#The perimeter has been secured

[tenmillionthfirefly]

[jeffers-headofsecurity]

A hero’s sacrifice 🫡

I DID MY BEST

I HIT MY POST LIMIT

I TRIED TO SECURE THE PERIMETER AS BEST I COULD AND NOW I HAVE BEEN CUT OFF

[dykedvonte]

Preston x Danse is the only companion ship I think would actually work because Preston’s inner turmoil is sort of a loss of faith in himself due to the traumatic experiences he’s faced while Danse is looking for something to have faith in and would find the fact that despite the desire to give up Preston held out so long not just for the honor of the Minutemen but because he had some hope.

It would 100% start off as a lotta unhealthy on Danse’s side as I believe he completely lacks the emotional intelligence (due to a combination of factors) to recognize the he’s feelings as anything but a sort of respect for a superior along with leaning too much into Preston as a substitute for the BoS. Preston may not really have a title but he’s like THE Lieutenant of the Minutemen. Realistically he’s the only companion Danse would probably be comfortable taking instructions from especially for how trusted Preston is by the Sole Survivor and his adherence to military standards despite how unstructured the Minutemen are. It would be him waiting for orders, approval, anything from Preston and he thinks it’s just the desire to have the regiment of the BoS again but he also like when Preston compliments him on being useful or resourceful. He likes the stories of Minuteman glory days and he trades the stories of the BoS that don’t hurt to talk about. He likes the familiarity Preston would provide and he’d be oblivious that it’s not just new found loyalty to the Minutemen.

Yet Preston explains it himself that he’s not a natural leader. He’s not an instructor. He helps manage what the General has put in place and he content on doing that. He relays what needs to be done and does major upkeep but I don’t think he’d know what to do with this guy this literally marches up to him and practically begs for a mission that doesn’t exist. Like the formality and respect is nice but he can tell it’s covering something even if Danse doesn’t.

Danse could go to Sturges for the many repair and upkeep assignments he gives him and has the freedom to go straight to the Castle if he really wants a big mission, but he chooses to come to him everytime. He’s aware enough that Danse only trusts him out of all of the Generals confidantes but it would take a bit for him to understand why. If anything Danse should be strategizing with him as equals seeing as he almost got the Minuteme wiped out and Danse was a Paladin for the Brotherhood with many successes under his belt before Preston even led his first scouting mission. It’s like he sees him as some figure of hope, some one who can come in and add stability. Someone with a fresh outlook who can provide a new perspective for him.

It’s like he sees him like he saw/sees the Sole Survivor but that would be crazy because that would also mean… and then oh, it clicks.

The revelation is both flattering and he doesn’t know what to do with it cause how do you address “I know you respect me but is that the only feeling you have for me?” To the guy who like refuses to rest unless you tell him at ease? He has to reevaluate his whole manner of interaction with Danse cause this is a very slippery slope that he’s sliding down and it’s even more perilous due to Danse’s repressed emotions regarding… everything. There’s an equal chance Danse will try to open up as completely shut down and he’s not just concerned about it cause Sole Survivor cares for him but because he has grown to care for the guy too. It’s not like he doesn’t also enjoy Danse’s company and value as a Minuteman member. He’s not a love at first sight guy but he’s played with the idea, anyone would when you’ve spent nights trading stories, historical facts and beers by the fire in a little home you’ve carved for yourself through literal blood, sweat and tears.

I think it’s one of those cases where it’s agonizingly slow to the actual relationship but neither part are anguished about that. If anything happened to soon Danse would be too dependent and Preston not equipped to handle it. It’s a case where I genuinely think they’d bring out the best in each other cause theyd want to figure out what is best for the other and not just apply what they think is the best. It’s the care that Preston would ask Danse what he wants to do and encourage it and at the same time Danse would be incredulous everytime Preston second guesses himself.

Long story short it’s a good ship to me because it’s just two guys with broken confidences and faith in their roles being each other’s hype man and kissin a little about it.

[papasmoke]

This evening, Israeli residents set fire twice to the perimeter of the UNRWA Headquarters in occupied East Jerusalem.

This took place while UNRWA and other UN Agencies’ staff were on the compound.

While there were no casualties among our staff, the fire caused extensive damage to the outdoor areas. The UNRWA headquarters has on its grounds a petrol and diesel station for the Agency’s fleet of cars.

Our director with the help of other staff had to put out the fire themselves as it took the Israeli fire extinguishers and police a while before they turned up.

A crowd accompanied by armed men were witnessed outside the compound chanting “Burn down the United Nations” (see video below 👇 from Israeli media).

This is an outrageous development. Once again, the lives of UN staff were at a serious risk.

In light of this second appalling incident in less than a week, I have taken the decision to close down our coumpound until proper security is restored.

Over the past two months, Israeli extremists have been staging protests outside the UNRWA compound in Jerusalem, called by an elected member of the Jerusalem municipality.

This week, the protest became violent when demonstrators threw stones at UN staff and at the buildings of the compound.

Over the past months, UN staff have regularly been subjected to harassment and intimidation. Our compound has been seriously vandalized and damaged.

On several occasions, Israeli extremists threatened our staff with guns.

It is the responsibility of the State of Israel as an occupying power to ensure that United Nations personnel and facilities are protected at all times.

UN staff, premises and operations should be protected at all times in line with international law.

I call on all those who have influence to put an end to these attacks and hold all those responsible accountable.

The perpetrators of these attacks must be investigated and those responsible must be held accountable.

Anything less will set a new dangerous standard.

-Philippe Lazzarini, commissioner general of UNRWA

[papiliotao]

INDEBTED — kinich x gn!reader

content: 11.6k words, cw: mentions of abuse and alcoholism, kinich backstory spoilers + natlan 5.0 archon quest spoilers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is bad with emotions, death, near-death experiences

summary: kinich has never been one to trust easily, but fate has other plans. throughout the years, he slowly comes to terms with his love for you.

a/n: i'm so normal... so normal... SO NORMAL. this was an attempt at gaining an understanding of kinich's character, so it might not be perfect, but i tried my very best to ensure the characterization wasn't too questionable. i love him dearly.

ACT I.

As someone raised by the lonesome mountains of Natlan, you have long grown used to an atmosphere of tranquil quietude, a serene symphony composed purely of nature’s music. The gentle flow of zephyrs running through seas of viridescent grass coupled with the occasional sounds of birdcall have become the soundtrack of your life. For you, an ever-enduring hush has always been synonymous with normalcy, but you are perfectly content with the status quo.

So when the sound of a choked scream shatters the flawlessly-crystalline silence of a hazy morning into a thousand shards of dissonance, you feel yourself tense. In all your six years of life, you have never had the displeasure of hearing anything so horrific.

It’s funny. The noise is fleeting, ephemeral, but it holds infinitely more weight than anything else you’ve witnessed during your short time in this world. You’re sure that it will be a long time before anything else disturbs the peace in such a profound manner, and it is for that exact reason that you resolve to investigate.

Deep down, you know it’s a stupid idea. You’re only a kid, and if it turns out there’s some grave danger, it’s more or less over for you. Curiosity alone isn’t reason enough to risk your own safety but the thought of another person facing peril is.

With hurried steps, you rush through your house, lightly scurrying through the corridors to see if anyone else is awake yet. When you’re sure that everyone is still and not a creature stirs, you grab the simple pouch of medical supplies your family always insists you take with you and exit the house in a rush.

The moment you step outside, blinding threads of aureate light twist in elaborate patterns, weaving themselves across a divine tapestry dyed cornflower and tinged marigold.

It’s way too bright, and even more concerningly, it’s way too quiet.

You feel your shoulders tense, and a shiver runs down your spine. The rapid coalescence of chaos and pandemonium is unnerving, and the ambiance makes you uneasy. However, you know you have to press on.

With as much fervor as you can muster, you run around the perimeter of your house, scouring every nook and cranny for signs of life. It’s not a large place, yet you can’t seem to find anything. Whatever it was that made that noise seems to have vanished without a trace.

Just as you’re about to give up, something on the ground catches your attention. A footprint. It’s a light imprint, barely visible, etched with the utmost precision into the dusty earth below. The size of the footprint is unfamiliar, and based on the weight distribution, it seems that the person it belongs to tried to tread lightly.

But not lightly enough.

It’s clear that the track points directly towards the stack of crates and barrels sitting behind your home, so with caution in your step, you gradually inch towards the area. As you do, the sound of shuffling permeates your ears, confirming that there is indeed something lurking behind the stacked wooden storage units. You take a deep breath before daring to peek.

The sight you’re met with shocks you to your core.

A young boy around your age is huddled between the boxes, nestled securely within a small gap. His knees are tucked all the way up to his chest, his short arms wrapped around them. The boy doesn’t dare move an inch. He simply looks up at you with eyes of molten amber, their depths bedazzled with emerald starglitter. As he moves, strands of hair spun of midnight essence shift to frame his face.

A part of your young mind thinks that he looks unreal — ethereal, but your train of thought is quickly disrupted when you notice his scraped knees.

“Are you okay?” you ask, extending a hand towards the boy. Despite your attempt at being gentle, the boy flinches, flecks of opulent gold swirling within his irises, mistrust dispersing in their wake. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your gazes lock, and you hope he can sense the sincerity in your actions. Hesitantly, the boy takes your hand, his knees wobbling slightly as he stands. He’s unsteady, but you make sure he doesn’t fall. Carefully, you lead him over to the front porch of your house, slowly sitting him down on the wooden planks. Once you’re sure he’s fine, you let go of his hand and begin taking bandages and cleaning supplies out of your medicinal pouch.

As you turn towards him, preparing to patch him up, you see him tense slightly.

He’s still scared.

“It might sting a little.”

Your comment doesn’t alleviate his face of its downcast expression — in fact, it just makes things worse.

“But it won’t last for long,” you insist. “Plus, all the adults always tell me it’s for the best.”

The boy is still deeply suspicious of you. It’s strange. You’ve never met someone so on edge.

“Would it make you feel better if I let you do it yourself?” You offer the supplies to the boy, and he curtly nods, snatching the bandages and swabs before you have a chance to process what’s going on. 

He examines them closely, sunbeam-speckled eyes roaming every inch of the objects, as if shedding monochromatic tones of dandelion across their surfaces to detect any obscure dangers. After what feels like an eternity, he finally starts cleaning his wounds, barely even wincing as he brushes over them. As he moves on to bandaging his knees, you watch intently. He does everything with such ease and efficiency that you wonder if he’s used to it all.

Yet the longer he continues to work on treating himself, the more you realize that the awkward angle is causing him to wince slightly. Perhaps his wounds run deeper than you think. Slowly, you draw your hand closer to his, tapping him with a finger to catch his attention.

“Can I do the rest of the bandages?” you inquire. It seems he feels more at ease now, and you want to take this opportunity to further gain his trust. Besides, the last thing you want is for him to make his injuries worse.

The boy pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head as he regards you with apprehension. Locks of navy and seafoam mingle in the caress of the breeze, transitory weightlessness engulfing the atmosphere for only a single moment. Stillness becomes nearly tangible as equanimity envelops you. The tension only builds up once more as the boy dips his head in a gentle nod, loosening his fingers around the gauze to allow you to take it instead.

Meticulously, you continue wrapping the boy’s knees in fibres of pristine white, concealing the nasty wounds marring his skin. Despite not trusting you earlier, he’s very compliant, and he remains both calm and unmoving as you aid him.

And when you finally finish, you hear him speak for the first time.

“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, traces of hoarseness lacing his voice. It doesn’t sound like he speaks often. “You’re very kind.”

Before you can respond, the boy gets up, trying his best to hobble a few steps before staggering again. He manages to catch himself on a tree, and as he does, you race over to him. Obviously he’s not in any condition to be walking around.

“Be careful,” you reprimand him. “You can’t leave just yet.”

The boy shakes his head frantically.

“I’m supposed to be home right now,” he states gently. Although he tries his best to keep his tone flat and neutral, you notice the way his gaze becomes downcast, sullen with ashen rain clouds that dull anything and everything luminous.

“Just stay for a few more minutes?”

Perhaps it’s the concern entangled in your tone or your wide-eyed look of pure desperation that convinces the boy to give in. With a cautious sort of reluctance, he allows you to drag him back over to your old spot.

“So how did you end up here, and more importantly, how did you end up so hurt?”

It’s already very apparent that the boy isn’t big on words, yet the fleeting silence that floods your surroundings in waves of unspoken wariness unsettles you.

“I ran too fast and fell down here,” the boy states simply.

No normal person would run so fast that they dive headfirst off a small ledge without noticing, and what kind of kid goes outside without someone else along to supervise them if they get hurt?

His answer doesn’t seem insincere, yet something feels off. Doubt begins to blossom in your conscience, taking root in the form of fragmented bits of reason. Thus, you decide to try your luck and press just a little further.

“Why were you running,” you question. “Were you chased by a monster?”

“I guess you could say so…”

For a while, you continue to try to interrogate him, but you’re unable to get much more information out of him. The strange boy keeps all his secrets under lock and key, all his truths hidden within labyrinths of perplexing misdirection and nonchalant responses. Despite the frustration you feel when he refuses to comply, you understand. You’ve already pushed him far enough, but when it comes time for him to go, you try to get one last piece of information out of him.

“I never quite caught your name,” you remark as the boy steadies himself. He’s still a little wobbly but far better than before.

“Kinich,” he replies. “What about you?”

“[Name],” you say as you hand him your remaining medical supplies for later use.

Gratefully, Kinich takes the pouch, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.

“[Name], huh?” he whispers. “I’ll remember it.”

ACT II.

Nothing in the world is free. Every cost must be carefully weighed and then remunerated sufficiently.

This has been Kinich’s philosophy for as long as he can remember. No matter how desperately the sands of time and winds of fate try to erode his beliefs, they’re never successful, for his ideals have been ingrained in him since the moment he could make sense of natural order.

Ever since that fateful day where the ever-fragile threads of destiny pulled the two of you together, Kinich has been trying to think of a way to repay you, but with all the responsibilities and burdens weighing on his young shoulders, he finds it nearly impossible. When he’s not preoccupied with tending to the crops, he’s out and about in areas where only the wilderness reigns, carefully setting lethal traps to ensnare his next meal. Survival is tough, and with the ever-present threat of starvation looming over him, waiting for any opportune moment to snatch him from the gentle embrace of life, he allocates a large majority of his energy to feeding his father and himself.

It’s not like his father is much help anyway. These days, he seems to be drinking away his sorrow more than ever, losing himself as tides of despair ebb and flow, pulling him away from lucidity and into the frozen grips of oceanic melancholia. He’s been worse than ever since the disappearance of Kinich’s mother, and the one who feels the effects most potently is Kinich himself.

But everything changes on Kinich’s seventh birthday.

It’s his special day, and for once, he hopes that his father will allow him some clemency. For the first time in a long time, Kinich gathers up the courage to ask his father a question.

He asks if there has been any news of his mother.

At first, his father remains eerily silent. An ominous sense of uncertainty settles in the surrounding air, evoking Kinich to shudder as frostbite gnaws at him in a thousandfold. Bloodshot eyes pierce through Kinich’s defences, exposing him for the person he truly is beneath it all: a scared child, anxiously awaiting an answer from a man he no longer trusts.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until his father rushes forwards in a sudden juxtaposition of mood. The apathy that masked his inner turmoil just seconds before is now gone, replaced by a look of pure rage. That’s Kinich’s cue to run. He’s done this enough times to know.

So he takes off. His legs, although far shorter than his father’s, carry him far more swiftly. Reflexes and strength built up through countless similar instances take over, and everything becomes muscle memory for Kinich. On the other hand, his father does not fare quite as well. He stumbles, and at times, he even trips over the creeping roots of archaic trees. It’s as if the alcohol is weighing him down, but despite it all, he never loses sight of his son.

Kinich is an elusive breeze, weightless and elegant, never once losing his foothold as he springs from one place to another. His father is more akin to the ancient petra underfoot — uncouth, clumsy, yet destructive and powerful. Even as he staggers, his resolve remains steadfast and resolute. He will stop at nothing until he’s able to give his young son a piece of his mind.

And yet fate has a strange way of intervening at the least convenient moments, ensuring its heavenly ordainment is heeded. In the eyes of the universe, Kinich’s story is not ready to end — but his father’s is.

As Kinich rushes by the side of a cliff, this becomes apparent. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him disappears before he hears a thud. Gathering his courage, Kinich gazes behind him, only to be met with the sight of emptiness where his father should have been.

Then, he makes the fateful decision to peer below.

There, lying between thickets of dense foliage lies the body of the man he once lived with — a man full of life mere seconds ago, now motionless and despondent. It feels unreal. A shiver runs down Kinich’s spine as a creeping sense of despair begins to stab at his heart. He blinks rapidly, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself, before making his way down the cliff.

Emotions are strange, and Kinich has never been good with them. He had always believed that everything would begin to look up once his father was out of the picture, but now that his father is gone for good, Kinich can’t help but grieve. No matter how horrible he was, he was still Kinich’s only remaining parent. There were better times too — times where his father would bring home a box of sweets for him and a bouquet of flowers for his mother. It almost felt like they were a real family. In Kinich’s mind, these instances pale in comparison to all the torment his father had put him through, yet he can’t completely erase his pleasant memories either.

So as one last act of respect, Kinich decides to bring his father’s body home with him.

The journey home is long and arduous. As Kinich navigates the surrounding wildlands and his newfound freedom, swinging from treetop to treetop with his father’s grappling hook, he wordlessly says goodbye to the man who had caused him so much pain throughout the former years of his life.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich becomes an orphan. He tucks himself into bed, and while other children would have had their loving mothers to lull them off to sleep in an aria of oneiric delights, he has nothing but the harsh, transient gale that rocks the thin walls of his home.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich ends up completely alone.

ACT III.

Kinich has dealt with nightmares before, but the ones that plague him after the death of his father are particularly horrific. Every night, as watercolour fuchsia and muted lilac begin to bleed into periwinkle skies, Kinich finds himself mentally preparing for the duress that lays ahead — for each time he closes his eyes, he is whisked back to the past, forced to relive events he’d much rather forget.

Sometimes he actively resists sleep, fearing the mirages that may appear in his dreams. It is on one such night that he finally recalls his debt to you. As he lays awake, trying to ward off all-consuming thoughts of eternal solitude and grief, he remembers the one other person he’s interacted with in recent times, and an idea comes to mind. He’s going to start paying his price tonight.

Kinich is usually one to take caution, but right now, he would do anything to keep his mind from lingering on his harsh reality. As such, he climbs out of bed, making his way outside to gather some of the crops he’s grown in a rugged patch of land behind his house.

It feels good to be outside again. The fresh air is a welcome change compared to the stifling atmosphere within a house that holds far too many memories for Kinich’s liking. His recollections range from saccharine-sweet to fear-evoking, yet one thing that remains constant is the fact that Kinich can’t stop recalling a past that seems oh-so-distant.

As Kinich picks up a tool, plowing through the dirt to unearth some of the grainfruit he had planted earlier that year, his thoughts drift back to his mother. She used to wrap her delicate fingers around his when he was younger, carefully guiding him as he learned to cultivate and take care of the crops. Back then, Kinich had felt a special type of fragile warmth, but now, all that remains is the chill of the evening air.

Kinich wonders if he’ll ever feel that warmth again.

He finishes gathering a respectable amount of food in no time, having had years of practice in the past. The young boy tosses the grainfruit into a sack, preparing to set off on a journey with phantasmagoric darkness as his only companion and the luminous constellations overhead as his only guide.

The sights and sounds of an enigmatic midnight distract him from the thoughts that have been running through his head on a daily basis. Kinich is sure to watch his step, although he’s nearly certain he knows the area well enough to walk through it blindfolded by now.

Finally, after around ten minutes of wandering through veils of silken achromatic, he sees the silhouette of a building in the distance, a rough outline against a backdrop of night. To his surprise, he spots a lantern emitting a gilded glow as he approaches, its incandescent light breaking through layers of obsidian obscurity, flooding it with a golden radiance instead. As he draws closer, he begins to make out the faint shape of a figure in the distance.

Strange. What normal person would be out at this hour?

As the features of the mysterious person become more defined, Kinich realizes it’s you again. Subconsciously, a soft smile begins to grace his features at the thought of getting to speak to you once more. It’s the first time he’s been genuinely happy in a while.

When Kinich steps into the dim firelight of the lantern, his features illuminated by the ember-forged halo of light, you eagerly approach him and wave. Something about the fact that you still recognize makes his heart grow just a little softer.

“It’s you,” you remark, your face lighting up excitedly.

Kinich nods, awkwardly shuffling under the weight of your gaze. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in him. He isn’t quite used to having people regard him with such attentiveness.

“What are you doing out at this time?” Curiosity flares in your eyes, dancing in asterisms of wonder that glimmer with the brilliance of the stars above. Normally Kinich doesn’t like it when others pry into his affairs, but he thinks the look of inquisitiveness is endearing on you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kinich bluntly responds, “and I had a debt to repay.” He gestures at the sack of grainfruit beside him, silently weighing out the costs in his mind. It isn’t enough to pay you back for helping a stranger unconditionally, but Kinich thinks it’s a start. At the very least, it’s enough to reimburse the material costs of tending to his wounds, and he’ll deal with reciprocating your actual actions later.

“Debt?” Your face contorts into a puzzled frown. Kinich decides that he appreciates this expression far less when it adorns your visage. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You treated my injuries the other day,” Kinich begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“And there’s really no need to repay me for that,” you interrupt. “Trust me. I wanted to help you.”

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, Kinich feels a flurry of opalescent butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Iridescent sparks of a newfound fuzzy feeling burst to life within his chest.

It’s… new. Everything is new with you.

“At least take the grainfruit,” he mutters, trying to remain nonchalant. As a young child, he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling, but he’d rather not make his emotions apparent. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to drag it back home.”

You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing, hauling the large bag inside with great difficulty before rushing back out to Kinich. By the time you return, he recalls that you shouldn’t be up at this hour either.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you awake right now?” Kinich asks you as you close the front door behind you.

Deep down, a part of him wants to know if there’s something troubling you so he can help you. It’s strange. It’s been a while since he last cared for someone this deeply, but he blames it all on his desire to reimburse you for your kindness, nothing more. Conveniently, he ignores the nascent emotions blooming within, repressing flourishes that take shape in frantic flickers of ruby and rose.

“It was a little too cold tonight,” you sigh, staring down at the ground. “I just couldn’t fall asleep comfortably.”

Kinich lets out a small hum of acknowledgement as the gears in his brain begin to turn, rotating in cycles of contemplation. Perhaps he’ll bring you an extra blanket next time he visits.

“Then why don’t we keep each other company for a while?” Kinich suggests. “It definitely beats being alone.” Kinich is not usually one to actively seek the company of other people, but you’re intriguing to him.

You nod, silently offering your hand to Kinich. It feels like the day you first met all over again, except under much better circumstances. This time, he laces your fingers without hesitation, allowing you to guide him through darkness fragmented only by rays of piercing starlight. He’s not quite sure where you’re leading him, but he knows he’s beginning to trust you a little.

Slowly, your destination becomes clear to Kinich. The two of you draw closer and closer to the cliffside — a spot where pure moonbeams grace the earth with their elegant touch. Kinich tenses slightly, haunting memories from a few weeks prior threatening to resurface above the murky waters of a wounded heart. However, he quells every spark of fear threatening to blaze alight.

He’s safe. Things aren’t the same as they were on that day, and the only other person around is you.

To Kinich’s relief, you settle down a safe distance from the cliff’s edge and pat the spot beside yourself, gesturing for Kinich to follow suit. He wordlessly obliges, simply relishing in the serenity that permeates the atmosphere, nearly tangible as he feels lingering traces of your body heat in the night air.

“Look up,” you whisper, laying a gentle hand on Kinich’s shoulder.

He does as he’s told, and the panoramic sight that greets him is enough to take his breath away. The skies above are the same as ever, yet this is the first time he has truly been able to appreciate their beauty. Kinich studies the constellations that burn with unrivalled luminosity, in awe of their brilliance. Diamond lights burn bright against a backdrop of deep sapphire, each shade of an abyssal ocean waltzing in a whimsical show of wonders.

Before today, he’d always been too busy caring for his mother, too preoccupied with his father’s hysteria, or too melancholy within his own solitude to enjoy anything with an unburdened heart. 

But now everything has changed. He’s free, and he has you now. Yet again, he feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, and before he has the chance to think about what all of this means, a shout breaks through the silence.

“A shooting star! Make a wish, Kinich!”

Kinich is more than familiar with wishing. He’s wished for plenty of things in his seven years of life. He’s wished for his father to stop gambling, he’s wished for his mother to come back, and he’s wished for his family to be happy together. Permanently. None of his wishes have ever come true.

But as he looks over at you, he notices hope and a childish innocence glittering in your eyes, manifesting in prismatic tones reflected from the skies above. A sense of warmth washes over him. Kinich sees a kind of purity in you that he wishes he could have clung onto for longer, so he makes a wish, if only to protect and humour you.

“I wish to be able to repay your kindness someday, even if it takes me a lifetime.”

ACT IV.

Throughout the years, Kinich’s debt to you only accumulates.

Word spreads like wildfire after the first few members of the tribe find out about Kinich’s living situation, and unsurprisingly, the news reaches your family as well. Strangers begin to graciously offer Kinich help, yet he always holds them at a distance. Nothing in the world is free, and he knows full well that there are people who conceal ulterior motives behind masks of charity.

There is, however, one exception.

You.

Deep down, Kinich knows that if the universe hadn’t entangled him within its delicate web of fate the day you first met, he would have never trusted you. It was only when he was left with no other options that he allowed you to aid him. He felt your sincerity that day, and although he’s still hesitant at the prospect of placing his wholehearted faith in anyone just yet, he lets you help him with his daily tasks. Kinich enjoys being around you, and a small part of him knows that he wants to be able to believe in you unconditionally.

You always show up early in the mornings, returning time and time again as the first traces of golden brilliance begin to graze the horizon. Kinich begins to find himself looking forward to the sunrise for the first time in his life.

In the past, Kinich would watch the last embers of twilight die out each day, violet enigma enveloped by vivid strokes of peach. He would always dread the day to come. Back then, nearly every waking hour of his life had been tedious and stressful, and thus he could only find respite in the land of the oneiric where dreams and absurdism erased the sorrow of real life.

But nowadays, each new dawn means spending more time with you.

You accompany him on various tasks. From farming to foraging to trading at the market, you’ve almost done it all.

Today’s task, however, requires slightly more precision.

As you set off towards a stretch of open plains with Kinich, you speak jovially, sharing stories from the past without a care in the world. Kinich himself doesn’t speak much. Instead, he listens, trying his best to piece together fragments of a childhood he never got to experience. Seeing your face light up with joy as you recall amusing escapades or confounding situations causes Kinich’s heart to swell slightly.

You only begin to quiet down when you draw near your destination. Kinich already made it abundantly clear that in order to get anything worthwhile from this trip, you need to proceed with the utmost caution.

Although you try your hardest to keep stealth in your step, you find that you’re not nearly as adept as Kinich, who has had years of experience traversing this territory. Occasionally, the sound of leaves crackling and twigs snapping will reach Kinich’s ear, and he’ll catch a glimpse of you stumbling. After a few minutes of painstaking silence interrupted only by the uneven rhythm of clumsy footfalls, Kinich decides to take your hand to steady you.

He tells himself he’s doing it to ensure you don’t scare away his next meal — that he doesn’t want you to mess up and feel guilty. However, behind his icy demeanour woven from years of hardship lies a small part of him that secretly enjoys the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of his palms mingling with yours.

Meticulously, Kinich leads you to a towering bush, its fragile emerald leaves dense enough to conceal an entire person. Its branches sprout out in piercing patterns of disorderly pandemonium, reflecting the true ruggedness of nature in its visage.

“Hide here, and don’t make a noise until I get back,” he whispers, his soft breath tickling the shell of your ear. Your proximity nearly causes shivers to run down Kinich’s spine, but years of practice have taught him to effortlessly conceal all his sentiments. “Watch closely.”

With those parting words, Kinich makes his way into the foliage, clutching a boar trap within his hand. He scans the ground for an optimal spot to place the contraption, finally settling on an area after around a minute of contemplation. As soon as he sets the device down, he leaves as quickly as he entered the area, gracefully making his way back to you without making so much as a noise.

Huddled behind the bush, the two of you watch in anticipation. Now that Kinich has left, wild boars have begun to make their ways out into the open, blissfully grazing, unaware of the peril that lies before them. An unsuspecting boar inches closer and closer to the trap, and Kinich’s breath hitches in anticipation, waiting for it to foolishly take the bait.

However, just as the boar begins to sniff the food laid within cold metallic jaws, you lean forward to get a better look. Kinich doesn’t react fast enough to stop you. Your movement is slight, yet it causes a large disturbance. The leaves of the bush you’re hidden behind rustle, and the boar looks up, its idyllic haze seemingly perturbed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it turns tail and runs, conveniently kicking fallen debris into the mouth of the trap, snapping it closed with a sharp click. The other wildlife in the area take off as well. A rush of polychromatic wings create shadows overhead as birds fly away, leaving only tufts of delicate feathers behind. Their dissonant cries echo in an ominous ode of precaution, alerting any other living beings in the area that there is danger lurking nearby.

So much for hunting.

Kinich sighs. Looks like it’ll be another few days before he’ll be able to get his hands on some meat. He just lost out on a sizable sum of mora. Now he’ll have to spend more on keeping himself fed over the next few days, he won’t have anything of worth to sell for extra money — and all that goes without even considering the time and resources he just wasted.

“Kinich, I’m so so sorry,” you start, shrinking back a little as your gaze meets his — an unreadable galaxy of jade and peridot, accentuated by intricate borders of copper and gold.

His heart clenches when he realizes that the look you’re regarding him with is one of fear and uncertainty. He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so with an uncharacteristic haste, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“No need to apologize,” Kinich reassures you, his words and tone soothing like a marine zephyr on a scorching summer day. “You were just curious.”

Kinich knows he has every right to be angry, but overreacting and directing his rage towards another person is the last thing he’d want to do. He knows better than anyone else the damage of misplaced blame and unwarranted rage.

He knows that normally under such circumstances, it would be most appropriate to calmly ask the other party to pay a sufficient price, but since it’s you, Kinich thinks he can let you off the hook. Just this once.

Mentally, he notes never to take you hunting again.

ACT V.

The flow of time is paradoxical, morphing and bending as seasons change and circumstances shift. In Kinich’s case, the former years of his life seemed to drag on, each harrowing second stretching into eons and millenia, but recently, he has begun to resent the evanescent essence of his days.

It feels like just yesterday, he was that fearful seven-year-old, all alone in the world without a soul to offer him solace. Now he’s sixteen — a little older and a lot wiser. Although the hardships he’s faced have been far from delightful, Kinich has had you by his side throughout it all.

The situation is no different in the present. Another hard day of labour passes as usual, and after hours upon hours of exerting yourselves under the blazing radiance of the sun, Kinich is ready to walk you home with a bag of today’s spoils.

However, as the two of you prepare for the journey ahead, ashen clouds begin to roll in, overtaking the pristine azure that once painted the sky. The light overhead starts to die out, fading at an agonizing swift pace. Although Kinich has safely escorted you home during minor storms before, he has a feeling today will be different. Something about the petrichor that floods his senses feels like a premonition, a warning of disasters to come, and the atmosphere is electrifying.

“We’d better get going if we want to make it before it starts pouring,” you chuckle lightheartedly, seemingly unperturbed. You only begin to look concerned when Kinich doesn’t respond, his mind clouded with a daze of rumination. Upon seeing your features morph into an expression of concern, Kinich finally snaps out of his trance.

“You should stay the night instead.” The confused look you shoot his way causes a wave of awkwardness to wash over the ambience, yet Kinich continues to elaborate. “I have a bad feeling about the incoming storm. It feels different.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you though,” you protest. “If we leave quickly, everything will probably be okay.”

Kinich shakes his head.

“You’re not a burden at all,” he whispers. “You’ve spent your precious time helping me. The least I could do is ensure your safety and offer my home as a refuge.”

Despite Kinich’s reassurances, you continue to refute his statements.

“But I really don’t think staying over is necessary. If you’re worried about walking back alone in a storm, you don’t need to accompany me. I’ll be okay. Promise.”

You turn away from Kinich, ready to set off. A rush of panic sends daggers of serrated trepidation to his soul. It’s unlike Kinich to lose his cool, and although he maintains a serene facade, the unsettling feeling that has been permeating his senses this entire time begins bubbling to the surface, each potential tragedy rushing through his mind in a frenzied series of what-ifs.

Without thinking, Kinich catches your wrist in his fingers, maintaining a loose grip.

“Don’t go,” he utters. He despises the vulnerability that laces his tone, but he’s more desperate than ever.

Kinich has already lost both his parents. The mere notion of losing you too is unbearable. If the storm really ends up being as intense as he predicts, he knows that muddy cliffsides, discombobulating spirals of sharp crystalline raindrops, and blinding flashes of lightning will all make for an incredibly disadvantageous situation. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the way his father had passed, but he swiftly represses those thoughts, pushing them back into a seldom-visited corner of his mind.

When Kinich’s gaze meets yours, your expression softens. He can feel your resolve fading.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “You’re lucky my family has full confidence in your ability to protect me, otherwise they’d go ballistic if I didn’t come home.”

Just as you finally agree to Kinich’s proposition, the sensation of frosted drops of water prickles at his skin. The storm has begun. With haste, he pulls you indoors, quickly shutting the door to keep all the unwanted rain out.

The two of you wait it out, speaking leisurely as if nature isn’t erupting into chaos all around you. When you’re together, it feels like nothing else exists. Without a clear view of the sun in the sky, Kinich is unsure of how much time passes, but after a while, he notices that a haze of exhaustion begins to elicit yawns from you.

“Tired? You should get some sleep,” Kinich hums nonchalantly. The ambience feels tranquil, and despite the peril just outside the walls of his home, Kinich feels at ease.

You move to lie down on a dilapidated couch in the middle of the cramped living room, but Kinich immediately protests. He knows you’ll inevitably start to feel cold or uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wants you to experience as an honoured guest within his abode.

“Don’t sleep out here. You’ll freeze.”

Kinich takes your hand, and you allow him to pull you up. He leads you to another room — his room. For the most part, it’s barren, but Kinich watches as your eyes land on a small collection of items sitting atop an aged drawer beside his bed. Memorabilia from your various years together line the edges of dull wood — birthday gifts, trinkets that reminded you of him, and short notes of appreciation. He watches as a subtle grin etches itself into your features as embarrassment and admiration wash over him.

“You kept all this?” Slight surprise lines your tone as you pose your rhetorical question.

Kinich nods, unsure of how to elaborate. Even he’s not completely sure as to why he stores all the keepsakes you’ve ever presented him so meticulously. All he knows is that they’re important to him. You’re important to him.

“That’s sweet,” you mumble, leaning over to examine everything more closely. Your eyes linger on each object, memories flashing in their depths.

Kinich feels his heart flutter.

You spend a few minutes poring over the items and recollections of the past before finally retiring to bed. Kinich watches as you pull the covers over yourself, and he ensures you’re comfortable before turning to leave.

This time, however, it’s your turn to encircle your fingers around his arm, prompting him to stay.

“Where are you going?” you inquire, gazing up at Kinich curiously.

“Back to the living room,” he replies, gently twisting his wrist, loosening your grip.

“You said it was cold though.”

Kinich shrugs. “I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”

“What if I think I’d be more comfortable with you by my side?”

Kinich tenses, and for a second, his brain malfunctions, barely processing the intent of your words. He comes to the realization that he’s not opposed to the idea. Besides, it was logical; it would help the two of you stay warm for the night.

“As long as you’re happy,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but into your eyes. Slowly, he begins to climb into bed beside you, cramming his limbs to one side in order to ensure you have enough personal space. Kinich feels unusually tense, and his heartbeat starts to spike in a melody of frantic sentiments as he begins to sense your body heat radiating from the other side of the bed.

Although Kinich tries to calm himself, it’s to no avail, especially when you shift over slightly, entangling your fingers with his. Your eyes flutter shut, and sleep pulls you under, lulling you into a whimsical land of nonsensical wonders. As frantic as the contact makes Kinich feel, he can’t bring himself to pry his hand from your grasp. The feeling of your fingers laced together is not an unpleasant sensation.

So with his hand in yours, Kinich falls asleep, and for the first night in his life, he experiences a truly restful slumber. His last thought before the tides of exhaustion drag him off to an ocean of reverie is how despite his unusual nerves, he wouldn’t mind doing this again.

And when Kinich comes to the next morning, he’s met with the most ethereal sight of his life. Early morning light blooms through the windows, tinting every corner of the room an aureate shade. The brilliance of the sun is utopia compared to the tumultuous conditions of last night, and as Kinich looks over at you, he notices the peace and content instilled within every dip and curve of your face.

You’re angelic, and the feeling of you by his side is just so right.

When Kinich comes to terms with the fact that he wants to wake up to the sight of your soft smile every single day, he finally realizes the true significance of the emotions he’s harboured towards you for years.

He’s in love.

ACT VI.

It isn’t often that you go to the market without Kinich by your side. The two of you are more or less a package deal, so when you show up alone, equipped with a small pouch of mora and without your most trusted companion, you immediately notice the whispers that follow.

“Do you think something happened to Kinich?”

“Maybe he got offered a commission that he deemed more worthy of his time.”

“Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important to Kinich than [name] — not even mora!”

The speculations range from reasonable to absolutely implausible, and in all honesty, you have no idea what Kinich is doing at the moment. All you can do is tune everything out and focus on your objective: finding a suitable friendship anniversary gift for Kinich.

Ever since Kinich became a saurian hunter and started taking commissions, you’ve been spending less and less time together. However, he’s always accompanied you to the market, helping you weigh each cost with the utmost precision. Although you’re rarely thrilled by the fact that he’s busier with his own affairs now, today is one of the few times where it works to your advantage. You want to surprise him with something special, and the absence of his presence will ensure that nothing is spoiled before the right time comes.

As you browse the goods sold by an elderly vendor, you feel a tug on the hem of your clothing. Upon looking down, you find yourself greeted by two familiar faces — Huni and Toba.

“Hey, little ones,” you say, grinning at the two children gazing at you with wide eyes. “Is something the matter?”

Huni nods furiously, Toba mimicking her actions just seconds later. You stifle a giggle. In a way, the two remind you of you and Kinich when you were younger — virtually conjoined.

“We were wondering if Kinich was okay,” Toba responds, nervously clasping his hands together.

“Ah,” you breathe out, finding yourself faced with expectant stares from all around. You can tell that prying eyes and ears have been trained on you, eager for any semblance of gossip. “Why does everyone seem to think something’s up with Kinich today?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Huni giggles, barely able to conceal her glee. “Everyone knows he follows you everywhere because the two of you are together.”

Toba nudges Huni lightly, his gaze becoming the slightest bit pointed as he reprimands her in a hushed tone. “Huni! You weren’t supposed to say that.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking over the implications of Huni’s statement. Surely you misheard. Surely you’re just misinterpreting the girl’s words. Surely no one actually thinks you and Kinich are a couple, right?

“Excuse me, what?” you blurt out. No other words come to mind at the moment, as you’re too shocked to muster any coherent thought. “Kinich and I are what?”

“Together,” Huni states simply. “A couple. Totally head-over-heels for each other.”

A frown clouds your features as your muscles tense. You and Kinich are nothing more than friends, and although you’re extremely close — nearly abnormally so — you’ve never even discussed the possibility of being anything more. Why does everyone around you suddenly seem to think you’re in love?

Perhaps your confusion is evident because Huni continues to elaborate in excruciating detail.

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching — it’s like his eyes fill with the light of a thousand stars. Oh, he also always asks the shopkeepers if anything’s caught your eye recently whenever you’re distracted, and…”

You tune out Huni’s tangent about you and Kinich, the thoughts in your mind coming to a halt temporarily to protect yourself from the onslaught of confounding claims being made. It feels like complete blankness engulfs your mind as you remain frozen in place, each fleeting moment feeling more comparable to an eternity. The more you dwell on Huni’s assumption, the more you realize you don’t mind envisioning yourself with Kinich.

You’re only pulled out of your mental retreat when a familiar voice rings out through the discord of marketplace conversations.

“[Name],” Kinich greets you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

To your relief, Toba drags Huni off as Kinich approaches, frantically trying to ensure that she doesn’t say anything more in front of the saurian hunter himself. You feel a sense of momentary relief, but now that Kinich is here, what are you going to do about his present?

“Yeah, I had some free time today and wanted to check out some of the new goods. It’s been about a week since I’ve come by.”

Unsurprisingly Kinich doesn’t look convinced. Doubt swirls in a faint starlight glimmer within irises of fern and honeyed sunbeams. He knows you like the back of his own hand.

“What’s really going on?” he asks, a hint of concern entangled in his tone. He watches you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

Busted. Although you would have much preferred keeping your gift to Kinich a surprise, you figure it’s still better to ensure he doesn’t worry that you’ve been roped into doing suspicious business. You know from experience that Kinich tends to take drastic measures when he thinks you’re in danger, and you’d rather not have him go to such lengths over nothing.

“You know how our friendship anniversary is coming up?” you explain.

A look of realization flashes across Kinich’s features. Before he can speak, a grating voice that you’ve been hearing more often in recent times interrupts.

“So my lowly servant and his pesky idiot of a companion had the same idea,” Ajaw cackles, appearing from behind Kinich. You try your best to stifle an exasperated groan. “Maybe you really are meant to be — after all, you share one collective brain cell!”

You glare at Ajaw, and Kinich sighs, nonchalantly raising an arm to send Ajaw off to solitary confinement.

“Sorry about that. Ajaw’s been acting up more than usual since the last time I put him in timeout,” Kinich says.

You chuckle before a realization suddenly hits you.

“Wait, Ajaw said you were here for the same reason as me,” you speak hesitantly. “Were you getting me a gift too?” The way Kinich averts his gaze as you ask your question nearly elicits more giggles from you.

“Looks like we caught each other at the worst time,” Kinich sighs.

You nod in agreement, and although you’re slightly disappointed you couldn’t have kept your secret mission inconspicuous, you find the corners of your lips turning up in a smile. There’s a strange sort of comfortable humour in the situation that you only experience around Kinich.

“Since we’re both here anyway, we might as well go shopping together,” you hum, taking Kinich’s hand and dragging him off. Maybe people will stop bothering you now that Kinich is by your side again.

You wander with Kinich, gaze flitting over various items on display. However, despite all your searching, nothing quite piques your interests. It’s not until rose and clematis scatter themselves across the sky in a brilliant display of mosaic-esque shards that something finally catches your eye.

On a small table tucked within an obscure corner of the marketplace sits two matching bracelets, delicate stars engraved into opulent charms hanging from each one. The woven threads of each accessory look intricately-crafted to the point where even the finer details appear flawless.

They’re beautiful, but more importantly, they remind you of that night more than a decade ago where Kinich had wished upon a star for the first time in years. They remind you of the night where Kinich found hope once more. That’s what seals the deal for you.

“Excuse me, Ms. Vendor. I’ll take the two bracelets.”

ACT VII.

No one takes death seriously until it comes knocking at their door.

Kinich comes to the realization as he trembles on the battlefield of the Night Warden Wars, his bones aching and his joints ready to give up on him. He’s exhausted, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and allow the frigid touch of death to kiss away the last remnants of warmth from his soul. However, relenting would mean admitting defeat.

Relenting would mean never seeing you again.

(And that’s the last thing he wants.)

Everyone lives as if their time is unlimited — as if tomorrow is guaranteed to come. Humans tend to assume the future is a never-ending tale, a novel with no finale, so they continuously delay, waiting and waiting and waiting because they believe they still have many years ahead of them to wrap up their affairs.

Kinich realizes all too late that he has been ensnared within the same folly. As he remains slumped on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest, a sense of deep regret washes over him.

He never got to tell you that he loved you.

Even after all these years, Kinich has never been able to bring himself to utter those words — not even once — and now, he’ll pay the price for his hesitation. A small part of him has always been too cowardly to cross the line from friendship into the uncharted territory of something more. 

Kinich hardly knows much pertaining to love, but from what little he’s seen in his former years of life, he knows it’s a double-edged sword — a smoldering flame of passion that burns with unparalleled brilliance. But when a roaring blaze grows too intense, it consumes all, leaving nothing but ashes and tears.

His parents had been in love at some point. Kinich recalls the times where his father would embrace his mother after handing her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers, his lips brushing across her bruised cheek with a rare sweetness. In those moments, Kinich’s father would whisper words of affirmation to his mother — promises and saccharine reassurances that would always remain unfulfilled.

Yet more often than not, their “love” consisted of domestic quarrels, the shattering of glassware against the walls of a derelict house or the slap of a hand across blemished skin. Love had destroyed them, and Kinich’s worst fear is the thought of your relationship falling apart.

So he’s maintained an ample distance throughout the years, keeping you at arm’s length to ensure nothing goes wrong. He’s always been by your side, close enough to share embers of his love yet not close enough to burn you, and now his caution is returning to haunt him.

Kinich is going to die before he has the chance to confess his true feelings.

As much as he wills himself to stay conscious, his eyelids begin to grow heavy, threatening to flutter shut for the last time. The sweet sensation of death threatens to lull Kinich into an eternal slumber, luring him in with a deceptively-tantalizing siren song, filled with promises of peace and an end to his suffering. A sense of fear grips Kinich as his life begins slipping away. He’s not ready to die. There’s so much he still wants to experience with you.

A million thoughts race through his mind before his imminent demise.

He thinks of Ajaw, who would be free to catalyze the implosion of the seven nations without Kinich around. As cruel as fate has been to him, Kinich doesn’t want the world to burn.

He thinks of his comrades — fallen warriors who had fought valiantly until they no longer had the strength to go on. They deserve to be revered and honoured, not lost to the sands of time.

And he thinks of you. His everything.

The weight of the star bracelet you had gifted him starts feeling a lot heavier. When you purchased it, you had told him it brought back recollections from one of the best days of your life, adding that you hoped you’d make many more precious memories in the future.

Kinich can’t let you down now.

A wish flickers to life within the depths of his soul, desperately manifesting in shades of emerald and rich forest green. Resplendent viridescent tourmaline glints by his chest where there had once been a gaping wound, fueling Kinich with revived vigor. Kinich feels rejuvenated, and with his newfound strength, he stands, preparing to face another onslaught of abyssal attacks.

This time he’s ready, and he’ll stop at nothing until he purges every last enemy.

Kinich is determined to fight — for Natlan, for his comrades, and most importantly, for you.

ACT VIII.

When a hero returns from war, they are typically met with the relieved faces of their loved ones and an outpouring of affection. However, Kinich finds that neither of these things welcome him upon his arrival home. Instead, he is greeted by the sight of an exasperated frown on your face and vitreous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“You’re so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe you almost got yourself killed!” You continue to ramble on, your words amalgamating in a panicked jumble of incoherence as Kinich wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace. Ever since Kinich told you what happened during the Night Warden Wars, you’ve been distraught.

To his relief, he feels the tension within your body dissipate as the proximity between the two of you gradually dwindles. With your face finally hidden from view, you allow your teardrops to flow freely down your cheeks in bittersweet rivulets; Kinich can tell from the way his clothing seems to dampen. Absent-mindedly, Kinich traces circles on your back, calmly running through cycles upon cycles to ground you.

“Sorry,” is all Kinich can muster, his throat feeling parched under the scrutiny of your glare as you pull away to shoot him a nasty look. There’s so much more he wants to say to you, but he can’t find the strength to put any of it into words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You scoff, your tone nearly sardonic in nature, yet beneath it all, Kinich can sense how much you missed him —- how terrified you were that you would never see him again.

“Is that all you have to say?” you ask. “You nearly died, Kinich. I nearly lost you.”

The lines of your facial features, once creased in irritation, soften, giving way to vulnerability.

“I know,” he sighs, shivering as resignation chills him to the bone. He hates the fact that you’re right. Kinich reaches out to caress your cheek, gently wiping a tear in the process. “I’m still here though.”

“That doesn’t guarantee the same thing won’t happen in the future,” you choke out between hushed sobs. “What if next time you actually…”

Before you can go on, Kinich presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. For a few seconds, he simply allows you to lose yourself within the comfort of his arms. He needs you to process the fact that he’s tangible, breathing, alive, before he says anything more. Kinich waits for your ragged gasps to even out before speaking.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, moving a hand to lace your fingers together.

You nod furiously, eyeing Kinich suspiciously through your sorrowful display of emotions.

“Then believe me when I say I’ll always return to you,” Kinich whispers softly.

Moments go by before you hesitantly respond.

“Fine.”

Kinich isn’t one to break promises. Ending a contract unceremoniously leads to mounting costs and debt, so he tends to avoid obliging to tasks he considers impossible. Perhaps that’s why you relent so easily. You know Kinich would never go back on his word — especially not if it has anything to do with you.

“I’m still expecting you to make it up to me though. I was unbelievably worried.”

“Sure thing,” Kinich replies, his voice breezy and nonchalant once more.

Just let me hold you for a little while longer first.

ACT IX.

Adrenaline courses through Kinich’s veins, fueling him with an urgent sort of determination. He races the wind, desperately trying to transcend nature itself. He’s always been quick, but right now, he’s not sure he’ll be quick enough.

You could be in danger.

If Kinich had known that there had been a surge in abyssal activity within the territory of the People of the Springs, he would have never let you accompany Mualani and the Traveler on their excursion; he wouldn’t have sent Ajaw away on a special mission in the dead of night in an attempt to seek some peace and quiet either. However, Kinich only found out a mere hour ago, and now he’s scrambling to reach you without the aid of his flying companion.

Kinich knows very well that he could arrive just to find that nothing serious is going on, but the thought of not being by your side to protect you in the case that something actually does happen glazes his soul over into a thousand fractals of crystalline fear.

That’s why he runs with as much haste as he can muster, guided by gilded lights reflected in untamed waters, their glow casting a luminous sheen across the wavering ocean surface. As Kinich draws closer, he senses a feeling of foreboding in the air, charging his surroundings with the essence of an ominous premonition.

And then he hears it — an ear-shattering scream.

No matter how much Kinich’s legs scream for respite, he rushes on. With every step, his pace only accelerates. The sole thought on his mind is getting to you in time.

When he finally reaches the village, pandemonium is the first thing to make his acquaintance. Warriors from the tribe fiercely attempt to fend off the incoming assault on their homeland, parrying the attacks of each monstrous entity with precision developed throughout years of rigorous training. Kinich knows they’re skilled at fighting. He trusts them, so instead of delaying, he rushes to more secluded corners of the town, fending off any monsters lurking around the outskirts in the hopes that he’ll run into you on the way.

He swings his claymore as if it's instinct, warding off all peril as he desperately searches the din of discombobulating havoc for any sign of you. His first potential lead comes in the form of a cerulean blur, followed closely by a flash of gold — two of Kinich’s few friends. Before Kinich can call their names, they’re already out of earshot. However, as he turns away to continue his search, a small fairy-esque creature barrels into him, swaying slightly as a ferocious gale attempts to send her flying into disarray.

Kinich reacts quickly, his body working faster than his brain. With ease, he snatches the entity from the sky, effectively pulling her out of harm’s way.

“Hello, Paimon,” Kinich says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. With great difficulty, he suppresses all the anxiety, facing Paimon without betraying so much as a hint of emotion. Truthfully, he’s a wreck on the inside.

“Kinich!” Paimon exclaims, her high-pitched voice cutting through the cacophony of noise ringing out in the turbulent night. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for [name]. Have you seen them around?”

Kinich doesn’t realize he’s holding in his breath until he hears Paimon’s response. A small gasp slips past his lips.

“Um, last Paimon heard, they were heading to the east part of the village. There were some kids playing there earlier without supervision.”

Of course. Kinich should have known you were off helping others. You had always been willing to lend a hand to those in need, even when you first met Kinich. It was one of your many traits that charmed him all those years ago.

“Thank you, Paimon,” Kinich says, trying his best to keep a building sense of dread at bay. “You should catch up with the Traveler now.”

“See you soon, Kinich,” Paimon chirps before zipping away.

Now that he’s alone, Kinich finally allows the panic to set in. With even more fervour than before, he speeds off in your direction, grasping at various ledges with his grappling hook to move quicker. Kinich is all but weightless, akin to a delicate feather drifting through the breeze. However, it’s still not enough.

You’re cornered and alone when he finally spots you, backed to a wall as two beastly hounds eye you hungrily, sparks of violet electricity igniting in their irises. Just as Kinich figures that the kids have been brought to safety, one of the creatures lets out a guttural roar, a horrific sound unlike anything from this world. You cower in response. Time seems to slow as Kinich watches the abomination extend its claws, ready to rip into you without mercy.

Before he can spare another thought, Kinich’s body reacts. He flings himself through the air, landing precariously fast and skidding along the grass. As he starts slowing to a stop in front of you, he swings his claymore, countering the abyssal wolf’s attack.

Kinich shields you. No matter how perilous the situation becomes, he knows he will need to remain steadfast and resolute.

As the dust settles, you finally catch a glimpse of Kinich. He hears you call his name, feels your hand brush against his shoulder, and senses you shuffling next to him.

However, danger still lurks before you, so with one hand, Kinich lightly shoves you back, taking caution to ensure you won’t end up injured.

“Let me handle this,” he says, extending an arm to prevent you from taking another step forward. He changes his stance and faces the hounds head-on.

The monsters prepare to attack again, and Kinich takes it as a sign to charge forth, swinging his claymore with as much force as he can manage. Although the beasts are fearsome, Kinich lands blow after blow, gradually weakening them with each hit. The only thing on his mind right now is his desire to protect — to save you like you saved him all those years ago.

Kinich allows his instincts to take over, relying on the battle experience he’s accumulated to guide him through the abyssal skirmish. Suddenly he feels as though he’s back in the Night Warden Wars, fighting with all his heart to ensure he’d see you again. His resolve steels, and with one final strike of his weapon, he dispels all danger, banishing the hounds before him to the precarious realm from whence they came.

As soon as Kinich has ensured that the situation has settled, he turns back to inquire about your wellbeing. However, before a single word can slip past his lips, you run up to him and collapse in his arms, trembling like a leaf within a harrowing autumn squall.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Kinich holds you tighter, his grip so secure that even death wouldn’t be able to pry you from his grasp. “I’ve got you.”

“I was so scared… that I’d never see you again,” you gasp between shaky breaths, your panic slowly beginning to dissipate.

Kinich feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest. He knows better than anyone how you must have felt, what you were thinking as you lived out what you thought were your last moments. He was in your exact situation once, and all he can recall is his final plea to Celestia — his wish to return home to the welcoming sight of your radiant visage at least once more.

“I couldn’t die before I told you that,” you hesitate, your words catching in your throat, “before I told you that I loved you.”

Kinich’s breath hitches. His body freezes, and his surroundings become all but null. Maybe you really are telepathically linked because that had been his exact thought as he felt his life ebbing away during the Night Warden Wars, ascending to a divine plane in chapters of fragile mortality.

“You love me?” Kinich breathes out. In the mayhem, all is momentarily forgotten as blissful euphoria overtakes his heart, sending zephyrs of rose-tinted elation through his mind. After an eternity of waiting, Kinich finally realizes his feelings are reciprocated. “I love you too.”

The look on your face softens as sensibility and coherency begin to overtake you once more, but before you can return Kinich’s affections, dissonant screams and crashes shatter your transient utopia.

Right. You’re still in the midst of chaos.

“Do you know where the Traveler and Mualani were headed?” Kinich questions you urgently, recoiling slightly as he ruins the moment. He hates the fact that he’ll have to push aside the implications of your confession for now, but at the moment, people’s lives are still in danger.

You nod vigorously.

“I’ll take you over to them and then head back to the village to assist in resolving the crisis. We can talk more tonight.”

ACT X.

The festivities of the People of the Springs stretch well past midnight that evening, celebrating the triumph of their heroes and the recovery of the esteemed warrior Atea. Lively melodies ring out in the refreshing night air, filling the evening with songs of invigorating joy and glorious victory. Even from atop a cliff overlooking everything, the warm atmosphere still engulfs you. Although you had stayed for the commencement of the party, you and Kinich eventually decided to retire to a slightly more secluded area to pick up your conversation from earlier.

“So,” you start, your nerves beginning to flare up in a culmination of resplendent flames, “where do we start?” Subconsciously, you begin to toy with your fingers, and you don’t notice until Kinich stops you, taking your hand in his.

“Well first things first, we know we love each other,” he states, looking into your eyes. Ardor dances within his gaze, making itself at home between brilliant murals of malachite and topaz. The way moonlight catches in his irises, illuminating his features with a certain softness, makes your heart melt.

Now that Kinich no longer has to hold back, his immense love for you becomes tremendously apparent. As he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, you realize that even the silences are adorned with gentle reminders of his feelings for you.

“It seems so obvious now,” you laugh lightly. “I wonder why we didn’t end up confessing sooner.”

Kinich hums nonchalantly, averting his eyes for just a second before turning back to you.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was scared?” Kinich asks.

Amusement graces his features as you shake your head. Nowadays, Kinich is usually so calm — so composed — never allowing his demeanour to betray even the slightest hint of distress. From hunting saurians to extreme sports to tolerating Ajaw’s creative threats all the time, Kinich has endured everything with a brave face, but now you’re starting to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as fearless as he appears.

“What were you scared of?” you inquire, tilting your head slightly to examine Kinich.

A pause ensues as Kinich mulls over his response, mentally preparing himself to pour out his heart. He’s not used to it, but he’s ready to start trying for you.

“Ruining the best thing life has ever given me,” he whispers. “You know you’re everything to me, right?”

You’re breathless as you stare at Kinich. The pure emotion behind his words is enough to widen your grin. Your heart feels like it’s ready to pulse out of your chest, speeding up in a grand accelerando and growing louder in a magnificent crescendo.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is as it should be when you’re with him.

This is your flawless elysium.

“May I?” You cup Kinich’s face with one hand, leaning towards him. Your gaze falls on his lips, and you hear him breath in softly.

Kinich nods, reciprocating your actions as he bridges the gap between you.

Time seems to slow as your lips meet in an incandescent flash of effulgent sparks. The night gleams in shades of starlight and utopia, illuminating the moment with a brilliance that encapsulates nothing less than pure love. Perhaps your souls have been intertwined since the beginning, or perhaps destiny pulled some strings to bring the two of you together, but you’re absolutely certain that from this moment on, you would only part in death.

As you pull away from Kinich, a strange smile adorns his features. Before you can question him, he speaks.

“I finally repaid you,” he says, “after all this time.”

You laugh. He’s still worrying about that?

“Thank you, love, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore,” you respond. A part of you finds it endearing that he’s still trying to make things even after your countless seasons together, yet you feel obligated to reassure him he never has to reimburse you again.

Kinich gazes at you inquisitively.

“There’s no debt between lovers, silly — only pure adoration and happiness.”

FIN. tysm for taking the time to read this fic <3

[cathkaesque]

Relentless direct action has secured another victory in the fight against Israel’s arms trade, as Elbit Systems are forced to sell their ‘Elite KL’ factory in Tamworth.

The company had previously manufactured cooling and power management systems for military vehicles, but was sold on after stating that it faced falling profits and increased security costs resulting from Palestine Action’s efforts. 

After the sale was completed last month, Elite KL’s new owners, listed as Griffin Newco Ltd, confirmed in an email to Palestine Action that they will have nothing to do with the previous owners, Elbit, and have discontinued any arms manufacturing:

“Following the recent acquisition of Elite KL Limited by a UK investment syndicate, the newly appointed board has unanimously agreed to withdraw from all future defence contracts and terminate its association with its former parent company”.

This victory is a direct result of sustained direct action which has sought, throughout Palestine Action’s existence, to make it impossible for Elbit to afford to operate in Britain. Before they sold the enterprise to a private equity syndicate, Elbit had reported that Elite KL operating profits had been slashed by over three-quarters, with Palestine Action responsible: Elbit directly cited the increased expenditure on security they’d been forced to make, and higher supply chain costs they faced.

And these actions did, indeed, cost them. The first action at the site, in November 2020, saw Elite KL’s premises smashed into, the building covered in blood-red paint. Between March and July 2021, the site was put out of action three times by roof-top occupations – drenched red in March 2021, with the factory’s camera systems dismantled, before again being occupied in in May. Another roof-top occupation in July, despite increased security, saw the site forced closed – once again painted blood-red, and with its windows and fixings smashed through.

In February 2022, activists decommissioned the site for weeks – closed off after an occupation that saw over £250,000 of damages caused, the roof tiles removed one-by-one. After this, Elbit erected a security perimeter around the site – but to no avail. One month later, six were arrested after Palestine Action returned to Tamworth – again taking the roof and smashing through, preventing the production of parts for Israel’s military machine.

Elite KL is a ‘specialist thermal management business’. Since the sale, the company focuses on cooling systems for buses and trains, but it had, under Elbit, manufactured these systems for military vehicles. Until December of last year, Elite KL’s website was advertising its military and defence products, and it was known to provide parts for Israel’s deadly Merkava tanks, with export license records demonstrating its provision of ‘ML6a’ components for military ground vehicles to Israel. The company was also known to manufacture crew cooling systems, for the military vests of tank operators.

Elbit Systems itself provides 85% of the drones and land-based military equipment for the Israeli military, along with a wide range of the munitions and armaments currently being used against Gaza’s beseiged population. Its CEO, Bazhalel Machlis, has claimed that the Israeli military has offered the company its thanks for their “crucial” services during the ongoing genocide in Gaza

A Palestine Action spokesperson has stated:

“Each activist who occupied and dismantled Tamworth’s Israeli weapons factory did so in order to bring an end to Israel’s weapons trade, and to end the profiteering from Palestinian repression. Every defeat Elbit faces is a victory for the Palestinian people.

Kicking Elbit out of Tamworth shows once again that direct action is a necessary tactic. It is one which must be utilised and amplified in the face of the Gaza genocide.”

[fhrlclln]

qimir x jedi! reader

i fear the qimir brainrot in me has overloaded with ep. 8 soooo…. imagine reader is a jedi master that joins sol in their mission in olega. and when they interrogate qimir, they immediately recognize him but doesn’t utter anything that he’s a former jedi cuz reader happens to be friends with him- maybe something more back then when they were still padawans. so here’s a small blurb to ease my mind lmao.

part two

｡･:*˚:✧｡

“i-if you want to get to her, she’ll be back here tonight! i’m holding some things for her.”

“yord, secure the perimeter. keep an eye out on mae.”

walking towards the local apothecary with ease in your steps, you watch as the jedi knight yord come out. presuming they had already found a lead, a curiosity in you arose as you walk in. master sol greets you as him and osha pass by you. jecki comes out last as she greets you as well, telling you that mae was going to arrive in the apothecary tonight. since apparently her accomplice ratted her out so easily.

“is her accomplice still in there?” you ask the young padawan as she nods. you thank her, heading inside. you wanted to see for yourself who it was. removing the hood of your cloak, you see a man behind the counter wearing what seemed to be ill-fitted robes on him. by first impression, he looks like a normal merchant yet when he turns around, as if sensing you were there, you freeze for a moment.

there’s a deafening silence when you lock eyes with those familiar ones.

qimir’s whole facade breaks when he sees you standing in the same room as him. you watch his expression drop at the instant as you are face to face with the former jedi you used to have lessons with. both of you are silent and expressionless until he breaks it.

“what a coincidence.” he says.

“indeed.” you reply and took a step forward. “it’s been years.” you point out, trying not to let your emotions come out. qimir’s lips curl into a smirk as you don’t seem to be alerting the jedis you are with now that you know him and his true identity.

“aren’t you going to tell them?” he asks, gazing upon you. you don’t answer, still a bit in dazed that qimir was standing right in front of you. alive and well. you didn’t really know what had happened to him when he had left the order one day. it had pained you the day when he had left without reason- without telling you why.

and maybe that’s why you won’t tell sol and the others of this new fragile information.

you just want answers now for the years of questioning why he left you alone in coruscant.

qimir seems a bit baffled as he walks out of the counter to come to you. he expects for you to lash out yet you don’t flinch when he invades your space, you remain calm and in-control. how very jedi. he observes silently, seeming to understand your silence as he chuckles, raising his hand up to brush a stray hair off your face. your eyelashes flutter at his sudden touch. he indulges in that as you let him touch you as he smirks.

“have you missed me?”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

so its canon this man’s love language is physical touch, hm? HAHAHW

[blueiscoool]

A Blue Painted Shrine is the Latest Discovery in Pompeii ‘Treasure Chest’

Archaeologists have unearthed an intricately decorated blue room, interpreted as an ancient Roman shrine known as a sacrarium, during recent excavations in central Pompeii in Italy.

The Italian Minister of Culture, Gennaro Sangiuliano, visited the site on Tuesday, describing the ancient city as “a treasure chest that is still partly unexplored.”

The blue color found in this new discovery is rare, with the culture ministry outlining that it is generally associated with environments of great decorative importance.

An in-depth analysis of the room, according to the ministry, found that the space could be interpreted as a sacrarium or a space dedicated to ritual activities and the conservation of sacred objects.

The walls of the room feature female figures that are said to depict the four seasons of the year, as well as allegories of agriculture and shepherding.

The new discovery came amid excavations in the Regio IX area of central Pompeii, a residential area that is currently one of the most active excavation sites for new findings.

The excavations are part of a broader project to secure a perimeter between the excavated and non-excavated areas of the archaeological park, which currently has more than 13,000 excavated rooms.

The project aims to improve the structure of the area, making the “protection of the vast Pompeiian heritage… more effective and sustainable,” the culture ministry said.

Other recent findings in the area include furnishings belonging to a house, a bronze kit with two jugs and two lamps, building materials used in renovations, and the shells of oysters that had been consumed.

Last week, it was reported that archaeologists in Pompeii had uncovered children’s sketches depicting violent scenes of gladiators and hunters battling animals.

The drawings, thought to be made by children between the ages of five and seven sometime before Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, were found on the walls of a back room in the residential sector of the archaeological park.

They showed that even children in ancient times were exposed to extreme violence.

By Antonia Mortensen and Jessie Gretener.

[from-izzy]

skating with you | nct lee donghyuck | haechan

Haechan leans his forehead to yours as your icy noses brush against each other, “Eyes on me, bubs,” he whispers.

pairing » nct lee donghyuck (haechan) x gn!reader (lmk if i missed anything!)

trope/au » established relationship au!, holiday theme!

genre » fluffy fluff fluff!, cheeky and slightly flirty haechan, and slightly flustered reader...?, cutie boyfriend haechan, no. 1 supportive and caring haechan, reader doesn't really know how to skate and haechan helps you through it, it's all so very lovely (and i need someone to help me skate-)

word count; estimated reading time » 850; ~4 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » none!

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist

is this my last upload of the year...? we shall see!!

“If I fall flat on my face, this will be your fault,” your threat only seems harmless to your boyfriend.

Haechan skates further away from you, lightly showing off his skills of skating backward gracefully, even adding light twirl patterns on the ice. Meanwhile, you’re left at the rink's perimeter, hands gripping for support and eyes squinting playfully at your delightful boyfriend. You have no idea why you thought it was a good idea to go skating when you have minimal experience and are the clumsiest person you know. But Haechan had to jut his lower lip, eyebrows shaped into mountains to your poor heart. How could you say no to that face? 

But, your weakness in saying no to your boyfriend has led you here. In the public ice skating arena. Back leaning onto the wall for dear life. 

It’s been thirty minutes yet you haven’t made much progress from the entrance of the rink. Maybe it’s your fear of falling or the fear of competent younger children snickering at you falling to your knees. Haechan has made a few rounds around, even entertaining others with little tricks. Watching him from afar made your heart warm as others realised how lovable your boyfriend is. Children reach for a high five, adults smiling at the small talk or encouragement he would send as he passes by. 

“Wanna hold my hand now?” Haechan skates beside you. 

You've rejected the last few offers, determined to do at least half of the oval rink by yourself; you and the wall beside you. But balancing yourself on a somewhat thin metal as your knees shake with tensed muscles is taking more energy than you expected. 

You give in, slumping your back on the wall, elbows propped up as you lean. “I just need to rest first.”

Haechan chuckles at you, making a final push on the ice to skate to you. His arms cage you between his frame, closing significant space between you both. Your eyes widen at his bold action, cheeks and neck heating at the fond eyes he’s placing upon your orbs. His eyelashes flutter prettily upon your features, a soft smile forming its way into your boyfriend’s place. The rowdy noises of the kids, metal swishing and passing behind Haechan all blur when Haechan steadies your once-leaning figure to stand with his hands securely encasing your waist. 

It’s too bad that the cold temperature has you bundled up in a few layers or else you could feel the relaxing motion of his thumb caressing your side.

Haechan leans his forehead to yours as your icy noses brush against each other, “Eyes on me, bubs,” he whispers.

As per his words, you lock your eyes with him, only closing them once or twice when you’re fully supported by him. Your forearm instinctively rests on top of his, occasionally pushing them down due to your nervousness, still afraid of slipping and toppling over Haechan, potentially hurting both of you in the process.

“Don’t worry,” he eases your mind, pressing a quick kiss on your colder lips. “You’re going to be alright,” pressing his lips to yours again, leaving them there for a bit longer. “I’m not going to let you fall,” perfectly stealing your lips once more after you hum an acknowledgement to his words. “If you fall, it’s only going to be in my arms.”

You should’ve known he would sneak in a cheesy line or two, and your laughter makes you forget your anxiousness about being on the ice. Slowly, Haechan skates backwards again, this time with you in his hold. Admittedly, this has been his plan from the very start: to have you close like this as you conquer your fear and challenge; you’re not going to complain about this either.

Haechan is a great skating teacher, pulling and guiding you out of your comfort ice. Both of you dance in the rink for an hour together. It starts with you facing him as he distracts you from paying too much attention to what your body is doing, instead prompting you to naturally let you relax into the situation. Then slowly, he takes his place next to you, his palm holding your forearm. Then, linking hands together for the final stage before he lets you go after you find the confidence to brave the environment once more. 

You almost lost your balance for a while, hunching your back to hold your knee. “You can do it!” Your boyfriend hollers encouragement behind you. Soon those words become more familiar, your proud boyfriend behind you stealing everyone’s attention at your successful solo skating. 

You did a full lap with no support from him or the wall. You leap into Haechan’s arm at the end line, Haechan littering kisses all over your face. The golden hour highlights his face, his smiling beaming further from the rays of the sun.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a good teacher. And you shouldn’t be so talented either!” Your eyebrows raise at his words, unsure of where he’s going, “Now, you won’t need my help anymore…”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @ncity-net

@haneul-and-clouds

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

The Witch's Bodyguard

(2) I hide and cower in the corner, conversations getting hard

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda has to do an interview and is a little anxious about it

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: None this is just a set up and establish chapter

A/N: I'm so glad you're all looking forward to this series!

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsromanovaa @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69

Your fist collided with the sand filled bag, stopping it dead in its tracks. Breathing hot and heavy after a two hour workout. You grabbed for your towel, sitting down to wipe away the sweat from your face as the feeling of a cold water bottle hit the side of your neck.

“I heard you finishing up so I figured I'd bring some water.” You hear Wanda say from behind you. Your tumbler is forgotten beside you as you take the bottle from her. You'd been here only a week, but Wanda quickly learned you're a creature of habit. The early wake up time, workouts that lasted the same amount each day. She was taking notice of the little things.

“Thank you. We have to go out for that interview soon, right?” You ask as you receive a nod. Your eyes flicked down to her hands. Her fingers fidgeting with the rings on her other hand. You could tell she was nervous, but it wasn't your place to say anything so you simply stand up. “I'll be ready in 10. Is Bucky ready?” Your voice is firm, commanding, but devoid of any unnecessary inflection. Bucky's reliability is another aspect of your job that you've come to depend on. Wanda simply nods as the two of you leave the at-home gym.

You head back to your room in the house, taking a quick five minute shower before dressing in your army pants, boots, and a plain white top. You also put on your bulletproof vest and holster your pistol.

As you swiftly gear up, the weight of the bulletproof vest is a familiar comfort against your chest. You've worn it through countless missions, and now it's become a staple of your attire as Wanda Maximoff's bodyguard. The pistol snug in its holster feels like an extension of your body, a tool of protection that you've trained with extensively.

Exiting your room, you find Wanda pacing in the living room, her nervous energy palpable. Bucky stands nearby, his posture relaxed but alert, a testament to his own years of military training.

"Ready to go when you are Ma’am," you state, your voice steady and authoritative. Wanda nods, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she gathers herself. She's still adjusting to having a constant shadow, someone who anticipates her needs before she even realizes them. You can sense her wariness, the uncertainty lingering beneath her composed façade.

As you escort Wanda to the awaiting vehicle you place your hand on the small of her back. A small gesture to reassure her that you’re here. You keep a vigilant watch on your surroundings. Every passerby is a potential threat, every noise scrutinized for signs of danger. It's second nature to you, this constant state of alertness, but you can see how it unnerves Wanda, the way she glances around nervously.

During the drive to the interview location, Wanda remains quiet, lost in her own thoughts. You respect her need for space, allowing her the silence she seeks while remaining vigilant for any potential threats. Bucky engages in small talk, attempting to lighten the mood, but you remain stoic, your focus solely on the task at hand.

Arriving at the interview venue, you scan the area, assessing the security measures in place. Satisfied with your observations, you usher Wanda inside, your presence a silent reassurance amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Your hand once again finding it’s place on the small of her back.

Throughout the interview, you remain at the perimeter, a silent sentinel watching over Wanda's every move. You catch the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the way she navigates the questions. To most people she probably looked normal, but to you it was obvious she was anxious as she waited for questions to come her way with her other coworkers. She fidgeted with her rings again as she looked over the crowd. When she catches your eye you can fully see the panic and you do something that surprises you both. You make a silly face and she starts smiling with her brows furrowed. So you make another and get a chuckle out of her. It made you happy to be able to ease her tensions.

As the interview draws to a close, you guide Wanda and Bucky back to the vehicle. Once safely inside, you exhale a silent breath of relief, the tension slowly dissipating from your shoulders. You looked over at Wanda you also seemed to be much more relaxed now that it was over.

======

You sit in the dim glow of the fire, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows across the room. The warmth seeps into your bones, a comforting embrace after the long day's work. With a book in hand, you delve into its pages, immersing yourself in a world far removed from the reality of your duties.

The rhythmic tapping of keys fills the room as Wanda works diligently on her laptop, her focus unwavering. You steal a glance at her from time to time, noting the furrow of her brow as she concentrates. There's a sense of determination about her, a drive to excel in everything she does.

The silence between you is companionable, each lost in your own thoughts yet connected by the shared space. It's a rare moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of your lives, a chance to simply be without the weight of the world pressing down upon you.

As the night stretches on, the fire burns lower, casting elongated shadows that dance along the walls. You reach for your cup of tea, the warmth seeping into your hands as you take a sip. The aroma of chamomile fills the air, soothing and calming.

Eventually, Wanda closes her laptop, the soft click of the lid echoing in the quiet room. She stretches, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she settles back into her chair. You close your book, marking your place with a gentle touch before setting it aside.

"Long day," Wanda remarks, her voice breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, the events of the day still fresh in your mind. Despite the challenges, you feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you've kept her safe once again.

"But a good day," you reply, your voice low yet filled with assurance. Wanda meets your gaze, a hint of gratitude shining in her eyes. In that moment, you realize that despite the differences between you, there's a mutual respect that binds you together. "Time for bed?" You ask, but Wanda shakes her head, making you raise an eyebrow.

"A little longer." Her voice is soft. "Just want to relax without work for a bit. Let my mind shut off." She looked at you, eyes looking so tired. Like she could fall asleep in her chair as she curled up her legs and rested her chin on her hand to look over at the fire.

You let her be, picking your book back up to read a little more. It was only a few minutes until you heard her breathing even out, looking up from your book to find her asleep. A small smile on your face. This seemed to be a thing. Half of the week Wanda was falling asleep somewhere other than her bed and you'd have to take her to bed.

You lift Wanda effortlessly, her slight frame feeling feather-light in your arms. She stirs slightly as you gather her, her grip tightening instinctively as she nestles closer to you. Her warmth seeps into your skin, a comforting presence amidst the quiet of the night.

As you ascend the stairs to her room, you navigate with ease, your steps sure and steady. Wanda's soft breaths tickle the nape of your neck, a gentle reminder of her vulnerability in this moment of repose.

Reaching her bedroom door, you push it open with a gentle nudge, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the night. The room is bathed in moonlight, casting a silvery glow upon the familiar surroundings.

Carefully, you lower Wanda onto her bed, tucking the covers around her with a tender touch. She sighs contentedly, her features relaxed in sleep. For a moment, you simply watch her, the moonlight casting shadows across her peaceful face.

With a sigh, you turn away, leaving her to her dreams. It's become a routine, this silent vigil over her rest, a duty you've come to embrace with quiet determination.

Exiting her room, you pause in the hallway, your gaze lingering on the closed door. In the stillness of the night, you can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over you, a silent vow to always keep her safe.

With one last glance, you continue down the hallway, the echo of her soft breathing lingering in your mind. As you settle into your own room, you can't help but reflect on the complexities of your role as her protector, the unspoken bond that binds you together even in the darkest of hours.

And as sleep finally claims you, you find solace in the knowledge that for tonight, at least, she rests easy under your watchful gaze.

[jinx-xxed]

Rough Week

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I needed some good ol’ fashioned cuddles and sleeping ☝️ this pic of him is one of my favs I Need to lay on him

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; Kylo Ren has finally come back from a grueling mission. You help him relax.

Content; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Commander reader, pure fluff, like sickeningly fluffy, Kylo’s exhausted, you let him rest, bonded to Kylo through the Force, lots of Force communication, cute/clingy/sleepy/soft Kylo, big guy needs a break, cuddles!!!, sleeping together, giving Kylo the love he needs and deserves, he doesn’t know how to handle it, kind of domestic?, going about life in the First Order

Wc; 1.6k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Command shuttle SL-5956 coming to dock.”

The robotic announcement echoes throughout Hangar Eight, sending people into motion to prepare for the arrival of the ship. You stand in waiting in the midst of the hangar, watching as the shuttle lazily passes through the guard barrier leading out into space, the massive black wings of the command shuttle folding upwards like the point of a pyramid as it’s lowered to the shiny floors. There’s a gust of wind that ruffles your hair, the familiar rumbles of the ship powering down filling your ears. BB-12 sits obediently beside you, occasionally rolling back and forth in idle movements. There’s a hiss from the command shuttle as the latches to the ramp are disengaged, white clouds of depressurized air being expelled from the pumps sitting on the perimeter and creating a sort of fog that spreads across the hangar before fizzling out.

There’s the sound of multiple sets of footsteps on the ramp, though one stands out more than the others. It’s followed by a familiar pulse, buzzing in the back of your mind, pawing at the shields you keep up, asking to be let back in after being absent for a week. Your defenses are lowered just enough for the dark presence to slip through and nestle in its usual spot, intertwining with your own Force signature and securing itself to you like tying a knot. Your other half has returned. Kylo leads the way down the ramp, followed by the Stormtroopers that had accompanied him, though you notice there’s three missing from the lineup. Casualties. His form—covered in black robes, red-veined helmet giving an intimidating gleam—commands the area, everyone seeming to hold their breath as they wait for the Supreme Leader to make his orders.

You meet him halfway, tilting your chin upwards to meet the invisible gaze behind the slit in his mask. “Welcome back, Supreme Leader. I take it everything went accordingly?” You openly suggest as such because you don’t sense the telltale signs of a failed mission coming from him—those usually being broiling anger or seething disappointment.

You look at him expectantly but there’s no response, just an empty stare and the faint static of breathing from the vocoder built into his helmet. You reach that invisible hand of the Force forward, poking through his own defenses, gathering the general sense of his condition, and it washes over you like a tidal wave. He’s exhausted. You feel it as though it’s your own; limbs that seem twice as heavy than they should be, eyes burning, mind seeming to have turned into unusable mush. You see the way he can barely hold himself up, with just the slightest sway to his posture that only someone like yourself would notice. He hasn’t rested properly in over a week, too consumed by his responsibilities that burden him at all hours and the dark memories that haunt him like ghosts. You lean forward. “Sir?”

Something in him snaps on like a lightbulb finally finding the energy it needs to sputter to life, his helmet lifting with a minuscule shake. “Yes, the mission was successful. The resistance base on Cona-6 has been destroyed.” His voice is lower than usual, bogged down by his exhaustion and struggling to get through his vocoder.

Your brows crease with concern, eyes roving over his helmet, wishing you could actually see him. Let’s get you back to our room. The offer rings across the Force bond you share, going into his mind and his alone. You want to get him away from the prying eyes within the hangar, from anyone who may fault him for the state he’s in. You doubt anyone is able to notice his current exhaustion, but you know it’ll only get worse if you don’t do something.

Please, comes as a response.

You’re glad he’s so easy to agree rather than fighting you on it and insisting he has more work to finish, even though you were prepared to drag him to bed if you had to. You lead the way from the hangar, Kylo following behind you and BB-12 rolling dutifully at your side. The lights within the halls of the Steadfast are beginning to dim as the artificial day cycle comes to a close, creating a sense of impeding night for the staff on board.

Officers and Stormtroopers quickly jump out of your way as you pass, sticking to the walls and watching you with feelings of terror trembling through their minds. You try to keep the path to your room as short as possible, taking what shortcuts you can until you reach the commanders section of sleeping quarters. The door sits in waiting, the identification numbers belonging to you and Kylo inscribed into the metal. There’s a beep from the control panel, granting you access as the two hexagonal doors open.

Cold air hits your face, the room always kept to be bordering on freezing since you both run unbearably hot. You get through the receiving room, then entering into the bedroom where the familiar bookshelves, tables, chairs and the large bed are waiting. It’s like a safe space for you two—it’s the one place your guards can be let down, where you can just be yourselves together and let your bond flow between you undisturbed, and where you can hide away from the things that trouble you… even if just for a little while.

You turn, and Kylo stops. His fists are clenched as a way to try and keep himself from falling asleep where he stands, the pressure from his fingers digging into his palms. You reach up and press the releases on his mask, the compartments hissing as they slide apart. His black hair falls around his face as you take the helmet off and you’re allowed to look at him in full. His eyes are dull, dark marks discoloring the skin beneath them, a tired neutrality settled onto his features as he blinks at you slowly. His signature across your bond is muted, unable to muster itself up to full strength, coming to you in colors less vibrant than usual.

No words are exchanged as you help free him of his outer layers, the robes falling to the ground in black piles of cloth until he’s left in just his undershirt and thick pants. His lightsaber and helmet are left in their usual spot on the lounge table, laid to rest until they’re next needed. You guide him over to the bed and he doesn’t hesitate to get under the covers, his exhaustion seeming to come out tenfold and making the line of your connection tremble.

You sit on your side of the bed for a moment, merely watching as he gets comfortable with his eyes squinted even as you dim the lights to darkness. He sighs with a blooming contentment and you then move to get up, thinking perhaps it would be better to leave him alone to sleep and using the last few hours of the cycle to get work done. But you don’t get far, his hand snatching your wrist and tugging you back down. “Stay,” he orders, a rumble of annoyance coming from him at the thought of you leaving. I can’t sleep without you.

“Okay.” You tell him without hesitation, beginning to shed your layers as well and leaving them to join his on the floor. An early night certainly wouldn’t hurt; having to control the Order in Kylo’s place wasn’t an easy job. Your lightsaber is put to rest next to his own. “BB-12, guard the door so no one tries to bother us. I’ll shoot them if they do.” The droid gives a beep in response before rolling down the hall and disappearing into the receiving area. It stands as an unspoken rule across the ship that anyone who disturbs the Supreme Leader and Commander at this time will be dealt with in an unpleasant manner.

You slip beneath the covers, Kylo’s strong arms immediately coming forward and enveloping you, dragging you to him so your bodies are flush against each other. You twist around in his grip so you’re facing him, his eyes closed. You lift your hands, placing them on either side of his face, your thumbs running idly across his cheeks. He hums at the action, his body further relaxing beneath your touch and his signature becoming something more soft and smooth. You kiss along his face—his jaw, his lips, his cheeks, his scar, his forehead, and lastly, his nose, which makes his face scrunch in a way that makes you smile, reminding you of a cat.

Every part of him is perfect to you, and you tell him as such constantly. He sees only his faults, whereas you see his strengths. He attempts to bury his head in the crook of your neck, his hold tightening, overwhelmed by the attention you’re giving him. Though there’s a happy trill akin to a purr along the bond, creating a sense of tranquility that blossoms with gentle colors like flowers.

You card your fingers through the silkiness of his hair, your legs becoming tangled beneath the sheets. His breath tickles your neck, steadily becoming slower and more even as he’s dragged into sleep both by his exhaustion and your gentle care. He’s happy in this moment, glad to relax entirely around you and give in to the basic desires of his mind. You nestle your cheek against the top of his head, enjoying the way he holds you close and secure like you’re an anchor he needs to keep a hold of. He’s already asleep, and you know you’ll do your best to keep away all the things that plague him so that he can sleep in peace when he needs it most. He deserves that much.

[betweenstorms]

Alright, hear me out, Simon Riley working for Sleep Token as their head of security.

Let me explain.

His life had always been defined by precision and control, by the kind of discipline that didn’t falter in the face of chaos. But retirement had come swiftly and unceremoniously, a necessity more than a choice. The regimented life of the SAS had ended, leaving him adrift in the civilian world, and that felt far more alien than any hostile territory he’d ever set foot in.

Somehow he found himself in the chaotic underbelly of the entertainment industry, a space filled with the metallic clatter of stagehands, the distant roar of soundchecks, and the pulse of a metal band steadily climbing the ladder to global fucking acclaim. And hell, the stage lights, the screaming crowds, the thrum of bass reverberating through his chest, none of it had ever factored into the life he’d imagined for himself.

But life had a funny way of taking plans and shredding them into something unrecognisable.

Simon still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here.

When he left the military he thought he’d bury himself in some quiet corner of anonymity, far from the public eye. Civvy life was cruel to men like him, and for months, he drifted between meaningless gigs, his skill set too sharp for ordinary work, too lethal for the mundane.

Then came the call.

Sleep Token’s manager had been a contact of a contact, someone who knew someone who’d served with him, someone who’d heard about him through the strange network of ex-military types finding unconventional second careers. The irony hadn’t been lost on Simon when he was first approached. A band draped in anonymity, each member masked and named only by cryptic titles, needed security. And who better to protect them than a man who’d spent his life hiding behind his own mask?

Fucking unbelievable.

Somehow Simon had ticked every box without realising it, and before he knew it, he was standing in a smoky room, hands tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans as he sized up the bloody Muppet Show who would earn his salary.

He’d scoffed at the absurdity of it back then.

It wasn’t his scene. Far from it.

And yet, something in him, a combination of pragmatism and the faint flicker of intrigue, told him to give it a shot. He was financially screwed anyway. And the pay was good, much better than what he earned as a high-ranking officer, the anonymity suited him just fine, and the job, strangely enough, kind of aligned with his skill set. Therefore, after a few days of mulling it over, he said yes.

Simon had learned to adapt quickly. This job—head of security, an overqualified bodyguard as he liked to call it—had its own rhythm, distinct but no less intense than the one he’d lived before.

Venues became his battlefields, and he mapped them with a soldier’s precision. Potential threats were assessed the way he’d once scoped out enemy positions. His vigilance rarely wavered, whether he was walking the perimeter of a festival or standing stoic in a dim corridor as Vessel rehearsed another one of his verses. To Simon, these kinds of threats were laughable compared to the ones he’d faced during his service, however, it wasn’t without its challenges. Crowds could be unpredictable, and fame had a way of drawing out the unhinged.

He took to his duties with the same precision and discipline he’d honed in the SAS. The members trusted him implicitly, and that trust was something Simon didn’t take lightly. They called him Riley and treated him like a constant, the way you’d treat the sun rising or the tide coming in.

Reliable, steady, unshakable.

At first, the job was simple enough. The usual security gig, albeit with a touch of bloody theatricality. However, fame has a way of turning everything upside down, even for someone like Simon.

It started subtly.

Fans started to notice him too. At first, it was just a handful of comments on social media, like “Who’s the guy in the black balaclava?”, but it grew from there. They were fascinated by him, by the idea of a masked man guarding a masked band. He was an enigma within an enigma, and the internet just loved enigmas. It wasn’t until Lynsey Ward, one of the backup vocalists, shoved her phone in his face one day that he realised how far it had gone.

The backstage in Paris hummed with a peculiar kind of energy and anticipation that Simon had grown accustomed to since taking the job. It was a strange but one of a kind lifestyle, this one, filled with hurried footsteps, clinking equipment, and the muffled roar of soundchecks vibrating through walls. Simon lingered near the members as they cycled through their usual pre-show rituals.

IV sat in a corner, his mask tilted upward as if in contemplation, while Vessel sprawled on a battered sofa, his makeup halfway done, face a patchwork of metallic hues. II drummed his fingers idly on his thighs, the rhythmic taps almost lost beneath the din, while III sat near the makeup station, enjoying the rare moment of downtime between soundcheck, preparations and the main show, reading something on his phone.

Simon leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his black balaclava masking his expression but not the faint lines of tension in his shoulders.

His sharp eyes swept over the room, mentally running through his usual checklist again that concerned necessary security measures. Entry points, exits, personnel movements, everything was accounted for, everything secure. The monotony of the job had become second nature to him, though he still approached each night like it might unravel at any moment.

Lynsey sat nearby, waiting for her turn in the makeup chair. She was scrolling on her phone, just like almost everyone in the room, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed but her smile mischievous. Simon didn’t notice her at first, he had his priorities, but her voice cut through the quiet hum of activity like a knife.

“Riley,” she called out, her tone playful. “You’ve got to see this.”

Simon didn’t move.

“Busy,” he muttered, his voice low and even.

Lynsey ignored him entirely, already rising from her seat and crossing the room with her phone in hand. “Come on, just watch,” she insisted, shoving the screen toward him. The glow of the phone illuminated her face, her grin widening as she anticipated his reaction.

Simon sighed, an irritated, tired sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

“What now?”

Reluctantly, Simon uncrossed his toned arms and stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. The screen showed a video, a quick montage of him, no less. Snippets of him walking through crowds, standing by the stage, his balaclava catching the light just so as if he were a character in some fucking noir film. The background music swelled dramatically, and captions popped up over the footage, saying “If I ever get kicked out of a venue, it better be by HIM. Imagine getting manhandled by those arms.”

Simon blinked, his frown deepening beneath the mask.

“The hell’s this?” he asked, his tone flat but tinged with suspicion.

“It’s a thirst trap,” Lynsey said, as if that explained everything, her laughter barely contained.

Simon stared at her blankly. “The fuck's a thirst trap?”

Lynsey cackled, delighted. “Oh, you’re a relic, aren’t you? It’s a thing on TikTok. People post these little edits when they fancy someone. And let me tell you, mate, there are loads of these floating about. Like, ‘look at this mysterious bloke, isn’t he fit?’ That sort of thing.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “TikTok?”

From across the room, III chimed in, his grin wicked as he leaned back in his seat. “Nowhere to hide, Riley,” he said, his tone teasing. “You’re a proper celebrity now.”

Simon huffed through his nose, a sound that carried more weight than words. He glanced at the phone again, now firmly lodged in Lynsey’s outstretched hand, the screen flashing more of his edited movements cut and spliced into dramatic slow-motion. He stepped back slightly, folding his arms across his broad chest once more, muttering something about “kids and their bollocks” under his breath as he did.

Lynsey quipped, her grin only widening. “Face it, the internet’s gone mad for you. They’ve even got a hashtag—‘#SecurityDaddy.’”

Simon flinched, his head snapping back toward her like she’d just admitted to committing a war crime.

This made IV join the fray, a water bottle in hand as he ambled over. “Oi, show us the goods. I wanna see what’s got good ol’ Riley in a strop.”

Lynsey eagerly turned her phone to IV, who leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the screen with a wide grin already forming on his painted face. The video played again, the dramatic slow-motion edits of Simon walking through a crowd, his balaclava catching the stage lights as though he’d been directed by a Hollywood cinematographer.

IV let out a sharp laugh, nearly choking on his water.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of black paint on them. “‘Security Daddy,’ they’re callin’ you? That’s golden.”

Lynsey snorted and held up another video. “Oh, you’ve got no idea. Look at this one, ‘If he told me to leave the venue, I’d say thank you.’ And here’s another, ‘Is it weird to want to be tackled by him?’ You’ve got your own bloody fanbase, Riley.”

Simon’s gloved hand scrubbed down his masked face as if he could physically push away the madness unfolding around him. “You lot are takin’ the piss.”

“This one’s my favourite,” Lynsey said, clicking on yet another video. The screen lit up with a heavily edited montage of Simon in action—his eyes scanning a crowd, his broad shoulders cutting through a sea of fans, the flash of his gloved hand directing someone to stand back. The video was captioned with “I don’t know his name, but he can ruin my life anytime.”

Vessel, who’d been silent for most of the exchange, finally sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded their head of security with an amused expression. “It’s the mask, mate,” he stated. “It's like catnip. People project onto what they can’t see. You could lean into it, y’know. Like us. Give the people what they want. Maybe throw in a wink next time you’re standin’ by the stage.”

Simon sent Vessel a look so sharp it could have peeled paint off the walls.

II, who had been leaning casually against the wall next to them, joined in with a huge grin. “Yeah, might as well embrace it. You’re part of the act now.”

Simon’s glare intensified. “You wanna end up wearin’ your fuckin’ drumsticks where the sun don’t shine?”

II raised his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. “Don’t tempt me.” 

The banter escalated quickly after that.

The room practically buzzed with the gleeful chaos that Simon’s presence had unwittingly unleashed. IV was now scrolling through the comments on one of the fan edits, reading them aloud to the room with unbridled glee, each of them taking the piss out of him in the way only people comfortable with each other could.

Strangely enough, it reminded him of Johnny, a familiar mix of camaraderie and mischief that tugged at a memory he hadn’t expected to surface. It stirred an unexpected pang of nostalgia in Simon, a faint echo of Johnny’s effortless knack for turning every moment into a laugh at someone else’s expense—usually his.

“He could snap me like a glow stick and I’d thank him for the privilege,’” II read out loud, barely containing his laughter. “Oh, this one’s pure gold—‘Not to be dramatic, but I would sell my soul just to hear him say ‘move along’ in person.’”

That did it.

Simon unfolded from the wall with a deliberate grace, his imposing presence rippling through the room like a cold wind sweeping across still water. The breadth of his shoulders, the unyielding lines of his form clad in black, cast him less as a mere bodyguard and more as some silent, vengeful sentinel. His shadow stretched across the room, swallowing the laughter as it reached II and IV, Lynsey’s phone still clutched between them.

“You’ve had your fun,” he rumbled, his voice steeped in the kind of authority honed through years of barking orders in the SAS. “Now knock it off, before I confiscate that phone.”

“Go on, Riley,” IV shot back with a grin, entirely unafraid. “Confiscate me next.”

Simon didn’t dignify that with a response.

He turned away from them, a quiet dismissal, and walked toward the door. His hand reached for the handle, his gloved fingers brushing against the cool metal. But just as he was about to leave, a voice cut through the air again, the familiar, teasing tone of III echoing in the now-muted chaos of the room.

“Don’t forget to give us a little twirl on your way out, Security Daddy.”

Bloody hell.

If this gig didn’t kill him, these muppets just might.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[gor3-hound]

addicted to hurting

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, hate sex, one bed trope(love it idc), p in v, mean leon, huddle for warmth n that, fingering, p in v, creampie, degradation ig, one use of good girl

a/n: request for @princesspalac :) sorry it took so long, um... my brain didn't want to work for this. guys don't question the title i hate naming fics... this one especially but it's from drugs by eden

word count: 1.6k words

It was an undisputed fact that you and Leon did not get on well. Everyone knew it - the both of you made it very clear with your constant bickering.

But you were also both very competent agents, and that often meant you got assigned to missions together. It was usually fine, you both had enough professionalism to suck it up and get on with it, but he really seemed to want to wear your patience thin this time around.

It had been snowing heavily, and the chopper wouldn't be able to get to the extraction point. You'd been told that you should try and find shelter for the night, and when the snowstorm cleared up tomorrow, you'd both get evacuated. You had secured all the mission objectives and found an abandoned cabin to hole up in for the night, but the cold air nipped at your skin and made it impossible for you to relax.

You complain a little about having to stay here, shivering slightly as you settle on a worn down chair, the wood looking like it's halfway to rotting. You're surprised it hasn't given up under your weight at this point.

Eventually, Leon snaps.

“Jesus Christ. Do you ever shut the hell up?” He grumbles, running a hand through his hair, his brows pulled together in frustration. You scoff at him, your arms wrapped around your waist to keep you warm.

“It's fucking cold, and your attitude has been pissing me off all day. Apologies if I'm not a ray of sunshine.” You bite back, trying to ignore the chill settling deep in your bones.

He just glares at you before moving away, checking the perimeter and securing any entrances to the cabin. You take the opportunity to explore the other rooms, your heart sinking when you realise one very important detail.

There's only one bed.

Great. Fucking amazing. As if this day couldn't get any worse. You hear footsteps approaching, and you can sense the moment Leon realises the same thing by his sharp intake of breath.

“No. Absolutely not.” He says quickly, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway of the bedroom.

You dislike this just as much as he does, but it's probably a blessing in disguise. The both of you were too proud to admit it, but you'd likely freeze to death if you didn't huddle for warmth. The sun had only just set, and it was already this cold. You didn't want to imagine what it'd be like later.

“We're going to need to share it.” You say simply, approaching the bed and lying down facing away from Leon, staring at the wall as you wait for him to do the same.

“Well?” You say after a moment, noticing he hadn't come any closer. He hadn't moved from his spot, just staring distasteful at the empty spot in the bed. “Are you going to join me? Or did you drag your ass through herds of infected just to freeze to death?”

That gets a scowl from him. He kicks off his boots before approaching, settling on the edge of the bed and doing his best to keep his distance from you.

“You're going to need to come closer, or we're both going to be out of commission.” You say through gritted teeth, already frustrated with his attitude.

He lets out a soft grunt, but he shifts closer. He's practically spooning you, now, but you can feel the cold radiating from him. Neither of you had the chance to warm up yet, and you can't help but shift slightly in the bed, trying to get your blood circulating so you can warm up.

“Can you stop your squirming?” He hisses, his hand clamping down on your hip to still your movements. He seems so much closer now, his warm breath brushing the skin on the back of your neck and giving you goosebumps.

“I was just trying to get warm.”

“Then come here.” With that, he tugs you into his body, wrapping his arms tight around you. His nose presses against the crook of your neck, and you feel your heart racing. You feel warmer, sure, but you can't ignore the feeling of his muscles tensing as he holds you.

You don't mean to keep moving, but there's something uncomfortable about Leon of all people holding you so close. You try to put some distance between the two of you while staying close enough to feel his body heat.

“For fuck-” He lets out a deep breath from his nose, and then he's gripping you tighter, pulling you back against him. “Didn't I tell you to stop moving?”

You open your mouth to speak, but it's quickly stopped by a palm pressing firmly against the lower half of your face. “No. I'm so sick of your shit. All you've done is bitch the entire mission about being cold, and now I'm trying to help, you're being a fucking brat about it.”

His fingers push past your lips. He frowns slightly as you keep your jaw clenched, so he reaches his other hand around to squeeze the sides of your cheeks, prying your teeth apart so he can shove his fingers into your mouth.

“Ah, that's better. Get them nice ‘n wet for me. You gonna let me fuck that attitude out of you, huh?” You whine around his fingers, but you're already soaking your panties, nodding before you even realise what you're agreeing to.

He reaches down to free you from your pants, tugging them as far down as he can be bothered before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and shoving two of them inside of you without any warning. He likes the way your face twists up at the burn, a grin spreading across his face.

The way he fingers you is almost clinical. He's not doing this for your pleasure - he just lazily scissors his fingers open until he deems that you're stretched enough for his cock. He doesn't bother undressing, just pulls his dick out after he unzips his cargos, pulling your hips up so you're face down, ass up.

“Fuck… surprised you're this tight… thought everyone in the office would've stuck their dicks in you by now.” He grunts as he bottoms out, immediately setting a brutal pace, his hips smacking your ass with every thrust.

“Fuck you, Kennedy.” You hiss, glaring at him over your shoulder. That look is hardly intimidating when he's pounding you into the mattress, and his hips stutter slightly as he barks out a laugh.

“I think you're mistaken, princess. See, I'm fucking you.” With that, he grabs the back of your head, pressing your face into the pillow to shut you up.

“God, that's better. Just take it, that's it. Good fucking slut.” He groans, his balls smacking your clit as he fucks into you with more vigour, low moans spilling from his lips as he uses you to chase his own pleasure.

He growls as he feels your pussy flutter around his cock, pulling out suddenly before yanking your head up by your hair. Your eyes water as your scalp stings, making you whimper softly.

“Ah-ah.” He tuts softly, his cock kicking against his stomach. He hates to admit it, but your cunt is one of the best he's had, and he's already close to cumming. “Not so fast. You gonna say please? I'll let you cum if you ask nicely.”

“You're such an… an asshole.” You say through gritted teeth, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you press your palms on the mattress, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on your scalp from him tugging at your hair.

“That's not very nice, is it? Wanna try that again?” He asks you, his tone mockingly sweet. Makes you want to smack that stupid grin of his face. You don't get the chance, ‘cause he pulls even harder on your hair, your neck craning back painfully.

“Fuck… fuck, okay. Please, let me cum.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut. He presses your face back into the pillow, pushing down on it as he lines himself back up with your drippy hole, resuming his rough pace from before.

“Good girl. Look at you, capable of following orders. All it took was a little dick.” He coos, angling his hips so he's bumping against your sweet spot every time he pushes his hips forward, groaning at the way it makes you tighten around him.

You cum around his cock, your moans muffled as he keeps fucking into you. He clenches his jaw as your walls spasm with your orgasm, drawing his own out of him seconds later. He buries himself as deep as he can get, his tip knocking your cervix and he cums, heat filling you up and coating your insides.

He pulls out once his dick stops twitching, tucking himself back in his pants and zipping them up. He can hear the rustling of sheets as you pull your pants up, but he's staring at the ceiling. He's sweating, hair sticking to his forehead. At least it helped warm him up.

He can feel your gaze on him, and he frowns, tilting his head to the side to look at you. He raises a brow, his gaze flicking over your face. You really are too hot to be as annoying as you are.

“What? I'm not gonna cuddle you. It's warm now. Go to bed.” He glances at you one last time before turning his back to you, lying on his side and closing his eyes.

He's out like a light in a minute flat.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Guarded Desires: Part 1

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Padawan!Qimir x Princess!Reader

Summary: After an assassination attempt on your mother, she’s asked a favor from the Jedi Council to watch over you and your family until the assailant has been caught. As a result, your mother’s old friend, Master Vernestra, has her padawan, Qimir, be your bodyguard. Based off my imagine here.

Series Masterlist

You were shaken up. Any normal person would be after someone tried to kill your mother. She has been advocating to the council to open the planet to refugees. A civil war has been brewing across the planet. More and more citizens have been losing their homes to this war. Your mother wants to provide aid, but the council has been vetoing her decision. Due to your father dealing with matters off-planet, he hasn't been able to veto their veto. It annoys you how even the Queen of Nerathos Prime still doesn't have as much power as the king.

"Y/N, are you alright?" your mother asks, reaching out to grip your shaking hand.

You can't help but laugh in disbelief, "Am I alright? Mama, someone tried to kill you. I'm fine! Just worried!"

She nods in understanding, "Yes, well, I've reached out to a friend in the Jedi Order, she will be sending a few Jedi to protect us while the investigation occurs."

You perk up at her words, "Jedi will be coming here?!"

You've always been fascinated with the Jedi. Your mother used to tell you stories of how her childhood friend became a Jedi Master. You assume that is who will be coming to your planet to provide protection for you and your family.

Your mother smirks at you, "Yes. Vernestra will be bringing her padawan and other Jedi to protect us during the investigation. Her padawan is assigned to you. He's a few years older than you, I believe."

"Oh. Well, I look forward to meeting him," you do your best to not look as excited as you feel.

The doors slide open to reveal your father rushing in, "Are you alright?" he asks breathlessly as he brings your mother into his arms. He hugs her tightly before pulling back and cupping her face in his hands.

Your mother places reassuring hands on his arms, "Fine. Startled, but alright."

Your father looks at you, "And you, starlight?"

"Worried about mama, but fine. The twins are with Selara. I made sure there were two guards at the door. The Kings Guard has secured the perimeter."

Your father nods, "Yes, I saw that when I was coming in. And the council-"

"I already summoned them. They're waiting for you," you state with a look of duty and determination on your face.

Your father looks at your mother and she gives him a nod. Your father turns back to you with a chuckle, "You did well. Your future king will be happy to have a strong and competent queen at his side."

Not quite the compliment you wanted from your father, but it's something. You give him a small smile, "Thank you, father." Your father excuses himself to head to the council room to talk next steps.

Your mother puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "Y/N-"

"It's fine, mother. I'm going to check on the twins," you excuse yourself and head to your younger siblings' room to make sure they're okay.

_____________________________

Your family stands at the tarmac as a ship lands. You hold the twins' hands while you're sandwiched between your parents.

The ramp lowers and a group of Jedi descend. You immediately zero in on Vernestra, your mother's old friend. She leads the group of Jedi towards you and your family.

Master Vernestra bows to you all and the Jedi follow suit, "It's good to see you all again," she gives each of you a polite smile.

Your mother smiles warmly back at her, "Thank for you for coming, Vern. My family and I appreciate it."

"Of course. Shall we head inside to discuss security measures?" Your father leads you all but before you follow, your eyes land on the young man beside Vernestra. This must be her padawan, the one that will be protecting you while the search for your mother's attempted assassin continues.

Feeling your eyes on him, he glances your way and shoots you a shy smile before turning back to follow his Master. You're not sure why but his smile made something stir within you.

"Let's goooo!" your twin sisters tug at your hands, prompting you to follow everyone else.

________________________

In the council room, your mother recalls the assassination attempt to Vernestra. The Jedi Master listens intently, asking questions of clarification when needed. You do your best to pay attention, but it keeps wavering over to Vernestra's padawan. He has tanned skin, cropped black hair with a long braided strand hanging over his shoulder. He has a sharp jawline and dark brown eyes.

You're too busy taking in his features that you don't hear your mother calling out to you. The padawan looks at you with furrowed brows and that causes you to look towards everyone else.

"Sorry, I was lost in thought."

Your father looks at you disapprovingly, but your mother's gaze softens. She clears her throat, "As I mentioned before, Vernestra's padawan, Qimir, will be your protector during the investigation."

Qimir nods towards you and speaks, "I will do my best to ensure your safety, Your Highness."

You feel your cheeks heat up as you nod back, "Thank you, Qimir. I trust you with my life."

The conversation continues as Vernestra assigns different Jedi members to your parents, sisters, and members of the council that work closely with your mother.

After the meeting, everyone breaks off to do their respective duties. Qimir follows behind you as you head to training grounds.

You look over your shoulder and awkwardly smile at Qimir, "You don't have to walk behind me. You can walk beside me," you gesture to the empty space beside you.

"I need to keep an eye on you."

You giggle, "You can still keep an eye on me as you walk beside me."

Qimir quickens his step to be at your side, "Alright," he gives you a boyish grin and you feel that fluttering in your chest.

You look away and clear your throat, "So, Qimir, do you like being a Jedi?"

"I do. I've learned a lot from my Master and at the temple."

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Twenty-three. I was brought in when I was very young."

"Hm. You're just three years older than me." You're not sure why you point out that fact. Maybe perhaps you wanted to let Qimir know that you're not so young and naive.

"I know," Qimir says, "Master Vernestra told me a little about you."

That piques your curiosity, "Oh? So what do you know?"

"You're wise and strategic for your age. That you're strong willed and a little bit stubborn." You stop in your tracks to look at Qimir in shock.

"She did not tell you that!"

Qimir laughs, "Okay, she didn't. But I can sense that you are. Am I wrong?"

"Yes. Incredibly so," you spin on your heel to continue heading to the training grounds.

"So, where are we going?"

"To my training. Every day I train with Kings Guard to improve my defense skills. You could probably help me as well."

Qimir looks at you confused, "Me?"

You nod to his lightsaber, "You know how to wield that thing. We have our own swords, so you could probably teach me new methods of defense."

Qimir looks at you apprehensively, "I'm only supposed to watch and protect you."

"You'll be doing both. You'll be watching me as you teach me how to protect myself." you smile widely at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Something tells me that you're used to getting your way, princess."

"I don't always get my way...I just get my way a majority of the time," you shoot him a wink and he grins. He feels a stirring inside him, a pull, but he's not sure if it's a good kind or a bad kind.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[JPost is Israeli Private Media]

Florida Democratic Representative Jared Moskowitz, in a statement to The Daily Mail on Monday, said that Iran is behind the large-scale protests at the Democratic National Convention.[...]

“We know that the Iranians are paying people to do this. How come they weren’t protesting at the other convention, just here? And so look, this is an extension of the campus protests.”

Dozens of protesters broke through part of the perimeter security fence surrounding the DNC on Monday, drawing riot police to the site, a Reuters Television witness said.

CNN later reported that four of these protesters had been arrested and another was detained.[...]

Regarding the possibility that Kamala Harris may advocate for policies worse for Israel, Moskowitz answered, “You know, people are trying to put that out there, but there has been no shift in policy, none. In fact, if you go look at the platform, it’s almost the identical platform as it’s been in the past, the DNC platform.”

“It’s one of the most pro-Israel platforms that we’ve had. And so, I don’t expect any shift from the vice president on Israel policies.”

21 Aug 24

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part seven)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope and the slowest, slow burn I swear)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

---

A tense knot has formed right between Leon’s shoulder blades – can feel it pull when he tilts his head side to side, but it doesn’t seem to be loosening. Can’t even blame it on sleeping on the sofa cos he hasn’t laid down to sleep since the call with Hunnigan, stays sat up right. He’s athletic, he can jump up to his feet from horizontal but it’ll add a second or so to his reaction time and he’s not taking the risk.

He's on edge and he doesn’t like it. The ball of anxiety in his gut has saved his life more times than he can count, but it shouldn’t be necessary in this situation, should it? He’s set up in a safe house, literally off some beaten track in the middle of nowhere – location chosen and distributed by encrypted software so, technically, no-one in the DSO knows where he is either. It’s rigged up to the heavens with security measures - cameras, alarm systems, motion detector - explosion-proof windows, reinforced doors, all topped off with his favourite array of weapons in the duffel bag, currently resting by his still booted feet.

The objective of his mission hasn’t changed after the intel he’s received, that some foreign agency has had access to the CCTV feed for who knows how many hours before they were cut off. He should feel reassured that the quality of the footage was awful – it was only by how many times he’s encountered Lickers that he could even tell that’s what the creatures were when he’d be presented with the grainy images. He didn’t see the footage of you being rescued, but it would be a cruel kick in the gut to find that feed had been HD.

He lifts an arm – his left, keeping his right arm free, his accuracy is better by millimetres with his right – and rubs the knot, hoping to relieve the tension. It's not 100% confirmed they are looking or will be looking for you either, but why would anyone link up to the CCTV circuit if not to check on the outcome of their operation?

His immediate thought had been to up the frequency of his perimeter checks, one every two hours. He could do that at night, sure – military training taught him the correct and most efficient techniques to power nap – but in the day it would be harder without worrying you about what’s changed.

You wanted updates. Hell, you were entitled to updates. But he wants to give you good news, doesn’t wanna add to the weight on your shoulders with what could be nothing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but in these sweet domestic moments the two of you have been sharing, he’s been pretending it’s something else – friends watching television, cooking a meal together – the sweet smiles the two of you exchange, but it’s all ripped apart the moment he has to do his checks. He can see the worry settle on your face then, a reminder of where you are with the flick of the safety off his gun and the twist of the lock as he goes outside to conduct surveillance.

Speaking of, his phone beeps for his next circuit on the building and he’s up on his feet in the blink of an eye. He pats his cargo pocket out of habit for the keys on the walk over to the garage door, but finds himself pausing outside your bedroom, his eyes focusing on the handle. You should still be pretty under with those sleeping pills – note to self, he’ll need to start weening you off them from now on, far too easy to get addicted. It wouldn’t hurt to just… check you were okay, would it?

No – that’s what you’re here, why he’s here – to protect you.

It would just be doing his job.

He presses down on the handle and slowly opens the door, breath caught in his throat. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, the lamp in the living room not quite reaching as far as your bed, but eventually he can make out your face – as peaceful as he’s ever seen it.

You’re on your side. The position doesn’t look like it would be comfortable with your arm still strapped up in the sling, but it’s testimony to how well the sleeping pills are working. Your other arm is up by your face, hand clenched in a tight fist around something. He steps forward without thinking, curious what it could be.

Your fingers are gripped tightly around his watch.

And there’s a pain in his chest that feels like they’re gripped around his heart as well.

That settles it - he’s not gonna tell you about the hacked CCTV feed. He will tell you that Hunnigan hasn’t searched your place yet, that they’ve restarted the surveillance department – she’d asked him to ask you if you knew anything about the servers since they were appeared to be working from square one – but that was it.

Leon steps back with unnecessary caution, leaving the bedroom as silently as he entered and shuts the door with a soft click. He takes a deep breath, pats down his pockets again and heads out to circle the perimeter.

And, just like after you kissed his cheek, he does it twice.

--

You wake up after another peaceful and dreamless sleep, though it still takes a moment to remember where you are as you stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll not experience that flicker of panic, just get up and accept that you’ll be picking today’s outfit out of a selection of clothes that you’re not sure if anyone’s worn before you.

You feel sore, as seems to be becoming the norm, but with unusually stiff fingers on your good hand. It seems you’ve clutched Leon’s watch all night. You’d fallen asleep quite quickly – all thanks to those sleeping pills – but you remember looking at it when you’d first got in the bed, the seconds ticking by lulling you to sleep. The fact that you’ve held it for so long reminds you of when you were a kid and snuggled up with a stuffed toy for comfort, except instead of something soft and cuddly, it’s what appears to be a top of line timepiece. There’s a lot of information contained on the face of the dial but there’s the time is the only one you really care about – 0906.

You get to your feet, raising your good arm to a grunt of protest as you try and run your fingers through your hair in lieu of a mirror. Huh, that pain’s new. Your hair is definitely due a wash now, but that’s an issue for later. You pull on a pair of sweatpants one-handed – you’ll be a pro soon, you’re sure of it – and put Leon’s watch in the pocket for safekeeping. It’d be difficult to try and navigate the door handle with it still gripped in your good hand and you’d hate to scratch it up.

You open the door cautiously – you hadn’t seen Leon asleep yet, but he must do at some point. Maybe you should offer to alternate the sofa and the bed? Though you have a feeling that he’s far too much of a gentleman to accept.

Or there’ll be something in the rules that prohibits that.

There’s no danger of waking him though - the agent in question is performing sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor, facing the other way. Muscular arms behind his head as he lets out little puffs of exertion at the exercise, alternating sides as he twists.

Wary that you don’t want to be caught staring, you shut the door with more force than necessary behind you and greet him with a smile when he looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Leon.”

“Dove!” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. “Morning. Sleep okay?” He jumps up to his feet before taking a couple of steps over in your direction. There’s a grin on his face at the sight of you – makes you feel giddy.

“Yeah, thanks. How about you?”

“That’s good. Yeah, I slept fine.” He nods. It’s not a lie – he did sleep fine for the position he forced himself to maintain all night, despite the slight crick in his neck.

“Is that how you usually start your mornings?”

One of the arms you’d been admiring goes up to rub the back of his head again. “Kinda. I usually go for a run, but…”

“But you can’t leave me on my own.” You finish, smile dropping a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be - I’m not.” He drops his arm back down, casting an eye over a watch that’s not there. “Hey, you hungry? I can get breakfast started. Oatmeal again?”

“Sure.” You nod, fishing his watch out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “Thanks again for this. It was nice to wake up and know the time this morning.”

“Don’t mention it. You can, er, you know, keep it. If you like.” He can’t get the image of you fast asleep last night, clutching it close to your face. He knows it was most likely the sleeping pills meaning you’d just passed out with it in your hand more than anything deeper, but, hey, a guy can pretend.

“I’ll be okay, I can get the time off the TV during the day.” You hold it out again with insistence. “But maybe… maybe I could have it for the night again?”

“Deal.” Leon hastily agrees, his fingers brushing yours as he takes back the watch before fastening it around his wrist. “Breakfast coming right up.”

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as he heads towards the kitchen – your heart warmed once more by the sight of the blob of toothpaste sat ready and waiting on your toothbrush.

--

“And, finally, oatmeal.” He places it down on the coffee table, alongside your coffee, a glass of water and your morning dose of painkillers.

“Thank you.” You lean forward to pick up the spoon, smiling back at the face that Leon’s drizzled in honey atop your breakfast again.  

“Nah, pleasure’s all mine.” He calls over his shoulder as he picks up his own bowl from the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, before choosing to sit the other end of the sofa to you, rather than the opposite one.

“You know, I don’t get to do this very often. It’s nice.”

“Mm,” you swallow a spoonful of oatmeal. “Thought you said you’d been in lots of safe houses.”

“A fair amount. But, no, not that part. I mean, eating breakfast with someone.” “So…” You stir the spoon around the bowl, hoping it might prove a perfect segway into something you’d been wondering. “..there’s no-one at home for you?”

“Me?” He seems to scoff at the idea. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He replies casually, before his blue eyes widen in alarm at how it might come across. “

“I mean, just by the fact that you hadn’t mentioned anyone at your apartment that morning and you hadn’t asked any of those sorta questions, you know, if they’d been told about what happened, where you are...”

He’s flustered, feels like he’s really putting his foot in his mouth this morning. He can take the lead in the interrogation of some of the world’s most despicable humans, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to talk to a pretty girl.

“Yeah, I figured.” You tease back and he swears he feels the weight lift off his shoulders.

The two of you eat in silence for a moment when curiosity gets the better of you. “So, you didn’t eat breakfast with the… others?”

“Nope.” His tone is firm as he recalls some of his previous charges. “Certainly didn’t make them it either. Trust me – they were nowhere near as nice or as deserving of my protection as you are, Dove.” The comment makes your head tingle.

“It’s all been people ‘realising’ how deep they’d sank but only grew a conscience to save their own skin. Hell, you might have even performed surveillance on some of them. A lot of criminals finally show backbone when they realise their time is running out.”

“Well, I’m glad to make a change – both for sharing breakfast and …safe house occupancy with.”

“A nice change,” he mumbles, but you still hear.

--

After breakfast, you go to shower and Leon sets himself to task with the dishes once again, says he did his last perimeter check before nine. Removing the sling proves trickier than yesterday – when you go to tug off the Velcro your opposite shoulder smarts with a similar pain of that morning, causing you to hiss through your teeth, something which the painkillers from breakfast don’t seem to have alleviated.

You step into the cubicle after undressing – the hot water immediately somewhat soothing on your bruised shoulders but you still struggle to get what you now deem as your good arm high enough to even entertain the possibility of washing your hair.  

You try and avoid your reflection in the mirror when you dress, though you know you’ll have to confront your hair at some point. Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse – a greasy mop sat upon your head that makes your heart sink.

There must be a trick to it – other people must wash their hair one-handed all the time, but maybe they can lift an arm above their head. If you were home, you’d go to a salon, you think – an expensive you would deem necessary for your sanity.

A thought flashes across your mind – a ridiculous one. Leon is already doing so much for you, surely this would be completely over the line.

But you could… ask, couldn’t you? The worst he could do was say no, it would be awkward, and maybe there’s a hat in the duffel bag you’ve yet to discover.

You open the bathroom door, but don’t make to step over the threshold. Leon looks over from the sofa – dishes now drying in the rack besides the sink - and clocks your hesitation.

“Need a hand with the sling?”

Are you really going to ask him this?

You’ll break at some point - you know you will, so why not get it over with now? You’re a regimented two-day wash kinda girl and it’s day three. Not to be completely vain, but you’re covered with bruises and cuts, dressed in less than flattering clothes that aren’t yours and it would be nice to feel somewhat decent about something in your appearance.

Especially with the handsome company you’re keeping. Hell, Leon could be a model, a hair model too. There’d been shampoo and conditioner in the shower and you certainly hadn’t used it.

“Dove?” You’ve taken too long to reply again, getting stuck in your spiralling thoughts.

“I know this isn’t what you’re here for.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think further.

“Okay…” Leon's eyebrow is raised, a curious smile now fixed on his lips as he gets to his feet.

“And say no, obviously. Please. Just… I’d like to wash my hair.” You drop your eyes then – maybe it’ll be easier if you talk to your feet rather staring into his kind eyes?

"Right."

“And I’d… You know, I’d go to a salon and get it done there if we weren’t… here.”

“You’d like me to help you wash your hair?” There’s a tone of amusement or maybe disbelief in his tone.

Hearing him say it aloud makes you doubt the entire exercise, your heart begin to pound at your stupidity. “Sorry. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid to ask-“

“Hey, no, it makes sense.” He soothes, immediately wanting to ease your frustrations. “You can’t lift your arm above your head, right? My fault for not thinking about that.”

You look up then, seeing the sincerity on his face – like it truly was his fault that you couldn’t wash your own damn hair.

“I can do that, Dove. I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm. As you said, if you were anywhere else right now, you could go to a salon and whilst I can’t promise their quality, I seem to do all right with my own.” He shrugs. “You thinking over the sink?”

He doesn’t know why he asks – it’s hardly like you’re going to ask him to get in the shower with you.

Is it?

“I think so.” You look around the living area, though you’re well acquainted with what feels like every square inch of it now. “Though it might be a little awkward since we don’t have any chairs.”

He snaps his fingers. “Nah, there might be one in the garage, actually. Lemme check.”

He barely makes it into the garage when his cell vibrates in his pocket – one new message from Hunnigan.

Any server information for me?

Leon finds the folding chair nestled at the side of the washer and dryer and hesitates over the text back.

He’ll wash your hair – seeing how torn up you’d been about even asking him had made him feel awful - then he’ll give you the updates and ask about the servers.

He picks up the chair and tucks it under one arm, swiftly typing out a message on his cell and clicks send.

Not yet – Dove’s still asleep.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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Part eight.