometimes Daisy watches them hop into jeeps that will take them fifteen minutes into town. Sometimes she doesn’t. In the past two weeks — it’s become Rogers’ mission to get her to go with them ‘just one time!’

“I’m just sayin’! I think you could use a break! If you’re not with us you’re helpin’ Lieutenant McCarney or Captain Brant or doin’ somethin’ or other,” She hums out, as they carry their respective crates filled with new uniforms over to the supply office. “Could meet a couple boys, play a game — y’know Jane’s gettin’ real good at darts and I think it’s got half to do with that sergeant that’s been hangin’ offa her.”

Laura Rogers is a new nurse, dropped in and expected to keep up with the rest. Her features are soft and almost princess-like, big blue eyes and a near ever-lasting dreamlike smile on her face. Her hair is blonde, but even lighter than Ginny’s — a near platinum color. It came as little surprise to her when she learned that before this, Rogers had been an aspiring pin-up model. Couple it with her soft southern accent and the way that every step she takes is almost impossibly fluid, the woman honestly seems like a dream in and of itself.

Daisy decides to entertain the gossip, if only for a few moments.

“Sergeant? Do tell.” Laura smiles, giddy as a schoolgirl.

“Mm. Big blue eyes. Sweet talker. I think he likes chasin’ her around ‘cause she hasn’t given him a thing beyond that smile of hers and a peck on the cheek. Oh! And he’s got just the cutest crooked tooth when he flashes his smile. I’m tellin’ ya I think you’d really like the boys down there!”

Even when first reaching Europe, Daisy didn’t venture off hospital grounds much. It was neither here nor there — Rita would get off grounds when she could with the other women to venture out and meet people. Once, Ginny accompanied her and returned with a fond story of a quieter Lieutenant at the officer’s club that she had good conversation with. Daisy, on the other hand, spent a lot of time in the ward, helping out even if she didn’t have to, or writing letters home. 

Now, it seems that the universe had different plans for her.

“You just don’t take no for an answer, huh Rogers?” The woman smiles proudly once they set the boxes down, leaving them with the quartermaster.

“If I did I woulda never been a pin-up model or a combat nurse.” She declares, nose in the air and hands on her hips. Daisy chuckles to herself, smiling in spite of the woman’s antics. And to think just a few weeks ago, the woman could barely do the morning run.

It’s how she finds herself in front of a mirror on a Friday night, staring at herself in the mirror with a scrutinizing expression on her face. Brows furrowed, she’s tried her best to replicate one of the nicer hairstyles Patty has done on her countless times, always somehow managing to make her hair seem shorter than it actually is. She thinks she’s gotten it almost right, the ends pinned into loops at the base of her neck — she’s already sleeping in the Campbells’ son’s room, she isn’t going to ask for their hair curlers too.

In the reflection, she can hear Rita’s snickering. Daisy narrows her eyes.

“I’ve half a mind to leave you here, Miss McCarney.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you keep the boys to yourself, Miss Clarke,” she rises to her feet and goes over to tug on Daisy’s ear. She snorts and swats at her friend half-heartedly, Rita grabbing her hand before she can strike her and promptly dragging her away. “Now quit fussing over yourself and lets go — been a long damn time since I’ve got a night off and I’ll be damned if I spend the whole of it watching you stress over your hair.”

Daisy doesn’t object, allowing the woman to drag her along. There’s a jeep waiting for them, a familiar freckle-faced woman in the passenger’s seat. Behind her, is a slightly less familiar woman, her hair a coppery color, drumming out a beat on the back of the driver’s seat. Daisy smiles at Patty, lets out a sigh of her own.

“If I knew you were coming I would’ve asked you to do my hair. Would’ve saved me a lot of harassment,” She gives Rita a blatant side eye, and the woman scoffs and sucks her teeth. Patty giggles, and Daisy shifts her gaze to Jane Gray, who nods in her direction as a form of acknowledgement, her hazel eyes pensive.

“Heard you’ve made a darts partner out of a sergeant.”

The girl’s cheeks flush, and she breaks eye contact.

“And I’m guessing you heard that from Rogers?” Daisy gets into the back and Rita takes the wheel, nodding as she does so. “...he’s uh, he’s somethin’ alright, I can say that much.” She’s short with the reply, giving Daisy something of a stiff nod.

Daisy can’t help but notice that Jane Gray is more… enigmatic in nature. Quiet, observant, a near polar opposite to Laura’s extroversion, and yet they travel arm-in-arm almost everywhere. Daisy had met introverted people, and it wasn’t anything that she wasn’t used to, but with Jane she can’t help but notice how quick she is to retreat from the conversation, continuing to drum her fingers on the seat as Patty and Rita chatter away in the front.

Not wanting to overstep her bounds — she lets the conversation die there.

The Bell is busy. There’s laughter and the clinking of glasses and it doesn’t take long for her to spot Laura, chattering away to a very familiar and very flustered soldier. She isn’t sure if Malarkey’s cheeks are flushed from the drinks or from the way Laura’s excitedly holding onto his hands as she chatters away. Regardless, and unsurprisingly, she can pick out a few mildly envious gazes from a couple men in the room.

“She’s cast her spell, it seems,” Accompanied with a melodramatic sigh and a bemused smile, Catherine Ward walks over, reaching for Jane’s hand which she gladly takes. “We really ought to get her a wand, maybe a nice hat?” Rita snorts at that, rolling her eyes lightheartedly. Another woman from Sicily, Catherine was also a quieter type. She had inky black curls and dark eyes to match, even with a resting face — she always seemed stern, like a mother would. She’d also mentioned a thing or two about a pilot she was seeing before the war started — so the likelihood of her playing chaperone for the night is high, and a position Daisy would like to partake in if not for…

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!” At this point, the familiar tenor makes a smile creep onto her face. Liebgott saunters over, just as lanky and loud and full of grandeur as he does each time he demands her attention. His gaze flits between her, and then Rita. Catherine, Jane, and Patty had idled their way towards a table Catherine had been keeping warm. She doesn’t miss the twitch of the corner of his lip as his gaze lingers on Rita for a bit longer, who stares at him with a raised brow and arms folded across her chest.

He extends his hand to her in a gesture that’s slowly becoming more familiar. Daisy takes it, allowing him to spin her for a moment and whistle, low and teasing. She rolls her eyes.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show up around here.”

“Cause I totally struck you as a party-goer, right?” Liebgott laughs at that, and then turns his attention fully to Rita to greet her.

“Lieutenant McCarney,” and then a pause that seems longer than what it actually is. She pretends not to notice how he looks Rita up and down, pausing at the shiny new bars on her collar. “First Lieutenant McCarney. Congratulations.” There’s something in the way he draws it out — how his smirk seems to grow, and she’s close enough to hear Rita let out a soft puff of breath, as though she’s resetting herself or stepping up to hit a baseball.

“How sweet. Thank you Lieb,” she hums out, his brows shoot up at the shortening of his name.

Daisy clears her throat.

“Right then, well I’m gonna—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Liebgott immediately interjects, and his hand goes to latch around her wrist loosely to keep her from slipping away. “I’ve missed my dart partner and you have some explaining to do.”

“You know, a grilling really isn’t the way I want to spend my night off,” The complaint, seemingly, falls upon deaf ears (as in, Liebgott certainly hears her, but she learned rather quickly that she attracts stubborn types, so he isn’t going to relent anyway). “Alright, fine, but if we lose again you bear the consequences.”

It starts out fairly merciful. And they aren’t losing at darts, either.

It’s mostly lighthearted teasing. She, properly, meets George Luz. Between rounds Liebgott leans against a table beside Rita to the point where they’re shoulder-to-shoulder, and after each shot Buck Compton looks at Daisy with a sort of smile she’s seen a million times before. Upon learning he’s a big-shot from UCLA, it all makes more sense. She hopes that the smile she gives him will be enough appeasement. Liebgott, lightheartedly, scolds her for not coming to see him sooner with a “You hidin’ from me or somethin’?” Daisy responds to it with a smile and a shrug and a “Maybe I was.”

He puts his hand over his heart as though he’s been wounded, and Daisy laughs. Buck steps out of the way, making a sweeping gesture that she figures is meant to be gentlemanly. She nods in acknowledgment.

“Careful Buck, never know when The Dog’ll come and whisk her away,” George warns, eliciting a few chuckles. Rita and Daisy, however, are utterly perplexed.

“The Dog?” She lines up her shot and—

“Oh, you know, ol’ Bloody Speirs.”

She misses. Her face feels hot.

“That’s not— you’ve got the wrong idea.” Luz’s grin only seems to grow in a boyish way, the kind that makes her want to tug on his ears or put him in a headlock. She won’t though, because he’s got two inches on her.

“I didn’t have any idea, sweetheart. Just saw you two walking together back at the bivouac. Should I have an—”

But what she does do is hurriedly rush over, clamping one of her hands over his mouth. The corners of his eyes seem to crinkle in amusement as she glares at him, knowing it’s not nearly as threatening as she wants it to be, and since she’s in his face, he can no doubt see the way her face is flushed, better than most. Daisy’s brows furrow and she huffs.

“‘Ey ease up on the girl wouldja?” Hand still clamped over George’s mouth, she turns her head to a dark haired man sitting at a nearby table. He has a thick Philly accent and dark hair. He looks even younger than her — maybe even fresh out of high school. It takes a moment for her to recall his name. “Who knows? Maybe he was on his way t’ take Alton out for good and doll face over here saved his fuckin’ life.” Bill Guarnere. That’s his name.

That seems to shift the attention off of her, as the men in the nearby vicinity begin to exchange stories about ‘Alton’ and pull Malarkey into the conversation. Malarkey, who looks like he just won the lottery with Laura standing between his legs as he sits on a barstool, his hands tentatively placed on her  hips. She doesn’t seem to mind.

Daisy does a very quick scan of the area. Patty seems to be talking to a man with pale blue eyes and a bashful smile on his face — he looks about as young as Guarnere. So it seems Jane's sergeant is none other than Floyd Talbert. He sits with her and Catherine and she doesn’t know what they’re talking about — but Jane seems to be amused at the very least. Daisy’s eyes land on Rita — and she immediately knows the expression on the woman’s face. Brows furrowed, lip between her teeth. Connecting dots.

She takes her hand off of George’s mouth. He’s still smiling. She can’t even be mad at him.

“Joe, would you just take your turn already? Since y’wanna laugh at me missing,” Liebgott straightens up, all smiles as he waltzes over and Daisy scurries back to take her spot by Rita. There’s a beat of silence. She feels the warmth of Rita’s hand wrapping around her arm for a moment.

“So that… guy you were talking to me about. Paratrooper? Was it—”

“Yeah.”

“And are you two…”

“We’re fine,” Daisy can feel her face flushing a deeper shade of red. She stares directly ahead. “We’re…friends. Have been for a while. That’s it.”

Another pause. Rita squeezes her arm.

“Good.”

It’s a momentary lapse, but no one seems to linger on it too long, not even Luz, who offers her an ‘apology pint’ and his best rendition of Taking A Chance on Love as reparations for flustering her — with his own whistles and all. She takes it in stride, with a half-hearted threat to tug on his ear if he tries it again. She and Liebgott (unsurprisingly) lose the game, but jokes and stories are shared. Apparently the same Sobel Ginny scolded was their former C.O, and so the boys are extremely amused at the idea of Sobel being yelled at over the telephone. She finds Eugene amongst them, and eventually the two sit back, observing for a moment at the mingling bodies.

He tells her about his fiancee, Vera, about how they’re planning to marry when the war’s over. She tells him about her brother’s apparent new girlfriend, and the new company. Two flies on the wall, they exchange smiles as Daisy makes her observations and make minimal, but warm conversation.

Rita and Liebgott exchange looks continuously — they aren’t subtle about it and, knowing Rita, she isn’t trying to be, but the way they… challenge each other is a little amusing to watch. Like they’re competing to see who’ll crack. Patty’s smile is radiant as ever, and she isn’t sure what the man next to her is saying — but it must be good from the way her face lights up. Jane and Talbert have taken their turn at the dart board, and after every throw Talbert looks as though to make sure she’s watching. Her face breaks from its pensive expression every time to give him a quirk of a smile. Catherine, on the other side, watches like a hawk. They make eye contact, smile in that sort of bemused way she imagines her old high school teachers must have felt watching them all at school functions.

She’s a little happy that she gave into Laura’s pestering after all.

They don’t get back until late, but Daisy makes a point to ensure everyone makes it to their billet. Lingering at the door, Rita looks her up and down.

“Don’t dilly-dally too long, alright?” She chides, and Daisy laughs.

“Uh huh, I won’t. Just have to tuck the Captain into bed. Read her a bedtime story. Forehead kiss. You know how it is,” Rita’s smile is a bit softer, and she nods.

“Damn right I do. Make sure our girl doesn’t work herself half to death, alright?”

Daisy nods, before making her way over to where she knows Ginny to be staying. It’s familiar territory. If it wasn’t her doing this, it’d be Rita — part of her wishes she could have convinced the woman to come with them, but she also knows just how bull-headed Virginia Brant truly is. She approaches, ready to knock on the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

“Daisy?”

She turns around. Ginny stands there, her dress jacket in her arms to embrace the cool summer night. The full moon does the woman no favors — Daisy can clearly see the surprised look on her face, and what seems to be a pink tint glowing on her cheeks. Lips parted, but hair still neatly in its ringlets, as picturesque as she always is. Daisy smiles, leaning against the door.

“Came to check on you, make sure you didn’t fall asleep at your desk again,” she says simply, looking her friend over once again. Her grin shifts to something of a smirk. “Did you… go out? Take a break?” Usually, Ginny’s laugh is full of spirit, like the words she speaks — carrying weight. This comes out as light, airy. Daisy almost feels like a mother catching her daughter coming into the house after curfew.

“Yeah I… I did. Went down to the Blue Boar.” Daisy hums.

“I’m glad you took a break then, you deserve it more than anyone,” Daisy starts out, and she means it. “Did you have fun?” Ginny’s cheeks, somehow, seem to flush even more. Her gaze softens into something she’s beginning to recognize more amongst the women — in Jane, and Catherine, and even in Rita. Her very disposition is a rare sight.

“Yeah, actually, I did,” she manages, uncharacteristically shy. “I really did.”

[workingforitallthetime]

GASP you must tell us your thoughts on succubus!kent

i did not have any thoughts when i tossed off that tag, but now that you ask, i absolutely love the idea of succubus!kent appearing in owen's dreams to confuse and beguile him. owen keeps furtively changing the sheets in his billet room and showing up at practice a little dazed and out of it.

briss smacks him on the shinpads, like, "wake the fuck up!" and owen tries to explain that he's having all this crazy dream sex with a skinny demon with a crooked mouth who's actually kind of bossy and rude but somehow that's hot? briss does not view this as a problem. after doing a little internet research, briss lights a few candles and scratches a charcoal circle on the floor and tries to attract his own succubus. he is successful beyond his wildest dreams--or rather, in his wildest dreams--when bords shows up that night.

covid happens and the season is canceled and owen and brendan are very disappointed to discover that the succubi were apparently a chicago phenomenon that did not follow them home to mississauga and manhattan beach. but then they arrive on campus in the fall, and i envision a scene where they walk into yost and somebody rockets a slapshot off the glass and the impact echoes under owen's ribcage right at the moment when kent takes off his helmet and shakes out his flow.

[the-house-of-nott]

Nott Another Love Story - Masterlist

Thank you to everyone who participated in Nott Another Love Story - a Theo Nott Valentines themed fest! You can view the entire collection here or check out all of the amazing stories below. Also a huge thank you to @magicaltraveler3 and @beautyberrywrites for spearheading this fest and helping to make it a reality!

Billet Doux by Dart

If this fic had a Stealth Prompt, it would be: Theo learns not to bet against Harry’s obliviousness the hard way.

48 Notts by Sheryl_Holmes

“Granger, you can’t be serious. I’m tipsy,” (understatement), “and we are in the middle of a tropical storm, hundreds of miles from the shore. If I try to Apparate now, I may just splinch myself in half.”

She splashed her hands about, at a loss. “Then do it! Have St. Mungo’s grow back the bits you leave behind, but get out of my bathroom!”

The ever-present amiable quality to Nott’s face seemed to dim into the ghost of hurt. “You don’t really hate me that much, do you?”

Hermione blinked. “I don’t—I don’t hate you, Nott, I’m just—” I’m just in the bath, naked, and you’re here without invitation, this is a complete surprise, I don’t want to discuss my breakup with Ron, and, as you can see, my response here is perfectly reasonable. This is what she intended to say. What came out, instead, was: “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Lost for His Smile by Xyxo_The_Ghost

"A beautiful, crooked teeth, canines biting the bottom lip, cheeks full of it and scar thinning kind of smile."

An Experiment Gone Awry by Mayhoa

When Theodore Nott turns twenty seven he becomes obsessed with finding his soulmate.

Broken Fairytale by Amarillis39

“Since we’re both here as moral support, at least tell me I’m pretty,” Potter laughed and batted his eyelashes.

“You are. Very pretty actually,” Theo said, chuckling.

“See? It wasn’t so bad,” Potter cooed with a smile and Theo froze. His body stiffened and the sharp inhale scorched his throat as those few simple words burned into his consciousness.

In Sanguine by Sheryl_Holmes

Harry grieves. A secret Valentine is leaving him unorthodox gifts. A dark wizard evades his investigation. The dead haunt him. And Theodore Nott has become Harry’s lodestone. But, if there is anything that Harry has learned the past four months, it’s that associating with Aurors only ever pays in blood.

“Did you think your death would not have haunted me, too, Theo?”

He replied in a soft voice, “I wouldn’t know whether I haunt you or not, Harry.”

The Tale-Tell Heart Confetti by Dart

Harry has a severe case of accidental child acquisition.

Catch Me if You Can by starnobella

It's the age-old story of cat and mouse, but who is the cat... and who is the mouse?

The mortifying ordeal of falling in love with your entire secret study group by tinystreetlamp

An Arithmancy group project in third year turned into a friendship turned into the Double Date of Disaster in eighth year.

Ghosting Season by saveourskinship

“You need a Ghosting Season.”

“I know I’ll regret this,” Heather began, “but what on God’s polluted Earth is a Ghosting Season?”

“Oh, I have one every year. Terribly efficient,” Daphne replied with a shrug, “it’s when you halt all contact with any undesirables you are dating. You just drop off the face of the planet and never see or speak to them ever again.”

Dating the Carrow twins is not turning out to be all lollipops and flip-flops for Theo and Hermione but what's one to do when your girlfriend refuses to acknowledge when you've broken up with them?

Daphne has just the thing: A new season for an old holiday.

Dangerous Way to Live by akorah

Hermione Granger and Theo Nott partner up in sixth year to brew a finicky truth serum. While the potion appears to work on them, it fails to work on anyone else. In the aftermath of the war, Theo learns why he and Hermione were susceptible to the vapours when no one else was.

That’s Another Story by magical_traveler

On her first Valentine's Day single, Hermione runs into an unlikely option for some much needed relief.

Cheesy First Dates by articcat621

Theo works up the courage to ask Hermione on a date.

Locked In by emilyinwonderland

He stepped up beside her, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’ve read about these love tropes.”

“Love tropes?”

“Yes. You’ll see them in romance folktales, but some ancient practices involved casting the runes to generate an environment for falling in love. We must have tripped the room somehow to activate it.”

The Lovers by CalypsoTemplete

It started with a note and ended here: the two of you huddled together in a lumpy bed in a frigid motel room in a backwater town. Far away from the castle you used to call home. Draco’s hand wavers just over yours, and there’s a lot unsaid and a lot that could go wrong, but you silently beg him to close the distance.

*

A story about schoolyard notes and the confessions that sneak through the lines.

Willing to go up or down art by digthewriter

"Trapped in an elevator."

The Right Time by MzKinzy

Hermione really doesn't want another fuckboy.

Theo is nervous and wondering why he's agreed to this. 

*My prompt was blind date, but then I threw in a "the one that got away" vibe too.

The Truth of the Matter by xxDustNight88

Theo has a bit too much to drink and reveals exactly how he feels about Hermione.

Varig Kjaerlighet by mytimeconsumingsidehobby

Theo joins his girlfriend on a nice little Valentine's Day holiday. To Svalbard.

Galentines Improved by Willowfairy

Theo finds out his girlfriend is at a club that brews Amortentia. What if she smells someone who isn't him? He'll do whatever it takes to keep her, including crashing Galentines Day.

[federer7]

Customers at the Crooked Billet, Tower Hill, London, 1939

Photo: Bill Brandt

[spc4eva]

Star-Burned: Chapter Three

Sundays are going to be posting days just like Mandokar. I've decided to also add the two pieces will be in the same collection in the same universe; so Paz has a sister who is with Din.

My headcanon is that many Death Troopers are Mandalorians who joined the Empire after the Great Purge. Just an fyi.

Word Count: 10,421

Rating: M (+18) oral sex f!receiving, unprotected sex

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

So Jawas were alright.

They were kind of finicky because most of the time they were thieving little bastards and you really had to keep your eye on them. Sure, they could do nice things, they'd proven that before when they had brought back your parents' bodies without asking for payment. But... the moment they actually got to take a look at Paz's ship you knew you were in for it. They fucking wanted it. The entire thing. All of it. Your signs must've done a good job, because they hadn't come into the sheltered alcove where it was hidden like a lost treasure. The road led up to your farm, but the smoke churning up from the ship typically would've drawn them in like moths to a flame. Now the robed midgets were milling around, chirping in their language, and billeting Paz with questions that he couldn't understand. 

"What do they want?" Paz looked to you for guidance.

"Your whole ship," you laugh before glancing down at the lead Jawa, Tho Qeohe. You reasoned with him, discerning, in the past, the Jawas only by the different belts of items that they adorned their robes in. This ship belonged to someone, you were looking for assistance in standing it up and the appropriate parts to make the last repairs, which would probably include scrap metal, any engine parts, and landing gear. 

Make it worth it. What was there to offer that would be worth parting with that many materials and the addition of assistance? Jawas did not work for free and nor did they do favors, despite how long they'd known you. 

"They said you have to make it worth their while. They'd be willing to give the parts, but a good trade will be expected. Do you have anything... rare on your ship?" You ask Paz finally after quietly debating with Tho. Immediately, the Jawa pointed at his armor, which he had donned today. You shook your head, explaining that he was Mandalorian and the beskar was off the table entirely. There was an aggravated huff of dismay, Tho convinced that there would be little worthwhile that could otherwise be exchanged for all those parts. Unless... 

Oh-ho-ho the little buggers were trying to be cheeky now, tugging on your pant leg and gibbering excitedly. No, you needed your tip-yips, they were your solid source of protein. 

"I have a camtono of Exonium that was looking to sell once I got to the right spaceport," Paz offered, which... which was actually a good offer. You blink a few times and explain to the Jawas that the Mandalorian is willing to trade in his camtono of the fossil fuel. 

Not enough. Maybe two camtonos, but not just one. Groaning, you rub your face and consider again. You could part with a few tip-yips and perhaps request that Paz took you to the city so you could acquire a new bacta shot and tip-yips. Fine. The freaking birds could go, but Paz would have to take you back to the city because you needed the eggs. 

"I've come to an arrangement," you admit grudgingly. Why did these little assholes like eggs so much? They were chanting the awful word over and over again. "They'll take the camtono of Exonium and..." You grumble about your tip-yips, hoping that he wouldn't hear you.

"They want your chickens too?"

"Yeah, they're being brats. Jawas really like eggs," you explained, huffing a breath and crossing your arms over your chest. "I'd hate to be a bother, but I'm going to need a ride to the city in order to get more. I can't live out here without a solid, renewable source of protein."

"A bother?" Paz rumbled, a chuckle crackling in the edge of his vocoder. "Tracyn... I owe you considerably more than being a taxi to the city.  I'll buy the tip-yips for you. And the bacta shot you had to use."

Well... that was a fair deal... right? You wanted to ask him to throw his shiny bucket into the mix and just stay here, but that would've been crossing a line. Smiling dolefully, you turned back to Tho -- the sweet smile being replaced by a grimace and begrudging glare, which on you was not at all intimidating. Actually, it was sort of comical and Tho laughed at your attempt to posture in front of the Mandalorian. 

Jawas were restless buggers and got their work underway immediately. You had to supervise, mostly because you could hear them being evel kenivals and had to thump a few of their heads to keep them from worming their grubby hands into places they shouldn't. It was going to be a long few days. Thankfully, the one saving grace you'd gotten out of all of this was that Jawas knew tech. Be that droids, starships, cruisers, speeders -- you could name anything and they'd know it. You had rapport with them, despite the fact you had to chastise them at least four times every hour. By nature, they were sneaksie monsters. So you used that to your advantage, because they didn't want to spend more time than was necessary to keep up their end of the bargain.

They had the proper lifts and equipment to hoist the ship up, which you learned was called the Kote. Pieces of metal slopped off, just as you'd predicted and it made you wince. The Kote was old, but before this dogfight, actually seemed as if it had been in good condition; well maintained and kept up to date. The Jawas fussed, complained, kicked and cried like petulant children about being put to work instead of thieving. But they helped. Again, they didn't want to be there forever and so they helped solder parts on, repair the hull, and even Tho had gone as far to berate you for improperly wiring connections to the engine. Jawas were intelligent, no matter how much people looked down on them, they knew what they were doing. 

By the end of the third day you were a fucking mess. Your muscles were trembling, fending off exhaustion and hyped up on gallons of caf. But you couldn't go to sleep. Not when the Jawas were here. Not when they could pilfer things when you weren't keeping hawk eyes on them. 

Paz had tried to get you to rest, but you couldn't. He didn't speak their language or know what little shits they could be. You sort of loved how annoying they could be, in their own unique way, but you also knew that you were the glue bonding this entire arrangement together. 

"You need to rest, Tracyn," he insisted as you dropped the wrench for the fourth time in under 10 minutes. 

"Al-almost done," you insisted, managing to pin a puffy glare over at a Jawa who was eying your wrench. They knew you were testy now, each hour that passed knocking off another bit of your ever vanishing patience. Actually, you were probably in the sphere of negative patience.

"The Jawas are packing up. Tracyn... Tracyn please, you're going to kill yourself from exhaustion and the heat-" Paz grabbed your shoulders, steering you away from the landing gear that you had continued to work on. You managed to stick your tongue out at the nearest Jawa before being brought into the Kote. Your eyes blinked a few times, cutting the difference from the brightness of day and the dim of the hull. Maker, had it really been three days? Your brain was fried and you were working on fumes. "Hey... hey can you hear me?"

Had he been talking? You blink again, finally focusing on the snapping fingers beside your ear. "Hmm?"

"You need to go to sleep," Paz decided firmly.

"B-but," you were too emotional for this right now. Immediately your eyes began to fill up with tears. You were letting him down. What if the Jawas started stealing stuff? You were almost done. Just a couple more hours and it would've been good to go. "I can do it. I still have enough energy. Maybe another cup of caf will do the trick."

"You've drank enough to fuel a starship," Paz reminded you duly, brushing away the frustrated tears from your eyes. "C'mere, shh now. You're just over tired-" he grabbed you, pulling you into an embrace on his chest. The cool beskar felt good against your clammy skin, neck lolling naturally into the crook beneath his helmet. "Maker I would have never guessed you had so much energy in you. And all you want are tip-yips and a bacta shot for this?"

"I'm a simple girl," you sniffle in defeat. "And I like eggs just as much as Jawas."

His chest rumbled and you felt the laugh before you heard it, but the sound relaxed your warbling, his hands sliding underneath you before cradling you like a child. Had you been in a more sensible state of mind, you might've protested in worry that he could be hurting his ribs. While he felt strong enough to don his armor again, that didn't mean that the lingering injury wasn't hidden beneath. He was taking you deeper into the ship, opening the door to a room that was dimly lit. Your lashes were fluttering, sleep trying to smother you completely, but you rebelled against it - trying to figure out what was going on.

He was setting you down on a bed, ooh Maker the bed felt so nice. There were furs and blankets, so this wasn't your bed. Didn't have fur on your bed. Smelled like him -- blaster residue, leather, oil, and some kind of soap... you couldn't place it because you didn't use soap in a sonic shower like a water one. But it was nice. "Hmmm," a soft moan emanated from your throat and you'd all but forgotten you hadn't cleaned off in three days either since beginning your crusade to finish fixing the Kote. You were out within seconds of your head touching the pillow.

Paz pulled off your boots for you. You'd passed out completely after being set down, all flustered and moody. He'd tried to stop you earlier, only receiving a few combative looks, which included you puffing out your cheeks like a frog and raising your shoulders in a mock attempt to seem bigger than you were. You weren’t mean or off putting; you were determined and willful. He had also been helping where he could with welding, since he wasn't completely useless when it came to repairs. But you didn't stop. Even he had taken a few breaks, trying to coax you into shutting your eyes for a few minutes, but you'd scarfed down your rations, inhaled a cup of caf, and went back to work. Honestly, it was quite admirable and cute. 

You'd given up your tip-yips to get him these parts, part of your survival to make certain he could get off this orange rock. Now that the ship was nearly complete, he was beginning to realize he didn't really want to. He liked waking up to someone making him breakfast, someone to have easy conversation with, to just... relax around. Being Mandalorian meant he didn't often have these down times. He constantly had to have his head on a swivel, watching his back, finger ready on the trigger. But these weeks, despite the pain from his injury, had been calming. You were calming. 

The more he saw you in your element, the more he realized how strong you were. Not in a physical aspect, but mentally. It took a certain kind of person to be able to live out on their own without falling into an abysmal depression. You took each day as it was, put a foot forward while smiling, and had one of the most chipper, cheery dispositions he'd ever had the honor of crossing paths with. To top that off, you were an excellent mechanic, engineer, and he liked your food. Your silliness was a coping mechanism and part of your undeniable charm. And Paz was falling hard for you, maybe just as hard as his ship had crashed to this planet and the canyons nearest to your farm. 

Even now, he couldn't keep his gaze off of you, all oil smeared, hair a mess of curls, tangled and dirty from laying in the sand and fixating on the task at hand. He had to give it to you, you were capable of inhuman feats of fixation. He wished half the Foundlings he taught were capable of even an ounce of your tempered focus. You were the type that if you set your mind to something, you'd read all the books you could get your hands on before trying to learn how to do it yourself. 

And now with the Kote in good condition, Paz knew that your time together was coming to a close. He had to get back to the Tribe, to the planet the covert had relocated on, and that meant leaving you behind. He really wanted to ask you to come with him, perhaps as a crewmate to help around the ship, but because he wanted the chance to explore these growing feelings... but your farm. You loved the blasted thing so much and he couldn't take that from you. He doubted you'd want to go. For now, he'd enjoy what time he had left with you; his little ray of sunshine.

---

You woke up, still groggy and bone weary from your three day stint of making repairs. Maker, why hadn't you listened and just set your head down, because you felt like shit right now. Glancing around, you noticed that you were in some sort of chamber, which appeared to be on a ship from metal walls and floor. Oh. This must've been Paz's room on the Kote. It was coming back to you. The Kote was a decent enough sized gunship that it had a captain's cabin and crew quarters. You remembered because you had been inside fixing things.

The corners of your mouth quirked and you grabbed the canteen of water sitting by the side of the bed, taking a few generous gulps before getting up. Oh... oh you were gross. Three days of sweltering heat, dirt, grime, and oil. Fuck, why had he put you in his bed? You were literally as smelly as a womp rat. Arms held out slightly, you waddle around, trying to locate the Mandalorian. Outside the cabin, you found him over by an open arsenal, jaw dropping at the ensemble of weapons that were hung neatly. Shit, you knew that Mandalorians considered weapons their religion, but you didn't think one person needed quite that many.

Paz turned and caught you staring, your arms still held out as it felt too grimy to put them back down. "How're you feeling, mesh'la?"

"Better," you admit honestly. "Dirty."

"Go wash up in the fresher," he offered, pointing in its direction.

"Uhm," you considered it for a beat before glancing back at him. "How do I use it?" That felt like a stupid question, but honestly you didn't know how. Sonic showers you just pressed a button to turn on. Water had things like... pressure valves, gauges, and oh dear lord you were overthinking something so simple but that's what you did. Everything was methodical up in that brain of yours and managing water flow and heat seemed overly complex. 

Paz got up and escorted you to the fresher, which was big enough to accomodate a good sized person, such as himself. A toilet, a sink, and a large shower. There was just one knob. "You turn it like this and then twist it this way if you want it warmer," he demonstrated by turning it on, water hissing like a snake and making you jump back into him. He didn't laugh at you, which made your thankful, cheeks burning as you watched it pitter down like rain into the drain. "I have some spare clothes you can borrow."

That you could borrow? One of his shirts was going to be a tent on you! But... your coveralls were filthy. "Thanks." He left you to it, closing the door behind him as you faced your newest challenge: taking a shower in water. Now, you'd been rained on before, but you'd never taken a shower in it. Clearing your throat, you began stripping, peeling off the offensive and smelly articles, before standing awkwardly in front of the shower. Finally, you tested it with a hand, snapping it back as if you'd been burnt. Oh, ok... so just wash in it... Seemed wasteful, but then again other planets weren't as water starved. Other planets were green and had oceans. Some had ice. 

You'd like to see them if it didn't mean leaving your farm. But how would that be possible? 

Rather than linger any longer as the water continued to billet into the glass door, you hopped in and slid the door shut. Ooooh, this was really nice. The water was just a little warmer than your skin, the way that the dirt and grim started to slide right off. Your curls soaked through, a thick heavy mop against your back. Soap. You glanced around, noticing a part of soap and a bottle of shampoo. Usually you just used deodorant, since in sonic showers you didn't wash with anything. This soap was what you had smelled in bed, full bodied and clean. Humming to yourself, you absolutely went to town. Strangely, you were feeling a lot cleaner than a sonic shower had ever made you feel. Layers of dead skin scrubbed off, flushed from how hard you'd worked it, to the point where you were pink and raw but oh-so-clean. 

When you turned the water off -- incorrectly at first, dousing yourself with ice cold water -- you popped your head out to see that a towel and clothes had been left in place of your dirty ones. How was he so thoughtful? Why was he so thoughtful? It made you smile regardless, taking up the towel and drying yourself off, a pleasant warmth radiating in your chest from the Mandalorian’s thoughtfulness. Your curls were soaked through and required being tied up in the towel to scrunch off some of the dampness. Paz had left you one of his undershirts and... nothing else. At first you were a little worried that you'd not be covered up enough, but that quickly changed after sliding it on with a pair of socks. You were pretty much covered, like a child trying on their parent's clothing. The shirt fell over your knees, the socks -- also his -- came up to your knees. The long sleeves were waaay too long for you, so you had to push those up before stumbling out of the fresher. No underwear. Those were being cleaned too.

So the moment you stepped out, a rush of fresh air went right underneath the hem of the shirt and attacked between your thighs. You swallowed hard and then managed to look over at Paz, as he'd returned to checking on his weapons. "How was it?"

"I've been in water before, but not like that. Just torrential downpours," you admit, coming to sit across from him, pulling the shirt down over your knees carefully so you don't accidentally flash him. "But it was really nice. You get to do that everyday?"

"Yes, as long as there's enough water in the tanks," he replied, which made you stiffen. How much water had you used? You'd been in there for a while. "Water isn't that expensive on other planets."

"Oh," you relaxed. "Weird." Turning your head down you look at what you believe it was a rifle, carefully taken apart. "Why did you do this? Was it broken?"

"Hm?" he glanced back down. "I was cleaning it."

"Oh, I didn't know they had to be cleaned." You wish you hadn't said that, because Paz was looking at you -- with what you could only assume was a shocked or incredulous expression beneath his helmet.

"You've... never cleaned that blaster that you have?"

"Uhhhhh," you tried to dredge up any memory of cleaning it, but came up blank. "No."

"Have you ever fired it? I can't imagine there's much here you'd need it for."

"I've fired it," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You weren't a good shot. Not really. Especially since you didn't have a reason to practice. You just figured having it might save you from a chance encounter with any sort of wildlife that didn't get along with you. Which had yet to happen due to your natural affinity with them.

"How often?"

Again, no immediate answer. "Dunno, maybe like... once a year to check it." That was pushing it. You hadn't fired it in the last year, but you were trying to make yourself not sound half that bad.

He got up, finding your utility belt and removing the dingy little blaster. It looked so pitiful when compared to his clean, neatly arranged rifle. He sat back down and patted the space beside him. "C'mere, let's take a look." You scooted over to his side of the table obediently, anxious as to the wisdom a Mandalorian could impart. "Maker, this hasn't been oiled in ages-" he was trying to take it apart, the rusted bolts grinding with sand caught between them. Your face was starting to burn -- swelter actually -- because you knew that wasn't right, didn't take a genius to know that. It sounded awful.

He forced the slide off and there was a snap, the tiny little screw crumbling completely in a puff of metal and rust. "Well..." he started. "I'm surprised it still fired."

"Maybe..." you whispered self consciously. "I haven't tried recently."

"That's good... in it's own way," he assured you, despite the fact your blaster was most definitely broken because of your own negligence. "Here, let's take a look at mine instead. You're not going to be able to salvage that."

He removed his own blaster, twice the size of yours, and clean as a whistle. "Now, pistols come in different shapes and sizes, utilize different types of plasma -- some even use slugs. This is a standard cartridge pistol, but it's been made for my own hand. Slide comes off one the top like this-" Paz dove into the details, removing each piece, demonstrating in front of you the proper and safe manner in which it came apart. Your attention was rapt, soaking it in like a sponge, the details, where you needed to clean and oil and how often you should do it. Apparently, if you were practicing, you should clean it later in the evening -- which you'd never done. Letting the residue sit on the metal wasn't good, it corrode in the inner workings and the weapon wouldn't last as long as it could. 

"Show me how to put it back together now," he requested, leaving it on the table disassembled.

You liked puzzles and that's what this was. One, intricate puzzle. He'd done it piece by piece, so this wasn't really much of a challenge. Rocking forward on your knees, you started with the grip, unlocked the trigger mechanism and began returning the parts to their home. You pinched your finger once, but it didn't so much more than make you suck a little air before continuing. Finally, you had a weapon in your hand, just as when Paz had removed it from his holster.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

All the pieces were gone until he opened his glove and revealed the firing pin, the most important part and you'd built the pistol around nothing. Without the firing pin, it was all just for show. "Were you hiding that?"

"Wanted to see if you'd notice," he mused, sounding as if he were smiling beneath that bucket.

"That's not very nice, now I have to take it apart again," you sighed deeply, reaching for the firing pin, but he snaked his arm away and from your grasp. "Hey!" You followed after him, realizing that he was teasing you, keeping the last piece just out of your grasp as you flailed, trying to steal it from him, failing spectacularly as he deftly evaded your clumsy jabs. 

"The firing pin is the most important part. I'm surprised you managed to put it together and not realize," Paz continued to elude you, which was impressive considering how big he was and that you were now standing up, still trying to wrestle it from him. 

"I'm a farmer, not a Mandalorian," you remind him, grunting as he palms your stomach and pushes you just out of reach, your short arms struggling in vain. 

"You're a lot more than just a farmer. Engineer and mechanic also come to mind," he let the firing pin come just within grasp and you went for it, taking the bait greedily just like Jumbles ate the eggs right off your lap. Paz removed his hand from your stomach and you fell. 

Sailing right through the air, you tried to catch yourself as the breath whooshed out of you, heart thundering at the loss of stability, a garbled yelp escaping the back of your throat. Then there were hands, just as quickly as there hadn't been, cushioning your fall before you made impact with Paz's lap. You weren't a fan of that trick, trying to calm down as he picked you up and righted you. "Y-y-you couldn't j-just gi-ive it t-t-to me?"

"No, that was a little too fun," he admitted to your chagrin. The beskar was cold, leaching through the thick shirt you were wearing, which had climbed up a few inches since you'd been dumped in his lap, nearly baring your ass. You shivered, the firing pin finally in your grasp, glancing down at the pistol as your heart rate began to pick up in an accelerando. "Fix it."

Like this? On his lap? Oh dear, your mind was already beginning to churn a little slower than usual. Shifting, you fumbled for the pistol, fingers clammy and not as deft and confident as usual. Your loose curls puffed around you, mostly dry from your shower and smelling absolutely divine. But it was sort of in your way. You blew a curl out of your face, jolting when you felt a gloved finger trace along the crown of your ear and tuck a few strands out of the way. Your heart picked up again. Now you were glaring at the pistol as if it'd called your mother a fat bantha. Don't be distracted. You can do this. You can-- a hand wrapped around your midsection, dragging you further onto his lap, flush against his cuirass. Ok, you weren't thinking of anything more than each minute thing that the Mandalorian did.

From the steady rise and fall of his chest, the palm on your leg massaging into your flesh, the other one tight against your abdomen. Focus! He was doing this on purpose. This was all a part of his game -- and. you. weren't. gonna. lose. Were you a sore loser? Honestly, you hadn't played many games except with the Jawas and you liked to rub it in their rude little faces when you won. So yeah, you probably were a sore loser. 

"Mesh'la," he drawled in your ear, causing you to tilt your neck back, throat bobbing as you finally had the pistol taken apart enough that you could return the firing pin to its home. "Can you be a good girl for me?"

You were convinced he was still trying to distract you. "W-why?"

"Because you look so pretty putting that pistol back together. Can you be good for me?" he murmured and that's when you realized it, this was a turn on for him. Seeing you, someone absolutely clueless about weapons, learn from him and then put it together piece by piece... You froze where you were, wondering how to perceive this new bit of information. You were already growing flustered, a combination of arousal and competitiveness making your cheeks hot and attention wane. There was something incredibly sexy about trying to impress a Mandalorian with your newly found skills in taking a pistol apart, even if you weren't a good shot. You just hadn't thought that he'd enjoy it so much.

"What do you want me to do?" you questioned softly, your rapid pace grinding down slowly, nearly to a halt. Replaced now with the gunning of your heart rate and the ever increasing blush jetting across your features. 

"Finish and then close your eyes," he instructed. 

Nodding, you completed the last pieces of the puzzle and reached to place the pistol down, finding that your arms were too short to reach the table. His hand moved from your leg, taking it and sliding it back into his holster. The next breath you took stuttered, your nerves getting the better of you as you closed your eyes. Paz shifted and then pressed a button on his vambrace, plunging the cabin into total darkness. You couldn't see, because you hadn't opened your eyes, but you could tell by the way your lids were now completely dark.

A soft click, followed by hydraulic hissing made you tilt, steadied by the man before you before your heart rocketed into your throat. The thick blanket of your hair was pushed to the side, scratchy facial hair meeting the tender side of your neck, and Maker -- oh, it was his mouth. The realization made you groan, a strangled, pitiful noise as you comprehended why he'd asked you to close your eyes. Just another safety precaution on top of the cover of night in the Kote. He sucked at your skin, biting marks down the side which burned as they were exposed to the air. 

You were making the most delicious mewling noises as he kissed your skin, confirming that his decision was certainly worth it. He owed you more than this he thought, but he was also on borrowed time. In his shirt, trying to learn about weapons after he'd broken your rusted out blaster, and then managing to fixate on putting it back together despite his roaming hands... You'd done a good job too and his trick had been rather underhanded. You had put the pistol together with what you were given and he couldn't fault you for that. But perhaps he had been hoping you'd notice right away. He was still impressed that you'd been able to do it at all. There were a lot of pieces to a gun and you'd been undaunted. Then again, you were good with machines, so he hadn't expected anything less from someone who had taught themselves how to repair a starship from books.

You were precious and didn't deserve to be alone. He didn't want to leave you alone. He wanted more time to sit at a table with you, to teach you how to defend yourself, to show you all the places you were missing that were just as beautiful and wild as your home planet -- but in unique ways of their own. He wanted to bottle your sunshine and take it with him. He was afraid to let you go, afraid you'd meet your parents' fate, and that his world would be a little darker if he came back to this planet to say hello and found out you were gone. That's why this felt right, because he wanted you and didn't want to frighten you by saying it -- forcing your hand in coming with him when you loved it here. 

And what did he have to offer other than himself? A constantly moving home? A covert that had to hide in the shadows? Being gone for long periods of time when he had to go on hunts to provide for the Tribe? 

His mouth met the hollow of your throat, you'd been slowly turning in his grasp to his will. Cradling you in one arm, bent down to lavish attention on your neck, his other palm meeting your chest again. Ankles twisted out into the darkness in front of you, your own hands clinging to his leg as you held yourself firm, pushing your chest out a little, into his grasp as he finally crested over your jaw and met your own mouth. You were overwhelmed in an instant, an explosion of heat and sensation that rocked your whole body as you got lost in his embrace. You already knew his lips were soft, but flush to yours, they were heaven and you never wanted them to leave. 

He was gentle, so astonishingly gentle for such a large, imposing man. Kindly plying at your mouth before you were the one who lost your patience. Your lips parted and you licked his eagerly, seeking entrance, wanting to feel all of him. He acquiesced, filling your mouth with his heat, tongue interlocking and a gasp causing you to sputter as he squeezed your nipple. When... when did his hand get under the shirt? You hadn't noticed, distracted entirely by the electricity you felt while kissing him. 

He broke away and you whimpered, thumbs swirling circles around the stiffening peak of your nipple, flesh pebbled. "Good girl... can I take it off?"

"It's your shirt, you can take it back whenever you want," you breathed, deserving a light chuckle as he pulled it up and over your head. Careful to keep your eyes shut, your bare ass met the beskar and you hissed.

"Let's move to the bedroom," he suggested.

You nod, about to get on your own two feet when he gets up with you in his arms. You hoped his ribs weren't hurting, but you felt a bit guilty in admitting that you sort of didn't care, because you were wondering about what was going to happen. He placed you carefully on the bed and from the sound of it, he was reaching into a drawer. 

"Mesh'la? I'm going to put this over your eyes. Just in case?" he offered it to you so that you knew what it was, the soft gossamer material sliding against your pads. A blindfold? 

"Ok." You wanted his mouth back, squirming as you waited and he secured the blindfold around your head. While it was unfortunate that you couldn't see his body, you were still highly aroused by the amount of trust he had in you to ask for just closed eyes and now a blindfold. Huffing anxiously, you gripped one of your breasts, thumbing your nipple while waiting, wondering what he was doing. 

Finally, after a couple of minutes, he returned, the bed depressing as he climbed onto it. Robbed of your sight, you leaned heavily on your sense of hearing and touch. And your hearing was shot, really only aware of the pounding of your pulse as you yearned to be touched again. A hand planted beside you, warmth radiating off of him as if he were a heater, before he kissed your collar, jolting you like a little shock of electricity, a sigh of relief following and easing your shoulders. Why... why was he doing this? Not that you were complaining, Maker no, you definitely weren't complaining -- it's just... No one had ever spent this much time on you. 

He was sucking welts into your skin, each one sending lancing ripples of pleasure across your exposed flesh, as he made way down to your breasts which, admittedly, made you a bit nervous again. "Mesh'la?" he noticed that you were holding your breath. "What's wrong?"

"I-they're sensitive. And... in the past-" Oh you were going to ruin the mood, but what if he accidentally hurt you too? That would definitely ruin the mood. He’d been careful before, but this wasn’t last night and you were fully exposed for him to do as he pleased.

"I'm going to be gentle, I know..." he assured you, pressing featherlight kisses around your breasts before taking a nipple in his mouth. He teased the skin lightly, nibbling, sucking. All doubts you had evaporated like water after the wet season and you exhaled deeply again, chased with a moan of agreement. "I'd never hurt you, mesh'la. Never." And you believed him, with all your heart you believed this terrifying, intimidating warrior of legend would never hurt a hair on your head.

Massaging the breast he wasn't kissing, you arched into his palm, core melted completely, taken aback by how much this was doing for you. Your thighs pressed together, trembling with anticipation, your bundle of nerves vying for attention. He moved lower, dragging his tongue along your ribs, creating more marks on your soft tummy, before his beard scratched along your hips and you bucked. A strong hand guided your legs apart and you didn't resist, needing attention down there as you panted as if you’d run two miles and the rest of your body vibrated in expectancy. 

You were expecting his hand, so when the warmth of his mouth met you down there you actually screamed. 

"Woah! Hey, it's alright-" he jumped up, holding your hip down as you almost began hyperventilating. 

"S-sorry. Y-you su-urprised m-me," you stammered through your confusion and fright, trying to gulp down breaths to steady your heart rate. Now, you'd given blowjobs before, but none of the men had ever reciprocated. "Yo-you don't have t-to." You'd never even suggested it before, coming under the assumption that it was just a dirty thing that men didn't like to do. "D-don't feel obligated be-because I-"

"Has no one done this to you before?"

You shook your head, cheeks flushing, thankful for the darkness to hide your face. Or... that's what you thought. You didn't know there was a light on in the room and Paz could see everything going on. So then why did you shake your head? You were too frazzled to think straight.

"Mesh'la, I want to. I want to taste you everywhere."

The confession made you whimper wistfully. "But I thought-" that guys didn't like to do this.

"I don't know why someone wouldn't have by now," Paz admitted, caressing the skin he'd marked up, admiring your complexion and body.. Even as he told you this, part of him was further aroused that he'd be the first to take this from you. "You're so pretty. Everywhere. Especially down there. Will you let me?"

Part of you was disconcerted, battling with the idea that you'd thought was a no-go for most people. But then you thought about how nice the warmth of his mouth had felt and the trust you had in him to make you feel good. Finally, you nodded again. 

Paz returned between your legs, carefully warning you as he blew on your clit before lathing his tongue over it. Your neck jerked and you arched immediately, the new, foreign sensation making you cry out, but not of surprise. Gripping the blankets, your legs trembled, his palm keeping you from closing and squeezing on him. His tongue was softer than his fingers, more dexterous and able to fill your clit up entirely, tracing it in a new way that felt erotically luxurious and overwhelming. "So sweet, love. And wet. All of this for me?"

You hummed in agreement, barely able to control yourself as you clenched your teeth between huffs. Why had no one done this before? Stars, you had no idea what you were missing out on. How much more was there that you'd not experienced? He sucked on your bud, switching between lavishing attention and swirling circles. He trailed down, his tongue dipping between your folds, the insides of your sensitive thighs catching the rough edge of his facial hair. 

He returned to your aching nerves, laying into you as his tongue flicked quickly, clutching your thigh as your breaths became more labored. You couldn't see, but you felt it coming, scooping low into your pelvis, pressure building to the point where you felt the reins of your control slipping and you got choked up. He might've spoken had his mouth not been what was dragging you to the proverbial edge, destroying you, obliterating you like the Death Star had done to countless planets. You disintegrated, the same bird flying over the edge, but this time both wings were healed and you soared into the sky. You kept riding, his mouth replaced with fingers as he continued his ministrations through your orgasm. 

"That's it mesh'la," he soothed, the deep voice cradling you as you panted and came down, legs clutching as your clit became intensely oversensitive. He licked between your folds, removing his hand from your swollen clit and began lapping up the mess you'd made. 

"W-wh-wha," you were breathy and a little incoherent, speech slurring as you tried to fumble around for him blindly. 

"What is it?" he inquired calmly.

"Wh-what about you?"

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Mhm."

"Tell me what you want," he edged up the bed, coming down to lay beside you, returning his mouth to yours. He was wet, facial hair damp from eating you out, and his tongue was tacky. The taste was foreign, but not unpleasant and a little sweet. He wasn't wearing any beskar now, which must've been why it had taken him a moment to come to bed. Your palm met his bare chest and you savored the ability to finally be able to explore it. You were careful, not wishing to brush too hard against his ribs, but what you felt was as impressive as what you'd seen before. Your fingers butterflied over his strong pectoral muscles, trailing to meet in the center as you coasted between his ribs and to his solid abdomen. He was broad, hips bigger than yours, a wisp of hair descending below the belt. 

"This," you slid your hand underneath his waistband, not surprised to find him hard after playing with you. It'd been like this last time. Even though you claimed it, you were partially terrified of trying to accommodate his cock. A thrill rushed through you, the idea of the immense pleasure it could bring or how it'd fuck you within an inch of your life. There was no knowing until you tried and you wanted to try. 

He huffed in your ear, "You certain?"

"Yes," you asserted, squeezing him and enjoying the moan that followed; your small palm couldn’t even fully encircle his girth. Yet it was the unmodulated tone of his bass, filling your belly up with warmth as he laid beside you. Stars, his voice was so much better, if that were even possible. Every breath, noise, and huff no longer crackling with static and the full heat of it numbing your senses. 

"You... should be wet enough, but-" he considered you, Maker he wanted to do it, but you were so small. You weren't frail, you'd proven this by now, but the difference in size between the two of you was severe. You only reached up to his chest while standing, not even his shoulders. He was afraid of breaking you. 

Now your hands had wormed down and you cupped his balls, squeezing all recourse from his mind as he moaned again. "I trust you."

Paz drew in a deep breath, filling his diaphragm as he considered the logistics very, very briefly. His ribs still hurt and they were aching now. "You'll have to go on top, mesh'la."

You were always up for a challenge, despite the fact that his words sort of scared you. On top? As in getting speared by him? Absolutely split open with nowhere to go? He was rubbing reassuring circles into your side, giving you the time you needed to think about this before you finally gave another 'mhm'. Hooking your fingers of the waistband of his pants, you helped guide them off before he sprung up in your palm. Able to estimate where his hips were, you threw a leg over and pressed his shaft into the heat of your folds, beginning to slick him with your wetness. Each stroke against him was debilitating, from the sensation of your pussy, to the way your perky breasts bobbed, and the cascade of hair fanned out in a curly cloak behind you. Paz was absolutely entransed. 

Finally, you decided you were wet enough to make your attempts. Realizing what you were about to do, he gripped your hips as you came up onto your knees, touching his weeping head to your heat. Your legs began to quiver, anxious but also excited, blood rushing as quickly and suddenly as a flash flood as you tested carefully. Just his head stretched you wide and there was more to follow. This was gruelling work, so painfully slow that you weren't even certain it was possible as you coasted down an inch and stiffened. Drawing a deep breath, you shimmied more and let out a heart stopping moan. The rest of him slicked up and you yelped as he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you froze, mostly you because you hadn't expected the rest to go in so easily. Not easily exactly. Your entire insides felt as if they'd been rearranged at this point and you didn't know if that was good or bad or if moving would make it worse. So you sat there, on the brink of panic.

Paz was frozen because you were so fucking tight. His cock felt as if it were being strangled by you and you weren't even doing anything. His head fell heavy against the pillow and he tried not to spend himself in that moment, but it was difficult. You were silken inside, the tight walls a vice grip around his cock and pulsing around him. 

And then you moved, testing the waters a little bit and bucking forward as you knew this was going to obliterate you. Not in the same sense as the orgasm Paz had brought you to before, but in the sense you were going to hurt tomorrow. Even now your legs ached as you mounted him, refusing to move properly as you tried to ride him. 

He could see your struggling and the valiant effort you were making to move, but he gleaned that this was overwhelming for you too, your pubic area distended slightly as your tiny frame managed to fit him. Maker, the sight of that caused him to shift, grinding his hips into you, watching as you released the lip you were biting and cry out gently. He could see his own form in you, stretching you, but somehow still fitting aside from the telltale bulge.

"We can... we can stop-" Paz offered despite the fact he didn't want that. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to see how he moved inside of you, filled you up, and made you whimper. His thoughts were derailing and he was losing his composure. 

"N-no. I just... need help," you told him dolefully.

He could do that. "Just tell me if it's too much." He began slowly before smoothing his hands along your hips. The last thing he wanted to do was break you before leaving you on your own. The rhythm was slow at first, each soft strike causing you to moan in protest, but it was the slowness that hurt more. You began to move into him, picking the pace up a bit, working in tandem so that his hands could guide and assist your trembling legs. It still hurt, but it was a blistering white burst, each hit against your pelvis a battle between pleasure and pain. Maker, you'd never been stretched so wide before and it was so good, an experience of ecstasy you’d never had the honor of battling, clenching your jaw as you fought for control and were beginning to unravel at the seams. 

You moaned his name finally, incapable of keeping a straight face, the result an even quicker assault into your cunt, his fingers brushing back against your clit as you panted. 

"Mesh'la, Maker-- you're so fucking good. So tight and perfect. Cum for me a second time? Will you?"

"Mm," you couldn’t even talk as you could feel it building up in you as he drew quick circles, pounding into you, your back aching as you tensed. Your ailing core was glazing over and your eyes rolling back into your head as you started to fall away. "A-ah. I-I'm going to, b-but-" Where would he finish? You weren't on any kind of birth control, you hadn't needed to be for a couple of years now. 

He shifted, throwing you down against the mattress with ease, before continuing to strike into you. This angle was different, his mouth meeting yours, the soft mutterings in a language you didn't understand not mattering. You knew he was saying sweet things in your ear. "Where?" he knew it was coming, you were on the brink of an orgasm, toes curling. 

"O-on me," you managed, just as your body betrayed you, muscles snapping into rigidity and voice halting to a pitiful whine in the back of your throat as you lost sense of up and down. You were snared by the rapture of each forceful pound into your cunt, fingers still tracing your clit, until you were overwhelmed entirely and mumbling incoherently. 

It took all his will as you clamped down around him, walls fluttering and back arching beneath him. The darling noises in tandem with how good you felt made it gut wrenching to pull out and stroke out the last few bits of his orgasm, spending his seed on your breasts and stomach. The pearly ropes flew from him as if he hadn't just been sucked dry a few nights ago. Glistening in the low light with his cum, your chest continued to bob as you came down from your high a second time. You were a pretty sight, one that he admired as you tried to catch your breath. 

Eventually, you brushed your chest, coming away with the sticky cum. Bringing it up, you slid your fingers into your mouth, suckling away the precious liquid just as you had done before. You savored the taste of him, finding yourself hungry for it again after last night. Paz was leaning back against the headboard, length twitching as he watched you lazily mop up his spent load and place it between those plush lips and swallow. You missed a few spots in your blindness, but Paz scooped it up, bringing it to your mouth where you cleaned his fingers. He kissed you after, an insistence mess of his lips as he tried to prove what he was feeling with that kiss. 

"Mesh'la," he purred, pulling you back across the bed and into his arms. You fit perfectly enough that he could snake his arm around your hip and nestle onto the curve of your ass.  "Are you hurt? How are you feeling?"

"Good.. tired, but good," you mumbled, naturally nuzzling into the side of his pec as his arm came around you like that other night. Your legs ached, numbed slightly and from how you’d been split open further than ever before, but you didn't regret any of it. "Was it good for you? I'm sorry I had to ask for help."

"Don't be sorry, I didn't think you'd even be able to fit me," he chuckled, brushing your thick hair back and coasting his thumb in crescents along your hipbone. "You were amazing. So perfect. Just wish my ribs weren't still hurting."

"Are they ok right now?" you reached up gingerly, grazing over the afflicted side. 

"They're fine." 

"Maybe I shouldn't have... you did turn me over at the end..."

"Shh, I'm fine," he assured you, grabbing the edge of the blanket and tugging it over both of your forms. "Just go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning. You're safe."

"I know," you mumble, nearly incoherent as you're pushing a kiss into his collarbone. "I know."

--- 

He was there like promised when morning came, strong, solid, warm, and snuggled close, but you were also duly reminded that you hadn't been home a lot in the last few days while working on the Kote. You really didn't want to leave his side, because there were probably only a few days left of getting to be beside him, but you also couldn't ignore your animals. The idea of pulling away made your every fiber shriek in disdain, because you’d wanted this more than anything. To wake up beside someone, to be in their arms, and to just waste an entire day there.

"Paz," you whispered, poking his chest lightly. 

"Hm?" he sounded groggy, as if you'd woken him up by doing that.

"I have to go check on the farm," you said apologetically. Truly, you didn’t want to go. "Do you have your helmet nearby so I can get up?"

His fingers tightened around you, the idea of having to lose you not a fond one, but you had responsibilities. Sighing, he grabbed it off of the nightstand and slid it back on, smothering the clean smell of you and the breaths he’d once felt against his cheek. Each moment that you both lingered like this staved off the eventual separation. Chasing it away like a bad dream. But sleep was coming and you couldn't keep that nightmare away forever, nor the sorrow that would chase after. "I'll meet you there in a bit."

You removed the blindfold after the sound of the helmet clicking back into place. Finally able to see, his chest was revealed to you and you could make out the lattice work of scars along it that you hadn't quite noticed before when you'd stripped him to heal him. They were hidden beneath his chest hair, but this close, you could really see them. Maybe you'd get to ask about them before he left. You tried not to wince at the idea, shoving it to the back of your mind after pressing a kiss to his chest. 

"Where did you put my clothes?" 

"In the ion cleaner, next to the fresher."

"See you soon," you hummed, heading out, naked as the day you were born to find your clothes where he'd told you. They were clean and fresh, vacant of oil and clay filled sand. Throwing it back on, you snapped the scrunchie on your wrist around your hair and smiled gently. This was his home, so neat and clean when it wasn't in disarray from a crash landing. It suited him, you decided. There was a homey feeling to it despite it just being a starship. Maybe that was because of the night you'd shared around the table, talking about something that was a part of his everyday life, leaning about it... he had described everything so well to you.

There was only one speeder bike, but you knew the path well enough that walking on this fine morning wasn't a big deal. Sunlight smiling over the ridge, not yet basking you in its warmth as it hadn’t crested the edge of the canyon. Trudging up the pass, you hummed a soft tune, finding that despite your legs being a kind of achy, that you're in a really good mood. It didn't really skim your mind that you hadn't seen Jumbles in a few days. He wasn't actually your pet, just a wild animal that liked your company. He was probably fine, hunting in the nearby passes while you only checked in periodically to feed the remaining tip-yips. Wait... How many days had it been? It might've been two since you went home.

Picking up your pace, you chugged up the rest of the hill and glanced at the coop. No chickens. Aw hell, did those fucking assholes take all of them? Usually they made pretty well on their bargains. Fuck. You'd have a stern talking to Tho next time you saw him. Maybe you'd be even angrier if you weren't in such a pleasant mood from your evening with Paz, but you were already destined to go to the city. Grumbling, you stomped over toward your home something catching your eye. Not something... more like a few things. There were a handful of speeder bikes out in front of your house.

Had someone stopped by? Ah, well as long as they hadn't dumped the place you supposed that was fine. Make themselves at home within reason. You went to the front door and opened it, somewhat excited to have other guests. Man, so many people all in such a short amount of time! 

And then your chipper smile slid right off. Sitting at your kitchen table was a pod of stormtroopers. "Uhhhhhhhh," you froze in the doorway. You were good at fixing things, but reacting on a dime during a stressful encounter? Shit. You were absolute massiff shit at that. 

"Do you live here?" one trooper inquired.

"Y-yeah," you looked between them, realizing that they were playing Sabacc. Ha. That was kind of funny. "Am I in trouble? Can I help you with anything?" You clasped your hands in front of you to keep them from shaking. The Empire had been looking for Paz. Is that why they were here? Nothing else on this planet that might interest them.

"Depends. Have you seen a Mandalorian?"

You giggle, because you're extremely nervous and that seems the logical thing to do. Had you seen a Mandalorian? You'd slept with him last night. Was that the Mandalorian they were looking for? "Nu-uh," you lied, hooking your fingers in your utility belt. "Why would a Mandalorian be all the way out here? Ain't nothing out here."

"You're out here," a stormtrooper pointed out. This one was in all black armor and he sounded more dangerous than the others. The grit of his tone raked unpleasantly down your spine and your anxious smile quavered. "What's a pretty little thing doing out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Workin'," you grumble.

"No husband? No family?" 

"Gotta husband," you protested, hoping that saying this would deter them from doing anything... bad. Kriff, what were you kidding, they were going to do whatever they wanted unless Paz was right behind you and you knew he wasn't. 

"No, you don't," the dark stormtrooper laughed. "You're here on your own. I know, because I went through this shack."

Fuck. Welp. You had two choices and you didn't have a blaster, so you turned around and fucking booked it. Flight. Definitely flight. You heard them shuffling after you, legs regrettably weak from your tryst with Paz and you were stubby and short. Adrenaline did a good amount of the work for you as you sprinted back down into the ravine, sorta praying a krayt dragon would pop up and save your sorry ass. 

"Stop running!" You were yanked right off your feet, held up by the back of your coveralls like a kitten. You garbled, losing a chunk of the oxygen in your lungs as you swayed. "You know where he is, don't you?"

"N-no! I do-on't know w-what you're talkin' 'bout!" You thrashed helplessly in his grasp, the dark trooper leaning in. 

"Mhm, so I'm guessing that your nonexistent husband gave these to you," he poked at a sensitive mark on your neck, making you gasp, completely forgetting that Paz had given you those. "I mean, if I found you out here on your own, I probably would've done the same. Look at you. Must be lonely to let some random mando sleep with you. Tell us where he is and I'll show you a better time. What a real Mandalorian is like."

He was Mandalorian? He was wearing the wrong armor. You gave him a look down before bucking, continuing to thrash to no avail. Nothing ever happened on this planet. Why the one time something really good happened it was followed by the freaking Empire? 

"Stop," the trooper ordered, but you didn't, you just kept flopping around like a fish hoping he'd drop you. "Stop!" He slapped you so hard that you felt it in zip all the way down to your toes. Now you stopped, ears ringing and eyes unfocused as stars danced in front of your vision. "There. That's a good girl. Now tell me where the Mandalorian is and I'll be a little nicer next time." Good girl? No, he hadn’t done anything to deserve calling you that.

You gave him a contemptuous glare after your vision stopped spinning, still rather pitiful coming from you. He was waiting for an answer. So you cursed at him in Jawaese, deserving of another earth rending slap. 

"You've seen him. Where. Is. He?" he drew his blaster and pointed it at you, cold metal meeting your tender throat. "I thought people were hospitable on this planet. You've been nothing but a hassle. The Mandalorian's not worthy dying over. Just tell us where he is and we'll let you go."

Maybe the Jawas hadn't taken your tip-yips. How many days had the Imps been here? You glanced around, jaw stinging and weary from your fight. You were still off your feet like a petulant loth-cat being held by its scruff. The other troopers were milling around, kicking over supplies, they'd pushed 6PO to the ground and it couldn't get up, legs flailing, cricking quietly as it couldn't speak to ask for help. Jumbles wasn't around, which didn't make any sense. Jumbles was always around. Jumbles was-- and then you saw him. Over by the barn door where you stored your speeder bikes, his legs sticking out from the door. 

"Jumbles?" But you knew he wasn't going to get up. You knew you weren't going to see his stupid drooling face. You could feel the lack of lifeforce from him. They weren't going to let you go. No, one of the stormtroopers was pouring fuel all over the tip-yip coop, another was pilfering through your greenhouse. "Jumbles?!" You were more hysteric this time, blinking tears as you began crying over the massiff. 

The death trooper glanced in the direction of the barn. "Oh that?" he tilted his blaster away to laugh. "That thing was your pet? Thought only Tuskens kept them. Learn something new everyday. So, what's it gonna be, dala?"

[mister-higgs]

“PEDESTRIAN no.2” stickers Crooked Billet Yard

“Squarehead PEDESTRIAN” pasteup Dereham Street

“PEDESTRIAN no.4” & “StarBurst PEDESTRIAN” pasteup Dereham Street

[withinthewalls]

Walk of the Roses - Saturday 31st July 2021

Within the Walls presents a 14 mile Cross Country Pub Crawl visiting 5 rural Pubs and The Towton Battlefield; the site of the most bloodiest battle in English history. Meeting at 12:20pm at the bus stop in front of Cawood Castle Gatehouse and walking to The Fenton Flyer at Church Fenton, The Boot & Shoe at Barkston Ash, The Rockingham Arms at Towton, The Greyhound at Saxton and finishing at The Crooked Billet for food around 8:15pm. Booking recommended. Cawood is easily accessed via the No.42 bus from York for the meeting point. The bus leaves from Piccadilly at 11:45am. You must arrange your own transport. Download the route map from our main website here.

RSVP to the Facebook Event here.

[leonagraham]

Nice ride up to @crookedbillet on the @hondaukmotorcycles #nc750x Easiest bike I've used in my 3 year biking life. Just hassle free to ride, park and store stuff. The petrol tank is at the back meaning the front is for storage. I keep my bag in there. So much easier and quicker. It's a #DCT #dualclutchtransmission meaning I can use it in auto or manual mode. I have it in sports auto mode. Its actually life changing for me! I am not a fan of manual gears anymore, especially in London. Plus there is no clutch lever on the left foot... I have bad knees and every gear change was hurting 😭. I am sharing that in case you have similar issues, and to say there is a bike for everyone! 👍 #motorcycle #hondamotorcycles #hondabike #honda #biker #bikerchick #hondalove #motorbike #dj #djbiker #bikerdj🎧 #motorcyclesofinstagram #motolife #redmotorcycle #absoluteradio #bikersofinstagram #bikergirlsofinstagram (at Crooked Billet, Wimbledon) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEU4wj3p1Cp/?igshid=1o80klhbw836s

[taraross-1787]

This Day in History: The Battle of Crooked Billet

On this day in 1778, American militia are handily defeated at the Battle of Crooked Billet. It was the latest in a string of disasters for American Brigadier General John Lacey.

Our founding generation overcame quite a lot, didn’t it?

The winter of 1777-78 was a generally hard one. George Washington’s army was enduring hardship at Valley Forge, but so was local Pennsylvania militia. These problems worsened when their commander requested a leave of absence to go home. The Supreme Executive Council of Pennsylvania appointed Lacey to take his place.

Lacey wasn’t so sure he wanted the job. He’d been trying to retire.

To his credit, Lacey was enough of a Patriot to accept the assignment. It had to have been especially tough for him to make this decision. He was a Quaker who had been expelled from the movement because of his decision to fight. He was also young and maybe a bit too inexperienced for the task that he’d been given. He was only 25 years old.

Washington soon wrote Lacey, outlining the parameters of his responsibilities. “Protecting the Inhabitants is one of the ends designed,” Washington wrote, “and preventing supplies and intercourse with the Enemy is the other.”

Lacey failed at both objectives. But what positive thing did Washington later say of failures such as these? The story concludes at the link in the comments.