#a “caretaker” & how it took until THAT EXACT SAME THING HAPPENED TO ME for me to actually go waitttttttt LMAOOO

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

u know... 2021 rachel was onto something when writing feeding habits harrison... like she walked I could FLY bc how did I singlehandedly give that man every single problem that could exist after struggling to see him as flawed for YEARSSS & how did that new level of understanding become foundational to the harrison we all know and love (loathe)

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Caretaker's eyes were heavy, so very heavy. The sharp fluorescent lights beamed down constantly: and it's so quiet that Caretaker can hear the mundane hum coming from the fixtures. She can also hear Whumpee's monitor, the constant beep being the only thing that is keeping her sane.

Whumpee was hurt on a mission and Caretaker couldn't seem to pull her eyes off of him. If you asked her, she would say she had been sitting in his room for 2 hours or so: but she had been in this room for as long as Whumpee has, and that was 8 hours ago. Of course, she hasn't spent the full 8 hours sitting hunched in a chair by his bed with her chin in her hands like she is now. The first few was spent actually saving him: and as the night continued on, the team filed out. Teammate 1 went home and dropped youngest at their house, Leader was called for a de-briefing, Oldest was the only one remaining, and eventually she left too. Or at least, Caretaker thought she left

Caretaker didn't hear the door creak open, until she pratically jumped out of her skin when Oldest spoke, "How is he?"

"Oh-uh, he's okay. Okay as he can be, as okay as when you left."

"Well, that's good" Oldest smiled softly and walked into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Maybe Oldest could sense the tension in Caretaker, see the gleam of exhaustion in her eyes, or noticed Caretaker's eye-bags and greasy hair: but somehow, she knew. "Sweetheart, have you been here all night?"

Caretaker responded with a quiet, "no"

"Don't lie to me." Oldest was now standing above her, blocking Whumpee from view.

Caretaker just looked away, prompting Oldest to take the seat right next to her. They sat in silence for a while, the hum and the monitor came back and Caretaker started to bounce her leg. Oldest broke the silence, "You go get some rest, let me stay here"

"No. I mean-no, it's fine. I'm fine, I'm not all that tired anyway"

"Mmhm-" Stupidly, Caretaker looked up for just a moment: and seeing the soft brown of Oldest's eyes, the tied back thinning hair, and the gently smile made Caretaker want to break down, be held by Oldest: she wanted her to whisper sweet nothings into her ear. Oldest had essentially raised Caretaker, she was the team's medic before Caretaker was. And Caretaker joined this team when she was young and desperate to get away from home. Oldest had been on the team much longer than most people are and took Caretaker into her arms without a second thought, everything that Caretaker knew was taught by Oldest.

"No. Really! I want to be here with Whumpee. In case something goes wrong or he wakes up, I want to be the first one to react, to be there. For him."

"Listen..I know what's going on in that bright little head of yours honey: you forget that I was in your exact same position not that long ago. So let me tell you something my mentor told me: at least a hundred years ago" Oldest let out a small laugh and looked down at Caretaker again, "They don't get better by staring at them."

This time Caretaker looked up

"Now, I'm gonna take you to the couch that's right outside the room, alright? And I don't want you to try and fight me." She wrapped her long fingers around Caretaker's fore-arm and yanked her out of the chair. It didn't take long for the exhausted Caretaker to use Oldest as support: half dragging Caretaker to the couch, she sat her down and pulled off her shoes and fluffed out the pillows before pushing Caretaker down into laying down. She wrapped her in a blanket and assured her, "If anything happens, you will be the first to know"

Oldest then placed a kind kiss on Caretaker's fore-head, and Caretaker was out in seconds

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  ��Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[whysojiminimnida]

Hi, JK's shoulder grab that your man Kev read as possessive/top… I mean it could be instinctual – we all have erogenous zones & couple power dynamics. But the way Kev took it as a specific gay coded gesture - it’s something that’s learnt by being in collective space with other people using this kind of body language. We often use the expression “they’re part of the community” but this makes me think of JKK really being physically in long term community with other gay folks & that makes me 🥰.

And HERE WE ARE AT THE COLLARBONE POST YO Hi @onthecuterside, please forgive me for taking fucking DAYS to get to your well-reasoned question. I was... doing research. Something. Anyway. That shoulder grip/collarbone thing has been poking at my synapses for awhile. Because, well...

It's kind of an unusual hand placement. And while there isn't always obvious pressure on Jimin's collarbone happening, sometimes there definitely is. It's like Koo is pressing his fingers into the area just above the bone, close to the juncture of Jimin's neck and shoulder. And as someone who has very sensitive collarbones I found that... interesting. Like WHY would you deliberately press into an erogenous zone in public in front of people when you know what it does to the person on the receiving end? Jeon Jungkook is a little shit, I said what I said.

It's not a move I see being done with other members, really. So I decided I was delusional and that it was just that Jimin is little and has rather narrow shoulders, and Koo has large hands. Which: true.

See, this is not really the same move at all. It's much more casual and chill, and you can definitely see the hand/shoulder proportion thing. So I mentioned it to Kev and sent him some pics mainly so he could tell me to calm tf down. This doesn't really mean anything, right? Right?

Like this pic, above. I think it's from, maybe, Brazil (?). That's not a sexual grip, really, to me. Jiminie is crying ffs and was, before Kookie got there. And when I came back at Kev with this shot he had to agree. But what it does indicate is a similar "Babe, I've got this, stay with me, I'm handling it" vibe that, honestly, is every bit as intimate as a sexytime power play, if not moreso. And it's not a hold we saw until 2016 or later. In fact the earliest indications of it I can find are from 2017-2018 and it has become more frequent since 2019. Let's be honest I am bad at running down exactly when my stolen internet content was shot. I try but I sleep or get distracted, you know how it is. But prior to 2017 that hold did not exist that I can find. At least, not from Jungkook as the guy doing the gripping.

Oh. Will you look at that, Park Jimin. Also, Jungkook didn't really get into shoulder massage as a hobby until after that time and I do think there might be a correlation, like one little sigh and he went "A-HA let's try that again".... not to be gross but some things are best learned with positive reinforcement, is all I'm saying.

Jimin has a long history of chronic neck and shoulder issues directly related to dance injuries that are aggravated by repeated motion. We been knew. And Jungkook really began taking it upon himself to learn and provide the necessary support for those injuries, which are best helped by stretching and massage, fairly early in their relationship as I see it. He's a caretaker, our Kookie, except that he kinda is NOT that with anyone not named Park Jimin.

And I'm not at all sure that this hold, or behavior if you will, was learned by watching others as much as I think it was one of those "this works for US" things. That other people recognize it isn't weird though. I recognized it because I was married to a dude who used that exact move on me. Kevin noticed it because, I suspect, he's used it himself or at least seen it done. I didn't ask too many questions, he's already kicking my ass for messaging his boyfie so I have to be a good dongsaeng and mind my manners for a minute. TL;DR, I really think this is a bit of a fun/sometimes risky/occasionally possessive or even protective move that Jungkook in particular brings out when he is feeling some type of way.

It seems to get good results for him so go off, Jeon, enjoy your man and make sure we all know he's YOUR man, not our man, and you got him handled. Balls Out For Jimin-ssi indeed, sir.

And sometimes, once in a while, the Park half of the household goes full Kitty Gang and

And I ran out of post room before I even got to Seoul Tourism or even Antler Fetish Jimin. I could do like six more posts just like this one with all different photos because apparently if something works the Jeon-Parks are not afraid to bust it out on the regular. It's just another one of those interesting little dynamics that set Jungkook and Jimin apart from any other "ship" between members. Collarbones are intimate. Kind of like, I dunno. Earlobes, maybe? Neck hickeys? I've clearly got my work cut out for me. It's cool, I'll take this one for team Jikook. It's a sacrifice, you know, but someone's gotta do it.

[a-froger-epic]

You said Freddie "was in love with an idea of Mary". I don't understand this and some other people's opinion on this. They were in a relationship. They broke up, because Freddie was gay and couldn't have romantic relationship with her. They stayed friends, which isn't unsual (see Joe). He couldn't love her as a friend? Only "the idea of her"? She didn't deserve to be loved? Why is it wrong to ask Phoebe about her? Why the fandom tries to forget she ever existed? She's known Freddie for 22 years.

Alright, I will elaborate then since I think you've misunderstood what I said there, and that is fair enough because I didn't explain.

I'm really not keen on getting into any discussions about Mary, to be honest, which is why I said none of this is a hill I'd like to die on. I'm not interested in defending how Mary acted after his death, there's a lot of valid criticism and it's true that their relationship is and was often misrepresented in a way that is disrespectful to Jim and the very fact that Freddie was a self-identified gay man. So I understand the frustration with that. But anyway, here are my thoughts on Mary and Freddie and their actual relationship with each other.

Let's start at the beginning. Although none of us can really know what their relationship was like, I personally think it's clear that they clicked very well in the beginning, on some level.

Let me just pre-empt this again by saying that pretty much all of this is speculation and my personal opinion, I'm not trying to tell anyone they're wrong. This is just my take. Don't come for me. Let me have my opinion, please and thank you.

I think they fit well in the way that, knowing Mary's background (deaf parents, started working full-time at 15), she was very used to being in a caretaker role and Freddie liked, in many ways, to be taken care of. I think she was also somebody who was not very outspoken with her emotions, not very emotional overall, and I think that actually perhaps suited Freddie quite well. Because I think that her keeping her feelings close to her chest gave him the excuse to do the exact same. Why do I think so?

Having read Rosemary's book, it's apparent that she is a very emotional person and what ended up happening, is that Freddie opened up to her in ways he never did with Mary. He never, until their break up, let on to Mary that he wanted to be with men. Freddie and Rosemary, by contrast, were only together for a year or so and he could not stop talking about it. Rosemary was open, so Freddie was open. I think Freddie was a bit of a chameleon when it came to relationships, which stemmed from his deep desire to be loved and accepted. He wanted to please, he wanted to be a good fit for his partners. I think that was sometimes detrimental for him because he would push himself to be somebody he wasn't. I think incidentally with Mary it sort of worked out quite well for quite a long time. I think that while they did have feelings for each other, there was also a lot of unspoken things, an emotional distance, and I think that made it easier for Freddie to be in the closet as long as he was. Again, having to grow up so fast, I think Mary was someone who learned to swallow things down and not address them and just function. In a way, Freddie had a very similar approach.

Now, let's talk about love and what I meant by him being in love with the idea of her. I believe that Freddie definitely believed and felt that he was in love with her for much of the time they were together, in part because I think he really, really wanted to be. Here was this girl who was in many ways perfect for him, the kind of girl his parents were thrilled about. Also, quite importantly, somebody who believed in him and did support him. I remember seeing one interview with her where she says her first impression was that he was this charismatic, long-haired musician and seemed so confident. Not at all like the person underneath, I think she goes on to say. But it did give me the impression that being as young as she was at the time, there was definitely a sort of wide-eyed admiration of his huge personality there from her side. And I think that stroked his ego a lot. I'm sure that later on in their relationship, she did become somewhat disenchanted with him and most likely even frustrated with him much of the time, but again, being someone who keeps themselves to themselves, I think she put on a brave face and funnily enough he did the exact same thing.

It think that towards the end of their relationship, they functioned as partners, rather than a romantic couple. I think Freddie clung on for a very long time - if not forever - to some ideal of what his life should/could/might have been if only he hadn't been gay (internalised homophobia galore), and that is also what I mean by being in love with the idea of Mary. The idea of the beautiful fantasy relationship with a woman he was never able to live up to, and I think a lot of guilt stemmed from that, for him. That he should have been able to give her that, but he couldn't. That he had failed her. That, therefore, he had to provide for her as long as he lived. Because if he hadn't been gay, he could have married her and everything would have been brilliant - which, you can't tell me, that his parents did not likely think exactly that. I will eat a hat if his mother did not once bemoan that he hadn't or wouldn't marry her. Again, I repeat, this is some deeply ingrained internalised homophobia I'm talking about, I'd be hesitant to say that Freddie was even aware of it.

Now, here's the thing. Freddie was someone who could not be alone, we know this, and he was someone who could not let go of people easily. He stayed friends, if he could, with many of his exes. And I think he was terrified of the thought of losing Mary - who he was used to, who he relied on, who he felt deeply guilty towards because he wasn't the man she deserved - when their relationship ended. Basically, he wanted the to have the cake and eat it, too. And he got that, in a way. He did get to keep her in his life, she agreed to that, and I don't think that was at all times particularly healthy for either of them.

I think Mary resented that Freddie was gay. Again, I don't even think it was a very conscious thing, but I think she absolutely believed that if only he hadn't been gay, they would have been perfect for each other. I don't think she ever stopped feeling like he was the one that got away. I think this led to her deeply resenting a lot of his circle and his lifestyle, resenting having to be involved in it, which I think is a large part of why she burned all bridges when he died. I think she felt free from an obligation that she herself had put on herself. I think the woman could have done with some therapy, tbh, I think they all could have. Anyway.

When I read what Phoebe said in that interview, what jumped out at me was that this was an important dinner with Freddie's parents. I think Freddie took solace in the idea that he could bring Mary out to dinner with them and it was almost as if it was real. That they had the son they wanted, in the way that he knew they didn't. I'm tearing up writing this right now because it's really heartbreaking to me.

But that is what I meant by the idea of her. I think, also, Freddie was generally very romantic. I think he was a bit in love with love, overall. And I think he held that fantasy somewhere in his mind forever, of what could have been, if only. And I think Mary did the same.

Of course it isn't romantic. It's terrible, it's sad, there's so many things wrong with it. But that's what I think their relationship with each other was. I think it always carried an echo of his perceived failure to have been the man she thought he could have been, he thought he could have been, if only he hadn't been gay.

Tl; dr - I'm not interested in erasing Mary from Freddie's life, any more than I'm interested in erasing anyone else who was important to him from his life. I do think he had a lot of love for her, and she for him. I don't think acknowledging that takes away from his love for his husband or makes him any less gay.

[string-bean-requiem]

New addition - Vampire!Tattoo Artist!Risotto x Human!Reader

Summary - Ris finds a kitten and brings it home to you

Note - Reader uses She/Her pronouns & is a woman. Modern AU

Genre - Fluff

Animals never really took too much of a liking towards Risotto Nero, who may or may not be disheartened by this very fact, but nevertheless, understands exactly why.

He was mother nature’s very own monstrous concoction of a top class predator. Hunting any and all species with warm, crimson blood flowing within their bodies — the very substance that keeps him alive and functioning — with speed faster than a cheetah in its prime, strength greater than any nation’s army combined, along with nails and teeth that could slice through almost anything thrice more precise than any polished blade ever could.

So while he understood well and why animals were deadly afraid of him, disappointment couldn’t resist its way towards his un-beating heart when yet another dog has scampered away from him, all because he simply glanced its way.

Although, disappointment may to be too light of an adjective to describe the depth of emotions he feels towards the rejection of his favourite companions, as the same species had used to be the ones Risotto would seek comfort in when he was exhausted from his own (or what used to be his own) kind’s reactions towards his... ‘vibe’, as the current time’s society would say. Not that he was surprised with that one though. Even during his time as a human, he was well feared by many other humans. If not for his stature and demeanour, then surely for his occupation as a seasoned assassin.

Even though not much has changed when he does come in contact with most humans these days, especially more-so now that he has sleeves of tattoos complimenting the obsidian of his sclera and the glaring crimson in his iris, there was at least a sanctuary, a safe haven in specific types of people all throughout time: those who do not care, and those who are accepting.

Both of which have never cowered away from him, both of which some makes up Risotto’s close knit circle of people he actively cares about, and both of which can be found in his lover... his partner... his better half — you.

You, who despite your species’ natural evolution in (rightfully) fearing vampires, looked at him and felt nothing of the sort and instead, saw him as Risotto Nero. You saw him as the man he was and is, saw past his predator nature, and proceeded to peel back his guarded layers one by one, each with a softer touch than the last, and always left him craving and breathless, but never regretful.

Sometimes, Risotto even thinks being a blood-sucker isn’t so bad. That all those years spent confused, afraid, and lonely was quite alright. With every memory fracture blurring together into a kaleidoscope of nebulous haze, seeming like a distant past, unfamiliar even, and slowly, he feels it slipping past his fingers with each day he spends with your lovely being. Perhaps, he even feels lucky for having this... predicament of a nature being forced upon him lifetimes ago, seeing as how this exact curse was the reason why he had been able to live long enough to have met you. Ever so often though, he has to pinch himself in an attempt to try to soothe himself from wondering if this was all just a very nice dream (or a very sick and convoluted prank on him) because he feels as if it’s too good to be true... but he knows better than that. The swell of his dead heart just by thinking about the welcome back kiss you always pepper onto his lips when he reaches home reminds him just of that.

However, before Risotto could lose himself further into his reminiscing, a weak, shaky mewl echoes softly from the alleyway to his right. It even surprises him to a point of stillness because it sounded so much like a cry for help — for him, the predator of all beings.

But it couldn’t be, it didn’t make sense for it to be, and he almost starts his journey back home again, until the same frail vocals call out for him once more.

Risotto’s head turns towards the direction of the sound and he’s met with the sight of a sketchy pathway. Not that he had anything to worry about though, he drank blood for a living after all.

As another cry sounds off, Risotto approaches forward with tentative steps, not wanting to scare off the very obviously weak animal whilst trying to show that he meant no harm or malice. It seemed to work, oddly enough, when a tuft of obsidian fur pokes out of the confines of its shabby cardboard box, revealing its bright golden eyes to stare at Risotto’s own crimson pair.

An odd tension enveloped the two beings, and a beat passes before Risotto takes the leap to pet the kitten’s head — and he’s so glad that he did.

How long has it been since an animal has nuzzled its little head into his expectant palm? How many years has it been since the last animal had deemed him safe enough to lick at his hand? How much time has passed since soft little paws have been padded at his hand as if to say “Pet me more!”?

Long enough.

So much so that it has him perplexed that a weak little kitten is not wetting itself in fear of his presence so far. Questions and guesses as to why whirls in his head, yet he couldn’t help but find himself almost giddy at the turn of events... at this brave little Bombay.

Risotto’s excitement is cutoff short when he notices its shivering body, which is quite unsurprising, as the little fellow was showing signs of being on the edge of malnourishment, and his heart squeezes a little at that.

With careful and steady movements, showing that once again he meant no harm, he shrugs off his coat, hoping it’ll be of use to keep the animal warm, and with the utmost care and gentleness he could muster, wraps it up and tucks its back into its makeshift shelter. Risotto makes sure the kitten’s safe and comfortable before ultimately deciding to bring it home with him, to you, while wondering along the journey if you would want to keep it as much as he does.

God, he hopes you do, but he knows cats can be picky with who they want to show affections to, who they want to accept as their caretaker, and he thinks he would be disheartened greatly if the animal in his hold did not take a liking to you. It would be such a cruel fucking joke if the one animal who didn’t shun or cower at him liked him, but not you, especially since he knows you’ve been wanting a cat for a long time, having unintentionally overheard this desire of yours with your friend a while back when they came to visit you. And it would be so cruel when he finally finds one that won’t claw at his eyes 24/7 that it may end up trying to claw your eyes instead.

You better like her. I won’t know what to do if you don’t...

With each step bringing Risotto closer to your shared home, he grows a little more tense at the prospect of introducing the stray to you, how it’ll react, how it’ll go down... and before he knows it, he’s already through the front door and calling out your name to signal his arrival home.

“Welcome home, Ris. How was work today?”, your voice echoes a little in the cozy space. The domesticity of your tone etches into his memories and he files away into a secure space in his heart, feeling his worries calming by the second.

He could never get tired of this — of you, in the home you’ve both built together, where happiness and content are seeped into every crevice with a warm smile and soft eyes and even softer hearts.

A moment passes as he commits this scene into his heart, like he had done so with every other point in time that he has shared with you, and he realises he’s gone off track a little when your curious eyes continues to peer at him, his sudden stillness, and the cardboard box in his arm.

“It was a slow day at the parlour...”, Risotto quickly mumbles. His lips soft and warm against your smiling ones, lingering for a beat longer than usual, wanting to bask in your familiarity to ease the nerves beginning to flutter again. “...but a couple of interesting things happened.”.

Risotto pulls away and immediately misses your warmth. Twinges of strained excitement begin to dig deeper into the depths of his abdomen, and he can’t help but hope once again that the little fur ball would take a liking to you because fuck does he wants to raise it with you so damn much.

“Oh?”, your eyebrow raises inquisitively, “Does it have anything to do with that box in your hand?”.

Risotto all but nods in accordance and settles the cardboard box onto the coffee table. Your curiosity peaking as you glance between the shabby box and his gaze.

“I overheard you wanting a cat once. And I know it’s hard to have a pet around with my... disposition, but...”, he trails off when he reaches towards the box to dig out the star of today’s show, still bundled in his heavy coat.

“No way...”.

Your eyes widen, eyebrows shot upwards and your grin spreads itself wide across your lips when a tiny head of fur ruffles itself out of its makeshift bed.

Slits of honied gold peered at you from its position, wary and cautious of its own safety with every step you take forward. Risotto own breath subconsciously bates as your hand inches towards the Bombay’s head apprehensively. You’ve already surmised that this little kitten is more than fine with your vampiric lover, seeing as how it seems to make itself completely at home in his coat and in his hold, so the only hurdle left to complete your new family was for the same kitten to take a liking to you as well, and the pressure was gnawing its way at your nerves. The both of you were well aware that cats were picky with who they liked, and if this one cat didn’t like you... you wouldn’t know how to handle that and it’s consequences.

You honestly didn’t want to even think about the consequences... and it seemed like you didn’t have to.

It immediately took a liking to you, nuzzling it’s head into your hand before licking at your digits the same way it did with Risotto earlier today.

It likes you, and most of the tension unravels it’s hold on his muscles. The hardest hurdle was over, leaped in perfect form and done with, and Risotto sighs in relief before he asks, “Do you want to keep it?”.

The chances of you rejecting this proposal was practically nonexistent, seeing as how your eyes are practically glimmering at the kitten pawing at your fingers, but he was a gentleman and he wanted your verbal confirmation to expanding your family together. You, of course, agreed without a beat of hesitation, all while cooing and petting the mewling Bombay in his arms.

God, he could live in this moment forever.

A vivid smile takes over Risotto’s features as he steals your attention for a bit, his fingers tipping your chin upwards quick enough for you to catch his dimples making their coveted appearance, and you have to take a moment to re-collect your swooning self. He always did look the most lovely when he was unabashedly happy, something you pride yourself on being able to bring out of him. But before he could swoop in for another kiss, your brain kickstarted and suddenly you remembered.

“Wait you said ‘a couple of interesting things happened’... what’s the other thing?”.

“Oh. A pair of drunkards walked in during the afternoon and demanded to get matching tattoos of each other’s irises on their nipples. I refused, of course.”

“...what?”, your eyes widened in disbelief.

You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the incident, and the fact that Risotto had delivered it as deadpan as ever, which is totally up your alley in terms of humour, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to give him a chuckle. Instead, all you felt was concern and disbelief bubbling at the blatant entitlement and stupidity the drunkards had displayed to your beloved.

“Are you feeling okay? Did they hurt you?”, you voiced. Your tone soft, but not without your signature protective edge reserved for your loved ones, and you find one of your hands leaving the kitten to reach out to cup Risotto’s warming cheek.

He understands how you must be feeling, knowing that beneath your nonchalant personality reveals a more protective side, and he loves that about you. He loves that no matter how extreme or how insignificant the matter is, you’d always show him that you’ll care for and about his wellbeing, going as far as even fighting for him and his honour, even if he’s the one who’s a powerful supernatural being.

He loves it, he loves you, and he loves how you’re so consistent in your love for him, and in this moment, he feels it once again and melts into your palm.

“Yes, and yes.”, Risotto’s voice is just a touch tender as he drowns in the love pouring from your eyes. “No need to worry about me, biddùzza. I’m a vampire. I could drain them dry before they can even blink.”, he reassures.

Your posture relaxes and you can’t help but huff out a chuckle at his words, being able to finally find his apathy and the situation a little funny in its own way. But that doesn’t mean he still should just keep up that attitude forever. Always easier to be safe than sorry. Powerful supernatural hunter or not.

“You know I can’t help it. You’re too soft, Ris.”, you want to take on a scolding tone, but how could you when he looks at you like that? Like you’ve hand-crafted every single good and beautiful thing in this world with graceful weaves and gentle touches... like you’re the sole reason the moon glows every night its own nebulous light, surrounded by clouds of stars and quiet skies... How could you when he looks at you like you’ve bloomed spring to his world drowning storms?

A sigh holds itself back in your throat, opting instead to lean in and peck his lips, pillowy with just a touch of coldness that you’ve grown to be fond of, before returning your attention back to the eager little kitten in his arms again, and Risotto commits the sweetness of your smile and the fondness in your eyes for the purring animal to his already expansive memory.

“That’s reserved only for you...”, he murmurs.

A millennia ago, if someone were to tell Risotto that he’d be happily committed to his human partner, voice fond and gaze overflowing with adoration as he listens to them worry over his well-being and comfort whilst they pet a purring little kitten in his hands, he’d have ripped their head off for spouting something so absurd... for taunting him with something seemingly so unobtainable.

But here he is, lips meeting yours again in a loving kiss, with warm blissful domesticity encapsulating your shared home as the new addition to your little family nuzzles itself into his palm.

...and now you too.

[shihalyfie]

A meta on Miyako, and her position in the 02 group

One piece of cultural context that tends to get lost in translation a lot when it comes to Digimon is the relative order of who’s older than whom. Of course, in any country, the difference between an eleven-year-old and a twelve-year-old is still pretty significant, but in East Asian culture, that single year is A Big Deal. (This is why Adventure’s first episode has everyone introduce themselves with their grade levels, even though it seems pointless to do this with otherworldly creatures.)

So Miyako’s the oldest in the 02 group. Let’s talk about Miyako!

Digimon being a series that loves to play with preconceived expectations, it’s probably no surprise that the oldest one is...not exactly the stellar example of an esteemed elder. Despite being the oldest, Miyako is one of the biggest disaster children in the entire group, with only Daisuke competing for that position.

On top of that, we then start bringing Japanese honorifics into play, which throws another wrench into it, because that single year can be the difference between a -san and a -kun, and that will be drilled into your head as the kids talk to each other over the course of the whole series. This is why leaving honorifics in translation is such a disputed topic in localization debates to this day (because it does have a lot of information on how characters see each other), and even I have to admit that while I’m normally in the “cut them out!” camp, I’m so accustomed to their usage in Digimon that I’m still using the honorifics in fanfic because of how weird it feels to drop them now (even though this relegates me to the hell of maintaining an Excel spreadsheet).

Let’s look at the honorifics chart for Miyako. What do the others in the team call her?

Daisuke: Miyako

Iori: Miyako-san

Takeru: Miyako-san

Hikari: Miyako-san

Ken: Miyako-san

Well, would you look at that. Every single person except for Daisuke uses -san on her.  By the time you’ve gotten to the end of the series, the association between Miyako and the “respect honorific” is probably going to be pretty high. And in fact, Daisuke did accidentally slip into using -san on her, in a moment of being a bit out of it in episode 30. Miyako’s response? “It feels weird when you add the -san.” Really, the only reason he doesn’t use the honorific with her seems to only really be because of how close he is with her -- he uses proper honorifics on all other elders, but Miyako’s enough of a fellow disaster child that he’s comfortable getting a bit more in her face.

This isn’t the first time the series had pulled out the idea of “the oldest one is actually not very reliable”, of course -- infamously, Jou was the oldest in the Adventure group, something he even took as a reason that he was supposed to be the most responsible, but unfortunately was...simultaneously the most reliable and unreliable. In the end, of course, everyone came to learn that he’d pull through...eventually, but he (especially in the first half) had a lot of an aura of exasperation and occasional “uh...is he gonna be okay...” doubt around him.

But this isn’t quite the case for Miyako.

One interesting thing about Miyako is that even when she shows off some of her worst traits in front of them -- being shallow over appearances, being a little too over-the-top, or sometimes losing control over herself...nobody really holds it against her. Even when she was fangirling over Ichijouji Ken in episode 8, Daisuke seems more taken aback than he has any criticisms about her behavior, Iori only points out that she normally wouldn’t be into younger boys, and eventually everyone moves on from the topic.

In fact, people getting exasperated over her only generally seems to happen on the actual spot, and only when things really hit peak. Nobody ever really holds things like “Miyako’s into hot guys” over her head once all is said and done -- in fact, nobody ever really criticizes Miyako’s personality or behavior or expresses doubt in her ability to do something much whenever there’s no need to. Whenever Miyako does do something disastrously bad, nobody brings the incident up again. It’s more like an “oh, dear, please help us” whenever things do get bad...and then they all move on and forgive her.

In fact, the only times any major criticisms or doubts about Miyako’s personality or reliability come out are from episode 31, which, of course, was also a major character building episode for her...

...and note the contexts these came in: the first is from Daisuke, who’s the one person on the team known to be comfortable with constantly bantering with her (and is also comparing her to Hikari, whom we know he puts on a pedestal), and the second is Hikari laying down an extremely mild criticism of her character that actually is quickly followed by an admission that she envies her for that aspect of her (because Hikari is on the other extreme, being emotionally repressive and unable to voice her feelings well).

Ken joins the team halfway into the series, and although he’s a polite person in general (he also calls Hikari “Hikari-san”, even though she’s the same age as him), there’s actually enough to indicate he also looks up to her with respect.

I say that Miyako was the second person after Daisuke to bid for Ken joining the group, but one of the really, really important parts that shouldn’t be forgotten here is that it was the exact same episode (25) -- Daisuke starts making proposals to the other kids to bring him in and makes his first move to reach out at the beginning, and Miyako at the end. In terms of the actual series’s chronology, this was only a single day of difference...and it’s not until six more episodes when we get our next person (Hikari) openly showing receptiveness (even then, Hikari doesn’t actually vocalize this besides dropping him a line in 34, so Ken may not have really felt anyone’s opinion on him really changing until then, or until Takeru in 37).

So we have Daisuke and Miyako openly accepting Ken at virtually the same time (Miyako made it very clear to him that she was open to him through her email at the end of episode 25). The two of them took very different approaches in reaching out to Ken thereafter -- Daisuke decided to be a bit more aggressive and in-your-face, and, ultimately, became the one who emotionally connected with him the best (because with someone like Ichijouji Ken, there are barriers you need to be breaking). Miyako’s stance was to give him space and let him join on his own terms, and while this didn’t get her nearly as emotionally close to him, it did actually have an interesting side effect where he initially seemed to be a lot more comfortable about approaching her (because she’s a little more gentle in approaching him, so she’s not as intimidating and doesn’t bring up the Complicated Feelings associated with his changing relationship with Daisuke, at least until he finally does figure those out in the end).

He actually “tacitly nods” at Miyako in battling with her during the events of episode 25 (and this is notable in that this was before she sent her email to him at the end of it).

Which means that he actually gets two “one-on-one” scenes with her in episodes 30 and 33, which is actually pretty surprising when you consider how this entire thing was during an arc when he was still pretty stilted and awkward when dealing with the other kids directly. 33 is interesting because it actually would mean very little by itself if it weren’t for the context this scene is in -- three episodes prior, Miyako slapped Ken in the face, and one episode after that, Ken saw Miyako at her absolute hysterical worst, throwing a panicked fit, infringing on insensitivity in all directions, and generally being a mess...but not only does he seem to be absent a grudge about any of this, he’s still more than willing to be her partner’s caretaker and dash all the way to Kyoto in an “I trust you with this” manner.

Basically? Despite everything, he actually trusts and respects her abilities quite a lot.

So why does Miyako get to be a complete mess and all over the place, and yet still seem to command this much respect among the 02 crowd? The answer is, quite simply, that they like her a lot.

Let’s look at what Miyako calls her friends.

Daisuke: Daisuke

Iori: Iori

Takeru: Takeru-kun

Hikari: Hikari-chan

Ken: Ichijouji-kun (until episode 30), Ken-kun (episode 25 and after).

Interesting web of relationships here. Miyako presumably omits the honorific with Iori because she’s known him closely as her neighbor since prior to the series. In a similar vein to how she doesn’t want Daisuke to use an honorific on her, she omits it on him -- the two really are very close, even if they don’t give off that aura at first. She’s respectful with Takeru, and endearing with Hikari, and, notably, she is the first person in the entire group to switch to given name basis with Ken (Daisuke doesn’t do this until episode 30, and not regularly until 39), indicating that she very, very much wanted to go out of her way to reach out to and get closer to him.

Unlike Jou, who sometimes tried to use his position as the oldest as proof that he should be commanding that kind of respect, Miyako doesn’t really have any conscious awareness that she’s the oldest (the only time she consciously pulls it out is episode 8, when she’s talking about Ken being younger than her, and it’s otherwise implied by the way she acts in episode 7 that she actually forgets about this regularly), because she’s too busy doting on everyone. Miyako is extremely affectionate, and one of her first actions in the entire series was to bring food for everyone, even though she’d just met them all. For all intents and purposes, she actually basically is the mom of the group (it’s just...she’s more of a disaster than you’d usually expect the archetype to be). And on top of that, she’s bright, and cheerful, and brings everyone’s spirits up -- that same overly dramatic, all-over-the-place nature that causes her to sometimes lose control is the same exuberance that leads her to go “Digital Gate, open! Chosen Children, let’s roll!”

Her ridiculous antics make people laugh. This happens twice at prominent plot points (Hikari in episode 31, and Ken in episode 38), and, heck, even her depiction in the epilogue is another moment of her causing her family to laugh. Miyako always has her heart in the right place; she cares about her friends deeply, and makes this very clear.

And Ken certainly must have come to recognize this himself by the end of the series, considering...

“Please don’t worry about me” -- or, in other words, what you say when you know someone is going out of their way to be emotionally invested in your welfare. Ken, still soft-spoken, polite, and respectful, by this point was well aware that Miyako was a fundamentally good person looking out for him -- so, in other words, he’d also hopped on the Inoue Miyako respect train.

And as I’ve pointed out many times, the 02 group was a little different from their seniors in that they were “social-life” friends -- people who enjoyed each other’s company even when it had nothing to do with Digimon incidents -- and so it meant that, in the end, they all really did have a lot of fondness for Miyako as a friend, and it really is that much easier to “forgive” your friend’s faults when you care about your friend that much. You have a friend who dotes on you and cares about you, and although she’s a little high-strung and off her rocker at times, she’s also bright and funny, so in the end, can you really fault her?

[americangodstalk]

American Gods: My opinion and review of season three’s finale

SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD!

I took notes while watching the episode so I can give you my exact thoughts here.

This episode has two good things. Only two. 

The first was that they started to drop off some Shining vibes at the Center of America. Honestly, I was all for it. The Shining is the embodiment of the creepy hotel, and one of my favorite works, The definition of the anomalous, haunted, evil hotel. And the Center of America is supposed to be the Overlook hotel but for the gods. A creepy, dangerous place where they can break down into pure madness or oblivion if they are not careful. Too bad they did not continue and explore this more. You can see the difference between the old seasons and this one because in this one, they mix up together two different moments of the book in one episode: the Center and the vigil. In the old seasons, it would have been two different episodes to give enough screen time for each of these moments/chapters to be adapted faithfully and entirely. 

Two, the Technical Boy’s storyline. It was still too short for my taste, but I admit, they handled the revelation pretty well. Not establishing him as an Old God, but as a bridge between the Old and the New, that’s pretty clever, and making him the first and most powerful of the New, I roll with it. It also makes sense given World’s identity that he would usurp and overthrow who would have been the true leader of the New Gods. My main concern with this that they would have presented Technical Boy as dating back to the prehistoric times, which would have been very problematic for the lore (especially since the New Gods are described as an American phenomenon. And among the “things” we saw in artefact 1, was the first printing, most precisely the European first printing. Anyway)

Now for the rest and the bad parts...

I was ultimately pissed off at how they treated the passing of the body of Mr. Wednesday. It is not a “Norse tradition”, or not one I know of. The vigil thing, now that is done in accordance to the laws of the divine Old Gods, true. But in the novel it was clearly established that what happened at the Center of America was something that was bound by divine rules. RULES not traditions. That was the only thing the technical boy and Mr. Nancy agreed on. It wasn’t a matter of cultural tradition. 

As I mentionned before, the Center of America scene lacked tension. It wasn’t just a place where the god were “powerless” in the novel: it was a place where they could not attack each other because they were too careful surviving on their own. It was a place of danger, of tension, where the technical boy was starting to become mad. And here? Czernobog has sex with the receptionist. Which is another thing that disturbs me: not only is it unfitting with the setting (again, the gods are on such an hedge that they normally couldn’t be that relaxed or casually have sex like that), but it is also unfitting with the character - it is Mr. Wednesday that is a seducer who enjoys charming (literaly) young girls to get a bit of worship now and then. He is the lecherous guy, not Czernobog. 

There are VERY UNFORTUNATE implications with Shadow’s choice between divinehood and humanity. Because here, humanity is represented as black slaves, while divinehood is represented by a white man - even more a white European entity. Very, VERY unfortunate implications here. 

And what the hell is going on with Shadow’s character here? This is not the Shadow I know of, this is not the Shadow of the novel or even of the previous seasons, this is not even the Shadow of post-AG material! Since when does Shadow desires godhood? Since when does Shadow crave power and wants to become a leader? Who the hell is this? 

I still don’t get the fucking point of SHARD. What the hell is that? Especially since Mr. World is clearly Loki. In the novel, the natural tensions between Old and New were enough to draw on the war. The New Gods weren’t some kind of brainwashers invaders trying to puppet humans. I don’t even understand what Shard even is. Hell, in the novel the New Gods even carefully avoided to call themselves outright gods despite being ones, to differentiate themselves from the Old ones.

On a similar note, I realized something else with Lakeside (since it reappears). Many watchers were annoyed at Lakeside, feeling it fake, not understanding why such a town would be considered peaceful or idyllic. And it makes sense, because for most of the screen time, Lakeside showed us to turn on Shadow, accuse each other and hide secrets. In the novel, Shadow spent time with more of the people in town. He bonded with more people than Chad, Hinzelmann and Marguerite. There was much more a sense of welcoming and hospitality there. So again, they rushed it. If they wanted to make a season about Lakeside, develop the town fully. 

And poor Bilquis. She just doesn’t know what to do anymore. Oh, let me correct that: the writers don’t know what to do with her anymore. Ever since the ending of season 1 (which is technically the beginning of season 2, since they clearly reused the scripts left by Fuller and Green), she has been just wandering around, and even now... her character just leads nowhere. That’s what happen when you have a tertiary character of two scenes become a central one. Why not introduce some of the dozens of other divine characters, huh? 

And if there is a season 4, they better up their stakes, because so far the number of gods, both Old and New, on screen, has been dwindling massively. You wouldn’t believe America is filled with deities, huh? At least for the Old Gods they’re more numerous, but the New? Media/New Media is gone without a trace, these new things of Shard we can’t even identify are also out of the picture, the Caretaker disappeared, most of the Agency are just children, Technical Boy took on the role of many of the other New Gods (like gods of radio and the telephone), Money (whoever he is since his character is still confusing) isn’t even on board... Is it just Mr. World, Tech Boy and a bunch of children now? 

And I am not convinced about the Norns speaking and acting here. In the novel they were much creepier. Here, for fuck’s sake, one of the Norns looked at the ground before stepping down the frontdoor. That ruins the entire mystic mood! 

Let’s talk a bit about the vigil stuff, shall we? Outside of the fact they removed a lot of what made this beautiful (Ganesh isn’t here, Ratatosk isn’t here, Jesus isn’t here either, nobody’s fucking here), they also did something I believe to have again ruined the ritual. Here, Shadow is tied to the tree by branches - not by ropes. The tree animates itself and ties Shadow.  This is bad. Why? Because in the novel there was an ambiguity, and that’s what made the power of that scene. You didn’t know if what Shadow saw was supernatural events, real gods, or if it was a sun/thirst/hunger-induced hallucination. That’s what made it even holier, since it was precisely this same ambiguity that ruled the old religions (was it a drug hallucination, or truly a god speaking through the priest’s voice?), 

Finally I do not know what to think of the reveal of Mr. Wednesday’s death being a con, to revive himself... The sacrifice of a son wouldn’t restore Odin to his former glory, at least no by the book’s lore, it would certainly merely bring him back to life maybe, but that’s it. We all know what he truly needs to return to his all-powerful glory. I think the reveal of Wednesday as a cruel con men is also too early. This season built up Wednesday as a figure to root for, with a good and compassionate side. You can’t just ruin it all by the end of the season. It has already been ruined by season 2 and the end of season 1. Wait until season 4 for it... if there is one. 

So yeah... all in all what I have to say is. Missed opportunity. Stick to the book. 

[tintentrinkerin]

Shared Property

Rating: Mature Pairing: Sam/Dean, later Sam/Jack/Dean Tags: Teasing, Possessive!Dean, Flustered!Sam, Non-graphic Smut Summary: Jack has a thing for Sam and Dean. And Dean has a thing for showing the brat what he gets when he messes with Sam. Word count: 1k

Read under the cut or on AO3

It started quite innocent at first or at least that's what Dean and Sam keep telling themselves, now that Jack's lying in their bed, soaking wet from sweat and cum and breathing heavily. A smug grin on his face. Cocky little slut, Dean thinks. And he knows Sam has a similar thought crossing his mind.

Sam leans down, kisses Jack's swollen lips. "Was that what you wanted?", he asks, voice still rough. "Yes", Jack's grin gets even wider. His eyes are half closed, one hand clutching onto Sam's shoulder. "That is exactly what I wanted."

-

At first it was the little things that Sam noticed. Dean didn't. He didn't pay too much attention to Jack, mostly because he felt kind of edgy when he was around. He didn't like the kid at first and he had a lot of reasons to do so. Now that some time had passed he felt better about it. Almost comfortable.

Sam was different. He liked Jack from the beginning, took him under his wings when he had no one else. He was the caretaker and Dean really admired him for his patience. Until one morning.

-

Normally, Jack got up and joined Dean and Sam when they had breakfast. And normally he still wore his pajamas. Not today. He had already showered, and obviously found the tiniest towel around his hips. Dean noticed immediately how Sam turned around, tried not to look at Jack for too long. Well, Dean did look. Closely.

-

Incidents like this kept happening and Jack would ask them very naughty questions in such an innocent manner that Sam couldn't turn him down and refuse answering him. Sam was too nice sometimes. It was obvious to Dean that Jack flirted with Sam. It drove Dean up the walls and they indeed had a fight about it.

Sam kept saying it was his responsibility to teach Jack about how the world worked. How love and sex worked and that it was just Jack's curiosity. Dean was jealous and turned on by the image of Sam fucking Jack through the wall. And it drove him mad as hell to feel this conflicted

He fucked Sam hard and raw that night in the war room and marked every inch of his skin he could reach. Sam had to wear a scarf for days.

Jack didn't stop with walking around naked and asking frivolous questions, oh no. He blatantly asked Sam to teach him deepthroating and when Sam told Dean, all flustered and blushing deeply, Dean almost ran over and smacked the kid.

In his imagination he would shove his dick down Jack's throat and teach him. And make Sam watch. The whole situation was fucked up. Weird. And hot. Another night in which Dean fucked Sam senseless. But Sam returned the favour equally.

Sam caught Jack pleasuring himself. In his room. Which was weird because Sam had knocked and asked if he could come in. And Jack said yes, hand moving slowly under the covers, voice thin, moaning.

Sam had to take a cold shower afterwards.

Then one night Dean and Sam came home. Dean was a bit drunk, maybe okay, a little more than drunk. Sam completely hammered. Which happened like… never. Dean was in bed already when Jack sent him a text. It was a picture. Of Jack sitting in Sam's lap.

Enough. Dean thought.

He yelled at Jack. He was very mean to Jack. Sam wasn't able to participate or mediate. Dean wouldn't have listened to him anyway.

Oh little did he know that Jack didn't have enough. He wasn't even close to be done with teasing them.

Sam avoided Jack for a while. It was weird to watch how he would flee from Jack whenever he was entering the same room. Dean made sure to kiss and claim Sam before he ran away. To demonstrate Jack Sam was his. His alone.

And that's when Jack came after Dean. Even more unnerving to him. Because, different from Sam's gentle nature who always came across as rational, calm and diplomatic, Dean was the exact opposite.

One evening, Dean was still up cleaning the kitchen and Jack entered. Fully dressed for a change. But the smug little fuck was up to something. Dean knew it in his bones.

"You don't like it when I flirt with Sam, so you?"

"You're right about that, kid. He's mine."

Jack sat on the table, legs crossed. Still smiling.

"I don't want to take him away from you. Or you away from him."

Dean turned around, a knife in his hand. Drying it clean with a towel. Slowly.

"Then tell me, what do you want from us?"

Jack smiled.

"Both of you."

-

Dean was angry. At Jack. At Sam. At himself. But the anger helped him push through. Gripping Jack be his white shirt he pulled him close. Their noses touched. Jack hadn't moved an inch. He smelled of flowers. Dean of jealousy. And lust.

"You'll get it you little son of a bitch. I'll give it to you.. you won't walk straight for days. I'll fuck you unconscious." Hisses.

Jack took a deep breath. "Do you want me to beg for it or will you finally act instead of just promising me?"

Enough!

When Dean kissed Jack, this was no gentle kiss at all. It was brutal and tasted like blood.

The adrenaline caused Dean to get high. It was hot, it was blinding and it caused him fucking Jack raw, with only coconut oil at hand. Right there on the table. He couldn't think of anything else to channel this rage. The bloodlust. And the urge to destroy this innocent looking boy. Utterly destroy him. In the best way.

Jack was tight and responsive and hot and such a whore that Dean forgot his precautions.

Still half hard after he came in Jack's ass, he got him up the table, red marks from Dean's strong hands in his neck, bites on his shoulders. Damn, Dean was still raging. He dragged Jack along the halls to Sam's and Dean's room.

Sam's face was priceless. And it was such a delight watching him fuck the boy. Such a fucking delight.

-

When Jack passes out, still huddled up against Sam, the brothers look at each other. There's a lot left unsaid, but they both know all of it anyway. Dean is Sam's. Sam's is Dean's. And now, Jack's theirs.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 17: Their Town

He was learning to take the good with the bad, or perhaps he was learning to take the bad with the good. It depended on the situation.

He'd spent an amazing thirty-six hours with Belle, though he hadn't planned on it. He'd come home from work on Saturday evening with every intention of going back to work on Sunday. But then Sunday morning had come and gone, the afternoon had come and gone, the evening had arrived again, and they'd been unable to tear themselves away from each other even if they'd wanted to. It was, by far, the longest amount of time they'd spent together since the Winter days in the Dark Castle, and though he knew he probably should regret it to a certain extent, there were other things he could have been doing with that time, he couldn't bring himself to feel shame for it. They'd spent their time resting in one another just as much as they'd spent it loving one another. They'd talked. About how she'd apparently taught herself to use the washer and dryer, about the Curse, even Emma Swan and his history with her parents. Yes, there were certainly plenty of other things he could have done, but when he thought about the way she'd kissed him last night and told him she loved him and never wanted him to leave her side...it had been a perfect day.

Until Belle had awakened in the early hours of the morning, screaming and screeching out of the dead sleep he held her in. The Nightmares…they'd finally begun to take their toll. The drugs she'd been given at the hospital to keep her calm and complacent were finally making their way completely out of her body, and it was those nightmares that now succeeded in summoning her from sleep. "I know my name," she'd mumbled as she cried while he'd held her. "I know my name, I know your name, I know where I am, I know my name." Those sentences were all it took to confirm his suspicions about her "alternate Storybrooke Persona." She hadn't had one. No memories, no name, no understanding of where she was or who she was, or even where she was from. She'd been a blank slate, a fate nearly as bad as Regina keeping her alive to kill her any time she'd please. If it weren't for their deal, he'd have left then and there to kill the witch for that. But instead, he'd stayed up with her. It had taken nearly an hour to relax her enough that she went back to sleep after that. He'd stayed up guarding her slumber in case the nightmares came back, but they never did.

In the early morning hours, he determined with much sadness and regret that he needed to go to work. This time in Storybrooke, the fires and riots and questions…it was getting old. He was getting tired of waiting for things to cool down, tired of waiting for Emma and Mary Margaret. Yes, he was certain they'd come back, but it had taken him centuries to get from the Enchanted Forest to this world. He wanted Emma and Mary Margaret to return so that the Savior could fulfill her end of the bargain and take him to his son, but with no other hints other than "they'd gone through a portal," he needed to start thinking through some alternatives. He'd never traveled outside of Storybrooke so long as he'd been here, but he had memories of doing just that. Perhaps he didn't need the Savior. Perhaps he just needed to take Belle with him and go. But of course, that required knowing where Baelfire was, and for that, he needed Booth.

And yet, when he arrived at work and used his magic to take himself to him, the exact same thing that had happened before happened again. It was, once more, a different section of the forest, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion. Booth was hiding from him on purpose. He didn't know where he got the magic or how to break it yet, but he knew it wouldn't hold forever.

"I'll find you one of these days, dearie!" he called out into what appeared to be nothing. "You owe me a debt, and you can't hide forever! The Dark One always gets what he wants!"

Bad with good, good with bad.

Lunch was another reminder of this. Though he may have failed to find Booth in the morning, coming in to see Belle that afternoon was a bright spot in his day. Until he walked in the front door and smelled something strange in his house: lemons, cleanser, roses, and bleach. The scents clung to her when she put her arms around him in welcome and when he looked over her shoulders, and around his house, he could see why he smelled them easily. She'd been cleaning. Clutter was organized into small, sorted piles, piles that had been there the day before had suddenly vanished, the banister gleamed as it never had, and the floors damn near sparkled. His house had always smelled dusty and old. Suddenly it smelled new and vibrant, and it bothered him.

If it was vibrant because she was there, that was one thing, but having her clean and organize, coming home to find she already had lunch prepared like she'd had nothing better to do than wait on him hand and foot…it wasn't what he wanted.

"You know, you don't have to do these things, Belle!" he pressed as they sat down with their lunch. "You are free to go about your day and do as you like. You aren't a maid anymore."

"Caretaker," she'd snapped almost defensively. "And until the town is safe for me to visit, it's not as though there is much else for me to do with my time. I tried to turn on the picture box. It was dull."

"Television," he corrected.

"I enjoy keeping busy; this kind of work keeps my mind busy. And obviously, you haven't had time for it while you've been here, so I may as well."

"But there are other things-"

"Even if there were other things for me to do, where would you propose I do them? Other than the bedroom, there's not a chair in this house that isn't covered in clutter or dust. I need to get to know this world, Rumple. This is what I know, so I'll continue with my work while you continue with yours. Unless, of course…unless I can go to town with you after lunch then, maybe…"

He held in his shudder as she looked at him eagerly. She wanted to go to town. He knew she wanted to go to town. She asked about it every damn day. Truthfully, if she was going to go with him and sit in his shop all day, he probably would have taken her by now. But he had work to do, work that involved Baelfire and Booth and magic, and he suspected that she wouldn't like any of that one bit. They hadn't broached the topic of his son since they'd been back together yet, and he didn't intend to bring it up until it was absolutely necessary, until he was ready to leave to find him, and he had a plan for her.

"The town is healing, but still not safe. I haven't laid eyes on Regina in days, and trust me, being stuck in the shop all day is far worse than being here. It's safe here, Belle. The town just needs more time."

He didn't lie to her entirely. From a matter of perspective, being at the shop all day, knowing that she was at home cleaning was a terrible fate considering all he ached to do was spend that time with her. And for her, it would be more of the same. What was there to do at the shop except perhaps clean, and if the way she was overturning his home with it was any indication, the last place he wanted her was in the shop.

In truth, his own options for his day were nearly as limited as Belle's were. He was certain, almost positive, that Regina and David would come to him at some point. Regina, because with David taking care of Henry, she'd be miserable and have nothing to do with her life but to fall into old habits, and those old habits meant complaining to him. He'd have a few choice words for her when he saw her again, given what had happened last night with Belle, but as much as he hated it, she was still a player in this until he got his son back and if he needed to bargain with her for Belle's safety while he was away, he would do it. David, on the other hand, he was certain would visit because he had nothing else to do, nothing left to do. Not only were Mary Margaret and Emma going to try and make their way back to this realm, but he did not doubt that David and Henry would do what they could to assist them, if not go to that realm themselves. He was the only one David knew, besides Regina, that had magical insight. It was only a matter of time until he showed up at the shop. Which begged the question, why hadn't he shown up already. It had been days since the Curse was broken, and Mary Margaret and Emma disappeared. What the hell was taking so long?

Unable to get to Booth or come up with anything productive to do. He'd taken a walk about the town, thinking he might hear some gossip or offer a glimpse of himself for David, to tempt him into talking so that he might gain insight into what was happening. What he saw was not only eye-opening, but it was also shocking.

When he'd told Belle the town was healing but still not safe, he'd been speaking from what he'd seen on his commute. There were fewer people crowded in the streets. Fires appeared to be put out, even a few of the powerlines had been restored, probably by the dwarves. But as his feet guided him around, he found that it wasn't entirely untrue. Not really.

On the street, he saw a piece of paper, a flyer that matched several he'd seen on lampposts and the sides of buildings he was certain hadn't been there before. Curious as to what he'd missed the day before, he picked it up and found that it was a flyer for a Town Meeting being called by Prince Charming himself. That was an interesting development. David was trying to organize the town while Emma and Mary Margaret were still missing?! That was…not exactly like the prince he'd once known. But all around him, as he walked, he began to see more and more signs of organization.

Others were directing people to go to the town hall and "register." He walked by, saw long lines of people standing in the front, all waiting for their opportunity to get to a table where David, Ruby, and Granny sat with books and pens, frantically writing away. Dwarves walked the lines, handing out the flyers he'd seen. Archie and Pongo were scouting, walking through the lines where occasionally he pulled someone out of line, exchanging the individual with Pongo as they stepped aside to talk. The conversation usually ended in Archie giving them a card and then jotting something down in a notebook before he walked them back to the line and took Pongo again.

It appeared to be a well-oiled machine. There were tears and people were crying, the lines were longer than a DMV, but it was organized and fluid and-

Ah…perhaps it wasn't what it seemed. On the outside, it looked like organization. It appeared as though the once Royal Court was trying its hardest to connect people with their loved ones and get everyone back home. All but one of that court appeared to be happy doing their job.

David. The King, himself.

A sudden movement at the tables up front caught his eye, David angrily moving away from the table. To a casual observer, it would appear he wanted nothing more than to use the bathroom inside Town Hall, but the way he grabbed the door and flung it open like that…something was bothering him. And he wasn't the only one to sense it. Half a second later, Ruby got up from her place, smiling, looking apologetically at the people in front of her and Granny as she followed after him. Henry appeared from somewhere before she made it to the door, but she only gestured for Henry to go to Granny, and the boy wandered down to the table and sat down where David had been only a moment ago.

He wondered…

He used his magic and let himself into the second-floor atrium of the Town Hall, oddly quiet and empty considering the crowd outside. Well, quiet, if not for the voices of Ruby and David floating up to him.

"It's not enough!" David yelled. "I can be doing more; I should be doing more."

"David, I know it feels that way, but there might not be anything that we can do for them now. And this town, this town is on the brink of falling apart completely if they don't have a good role model to keep them calm and tell them-"

"You do it! You can do it, Ruby. You can tell them everything is going to be okay!"

"I can't, David! You are what they know, not me! As far as they are concerned, you are their Prince, their King, and they need guidance from you, not from a wolf!

"I'm about as much a King as you are a wolf."

"David…I know this is hard-"

"You don't have any idea how hard this is, how much time we wasted…and then we get her back and now they're both just gone?! Mary Margaret is the one they need, not me! They need Emma. She's the Savior. I need to get them back, and then I can help the people. That is how I help them, by making sure my family does what they do best."

"You don't have time!" Ruby hollered at him with all the insistence that a mother might have with a child. "Everyone outside that door is in crisis, David, everyone! We are barely keeping them together as it is. They're not going to sit around and wait for you or for Mary Margaret or for Emma. They need us now."

"Mary Margaret and Emma-"

"Will be fine! They have each other. And you and I both know that Mary Margaret won't stop until she's back at your side. They'll make it back, David…let's make sure there's a town for them to come back to."

There was silence. A long silence. And when he looked over the railing to try and spot the two, he saw David storm out of the Town Hall. Ruby took a breath and crossed her arms angrily over her chest before she wiped her eyes, then followed after him.

Back outside, standing by a bulletin board of people who were marked as "Missing" he watched the pair sit back down at the table with smiles on their face as if nothing bad had happened. So…it was Ruby who was the ringleader in this, Ruby who was keeping David on track, Ruby who was making sure the King did his job. Good for her. Not so good for him. But fortunately, the conversation told him that David was itching to do something, that he was struggling with his title and the lack of involvement. He wasn't going to stay restrained for too much longer. Eventually, he would break free, and that was when he would come to him. What answers he had, he didn't know yet, but he'd give what he could to make the Seer's prophecy come true. And for that, he was going to need David to stand aside. If what he'd seen told him anything, it was that David would not allow Emma to go with him quietly or accept the deal he'd made. But David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard were not part of the Seer's Prophecy regarding how he'd find his son. Emma would be his guide, and a boy would lead him there. A boy that could be August Booth or perhaps David's own grandson. Either way, he needed David's assurance he wouldn't interfere. The magic would take care of the rest.

And as for Regina-

As he turned to leave, a familiar face stared out at him from the bulletin board and stopped him dead in his tracks. It was a crude drawing, one without details, but he knew those cheekbones, just as he knew that hair, and best of all, knew that mouth. It was a drawing of Belle. The eyes gave him pause only for a moment. The drawing depicted her with green eyes, several shades off from the blue ones he'd spent all day yesterday and last night staring into. The eyes were wrong, but he'd spent nearly all his time yesterday admiring that skin not to recognize the face, and it chilled him to his blood. "Missing," the poster said at the top in big black letters. "Please contact Moe at Game of Thorns."

After looking this way and that to be sure no one was watching him, he reached out and tore the picture down from its place on the bulletin board, one of many people that others were searching for. He could leave it. He was confident in that. No one in this town knew Belle, knew that she was alive or where she was, except maybe Regina. But after the conversations he'd had with Belle regarding her childhood, her history, how her father had been so willing to just hand her over to a monster of a fiancé to do as he saw fit with her…

He folded the paper up in a flash of anger and slipped it into his pocket before leaving for the shop.

The damn man couldn't even get the color of his own daughter's eyes right! No one, not even her own father, knew his Belle. And he'd be damned if he ever let a man like her father tear her from his side again.

[teacherunicorn]

A/N: I really see OneRepublic's 'All This Time' as Five & Delores' song. I feel like it has the right vibes to it. Am I wrong?

@tomisbaeholland @universsdaughter

Delores Theadoisa Hargreeves

Chapter Sixteen

The Hargreeves kitchen was silent as five of the occupants stared at the one other, who just went about making his sandwich.

"What's the date? The exact date."

"The 24th." Vanya offered uneasily.

"Of?!"

"March...."

Number Five paused and seemed to think for half a second. "Good."

"Are we gonna talk about what just happened?" Luther put forward, only to be ignored. He stood in Five's way and said in his 'I'm Number One' voice: "It's been seventeen years."

"It's been a lot longer than that." Five snapped and with a flash teleported behind him.

"I haven't missed that...." Luther sighed.

"So where'd you go?" Diego questioned.

"The future." Five blinked between the cabinet and the table. "It's shit by the way."

"Called it!" Klaus piped up.

The next thing out of Five's mouth made everyone else stare at him like he had three heads: "I should have listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing, but jumping through time, is just a roll of the dice." He looked up from spreading peanut butter on his sandwich. "Nice dress."

Klaus lit up. "Oh, well danke!"

"Wait how did you get back?" Vanya asked in confusion.

"In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time."

Beat.

"That makes no sense." Diego looked at him with a furrowed brow.

Five didn't even look up. "Well, it would if you were smarter."

Number Two jumped up to attack, but Luther was quick to hold him back. "How long were you gone?"

"Forty five years." Five shrugged, closing the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. "Give or take."

"So what are you saying? That you're fifty-eight?"

"No, my consciousness is fifty-eight." Five corrected with a glare. "Apparently my body is now thirteen again."

"Wait how does that even work?" Vanya asked.

"Delores kept saying the equations were off." Five took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. "Eh, bet she's laughing now."

"Delores?" Alison frowned. "Our Delores?"

Five turned to face them and seemed to notice for the first time that the caretaker was not among the group. "Where is she?"

"She was working in Germany when she got the news." Diego informed. "Pogo said she was flying in."

"Oh, she called; her connection got delayed. She won't be in for another few hours." Klaus commented idly.

"What?!"

"You didn't think to mention this earlier Klaus?!" Alison demanded.

"Well I'm sorry, when between Luther accusing us of murder and Five jumping through time was I supposed to relay a message?"

Everyone in the room collectively groaned. They all knew that they were doomed to insanity until Delores arrived to straighten things out.

"Well, nice to see that nothings changed." Five sighed, strolling past the group and out the door.

"Really? That's all you've got to say?" Alison called after him.

"What else is there to say?" He called back, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Circle of life!"

*******

Upon entering his old bedroom, the first thing Number Five did was open the door to his closet in search of something to replace the suit that had become far too big on him.

Flipping a few hangers to the side, it quickly became apparent that all the closet held were the Umbrella Academy uniforms he'd left behind. Cursing under his breath, he sighed and selected one off the rack at random.

Turning, Five paused when he noticed the large pile of packages occupying his bed. Wrapped in various colors of paper in various sizes, he noticed that the ones toward the bottom of the bunch seemed faded, as though they'd been there a while. A quick count showed that there were forty packages in total.

One for every birthday and Christmas he had missed.

"She waited." He smiled fondly. "Well, nice to see she didn't forget about me."

Leave it to Delores Theadoisa Hargreeves to go the extra mile for her kids. Had the situation been different, he may have been worried his caretaker would have planed a future without him in it; but this was Delores he was talking about. The single ray of sunshine that even the Apocalypse couldn't snuff out.

Seeing the small signs she'd left for him to find through the years he'd been gone had kept him going. A mark scratched into the stone of a building or sidewalk, small doodle in the corner of a historical paper that the Commission thought to be stray ink marks; it kept her voice with him.

It also made him all the more anxious to see her again in person.

******

*Several Hours Later*

Muttering to herself about about the fact that, for all his eccentricities, Reginald Hargreeves had never bothered to invest in a private plane, Delores unlocked the front door and pulled a large rolling suitcase in behind her.

Huffing, she propped it up on it's wheels and dropped her duffle bag on top of it. She turned to the empty entry hall and frowned.

"Come on! I know I can't have been the only one who came to make sure the old man was dead! Where is everyone?"

Her voice was still echoing down the halls when a familiar flash of blue blinked in the corner of her vision and Delores stumbled backwards when a weight was thrown against her and a pair of arms locked around her torso.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

The rest of the Umbrella Academy appeared in various doorways, but Delores failed to notice,her eyes locked on the person burying his face into chest.

She opened and closed her mouth serval times before hesitantly wrapping her arms around him.

Solid. Real.

"....Finny...?"

The only response she got was Five squeezing her tighter, as though she was the one that had been gone for nearly two decades and would disappear once more if he let go.

Blinking again, Delores looked up to see the faces of her other charges watching the pare of them. She skimmed over a quick headcount; Luther, Diego, Alison, Klaus, Vanya. All accounted for, and all the same age they had been when she'd seen them last.

In the doorway leading to the sitting room, she saw her mother and Pogo. Feeling more like a lost child than she had since she had properly been one, she looked to the pair that had raised her with a bewildered look.

"W-What did I miss?"

*******

Number Five was very much the type of person that hated having to repeat himself, but he gladly recounted the story he had told his siblings mere hours ago. Delores seemed to understsnd his explanation for his return better than the others had, but gave him a look when he mentioned the off equations that had put him into his thirteen year old body.

“Five what was the number one rule of all your lessons?”

“Don’t start fights with my siblings?”

“That was trainings.”

Five smirked. “Double check my math, then double check it again.”

“There you go.”

He chuckled. “I’ve missed you, E. Obviously....”

“The feeling’s mutual. Obviously.” Delores smiled at him. Finally turning to address her other charges, she did a quick head count to see who had actually shown up. When glancing over Number One, she blinked and did a double take. “What the hell Luther, you’re not supposed to be taller than me!”

“You didn’t know about this?” Diego raised an eyebrow.

“Spaceboy has been keeping radio silence for a while now.” Delores folded her arms.

“Oooo, somebody’s in trouble!” Klaus sang from his slouched position on the couch.

“Well while she’s already mad at you, why don’t you tell her about your theory of how dad died?”

“Diego—“ Luther tried to cut him off.

“An old man in his seventies had a heart attack.” Delores frowned. “While I admit that’s the most normal thing to happen in this house, what’s to theory?”

“Well- I- you see-“

“Luther.”

“He was anxious the last time he contacted me.” Luther tried to reason. “Told me to watch my back.”

“Sounds like the paranoia he instilled in all of us.”

“Maybe, but —“

He was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Everyone frowned and looked towards the noise. They were all here, who the hell could that be?

“Oh little digits, I’m home!”

[caretaker-au]

The Right Thing 

INTERLUDE: JUSTICE

Certain aspects of Chara's job were... unpleasant. Unenjoyable, even. Perhaps they even felt a little bit bad. But. In the end, it was all for the best. It was the right thing to do. It was just.

Blood ran from the many wounds impaled through the late teenager. The more Chara lifted the body, the more of a mess it made. It wasn’t until Chara’s arms were slick with red that they began to second guess their approach. With a grunt they released the body, stepping back and attempting to shake excess blood from their hands. Hadn’t they hired Muffet to avoid this exact kind of situation?

No, they didn’t want to test Muffet’s patience so soon after the deal had been struck. It was a matter of courtesy to at least make the corpse accessible to her small minions. "This would not be an issue,” Chara muttered to themself, “If only I realised this device needed regular maintenance.” The retract switch on the spikes platform was not functioning today, perhaps having been broken for months or even years. All the switches would need to be tested tomorrow.

The human’s soul had settled above the body, flickering with a soft green light. Chara sighed. One more. One more attempt before they’d return to a previous time, take the soul home, and come up with a new strategy. Chara wrapped their arms under the corpse, and with a heave, began to lift it from where it had settled.

The body was nearly clear of the spikes when they heard the soft crunch of movement on the stone floor just above. Chara released the perforated human and jumped back, looking up. It was quiet now, but lavender dust swirled around the broken edge of the hole in the ceiling. Recently disturbed.

It was probably nothing.

Chara scrambled up the ladder to the upper floor, biting back thrumming panic. 

If it was something, it will be fine.

After all, Chara had created a return point after the child had fallen, and they had even scanned the area to ensure no one had seen. If someone had just arrived now, Chara could always go back and prevent the witness from arriving on the scene. It didn’t matter if it was a monster or even Asriel.

They reached the last rung of the ladder, pulling themself onto the main floor. It was going to be fine. Chara had accounted for everything.

Everything except for the trembling creature curled up against the wall, only a few feet from the hole. 

Another human. Two in one day. The caretaker could hardly believe their eyes. 

Like the last one, it was a female adolescent, perhaps even around the same age. Thankfully, not as tall. Clad predominantly in black, its straight brunette locks were bleached with two ridiculous horizontal stripes of blonde at the bottom. Chara might have described the style as punk or goth, if not for the cowboy boots and hat disrupting the look. It seemed that embarrassing alternative fashion persisted with every generation.

Even so, there was something familiar about its wide-eyed stare and knitted brows. The child staggered to its feet, hat swinging against its backpack by a drawstring around its neck. The child’s fingers clung to the wall as if its legs could give way at any moment. Its body was partially turned away as if to run, but between Chara and the gaping hole in the cracked floor, there was nowhere to go. After a moment, a small voice choked out, "What have you... What have you…?"

Chara did not have the patience or the interest to hear the rest. They swept their arm in a grand gesture before giving a small bow, “Greetings. I am the caretaker of these ruins. My name is…” As they leaned forward, Chara caught sight of the expanse of blood on their tunic. In all the excitement, they had somehow forgotten; the jig was up before it had even begun.

“Ah. Well then...” Chara gave a half shrug, “I suppose we can skip introductions.” 

Chara withdrew their knife with a flourish and descended on the child. While not as simple, stabbing would prove a cleaner alternative to the spike pit. Instead of flinching away, the child squared its shoulders and reached for the holster slung around its waist. It withdrew a revolver. 

There was no warning shot. The child screamed with primal rage, firing only a few feet from their target.

No chance to avoid it. The bullet shot through Chara’s forehead and crashed out the back of their cranium. Little was left of it.

***

Chara grabbed their face, patted it down. It was all there. They were standing in front of the cracked floor puzzle, the green soul and the impaled corpse resting below. Robe clean. They had gone back. 

How could this have happened? If not for their power, everything Chara had worked towards could have been lost thanks to one brat. What kind of child carried a firearm? How could they combat such a thing? They had not seen a weapon like that since... 

No. This was not the time for reminiscing. Where was the human now? It could not have witnessed the fate of the last victim, for it surely would have tried to intervene. That would put the gunslinger a few rooms away at least. 

There was still time to fix things. Unsheathing their knife, Chara took a deep breath and marched towards fate. 

Working their way deeper into the ruins, Chara crept through each empty room until they found themselves at the end: the large sanctuary where all humans came crashing into the Underground. There Chara found their latest guest, back pressed against a pillar and gun in hand. The teenager gasped at the sight of the caretaker’s silhouette through the stone arch. Its eyes, swimming with confusion and fear, narrowed into deep hatred. 

There it was again. Where had they seen that look before?

The human raised its weapon towards the caretaker once more. Chara clenched their fists. Indignant. Wide-eyed. Smiling. In the tense silence, Chara spoke. "What's this? Are you surprised to see me?" 

"The devil never went down easily."

Chara chose to ignore this.

"I see that humans haven't changed," chided Chara, gesturing towards the gun. Disgust held captive their visage. "My father was obsessed with the vulgar things." 

Chara continued forward, reminding themself they had faced plenty of dangerous situations before. Staring down the barrel of a gun was new, but nothing to be afraid of. It didn't stop their palms from sweating. 

The brazen child scoffed. "Sounds like your dad had the right idea."

Chara remained unimpressed. "You are a criminal," they said. "A murderer. Vermin."

"Criminal...?" the child repeated, voice rasping. Stepping forward, it shook its head: "No. I'm justice!"

The teen shot twice. The first bullet pierced Chara's throat, and the second, their brain.

***

Chara grasped their neck, stumbling back from the edge of the cracked floor. It was worse that time. The pain was now only a memory, but it rang through their mind like a high pitched squeal following a deafening sound. This time, the intruder would be the one to bleed.

Chara rushed towards the back of the ruins to meet their prey. As they rounded a corner, a bullet cracked the stone wall inches away from their head. They pulled back to stay behind cover, glimpsing the teenager before it fired the second shot.

“W-W-We—” Chara cut themself short, disgusted by the shaking in their voice. They could hear the muffled steps of its boots approaching their hiding place. Chara tried to swallow, but their throat was dry, “We can do this all day if you want to.”

“I’ll kill you as many times as it takes.”

“That seems a little excessive,” Chara held their knife in front of them, angling it to try and see the human in the blade’s reflection. It didn’t work. “I haven’t even done anything to you.”

“You—!” the child’s voice cracked, raising to a shriek, “You killed my friend!”

Realization washed over Chara. “So you’re the friend,” they leaned over, picking up some dead leaves scattered at their feet, “If I remember correctly, your friend said it wanted to spend more time here. I did it a favor.”

“Shut up! Don’t you dare talk about—”

Chara tossed the leaves out of cover, and the child fired through them, its finger wrapped tight around the trigger. Taking advantage of the gap between shots, Chara leapt towards the human, knife raised high.

They had miscalculated. 

The child was a few paces out of reach. The gunslinger adjusted, firing three more times in rapid succession. Two shots missed, but one tore through Chara’s elbow. Chara collapsed, the knife skittering out of their hand as they grasped the joint with their other arm. Pain ripped through their body, their scream drowning out the click-click-click of the shooter’s empty gun. 

Right, the screaming. How undignified. Chara stifled their voice, struggling to raise their head to their assailant. The child had backed away, searching the room for something to replace the now useless gun. Its eyes settled on Chara’s knife.

Chara wouldn’t give it the satisfaction. They gripped their ruined arm and pooled their willpower. They needed...

***

Another fresh start. Chara grabbed their knife and stormed into the ruins ablaze with fury. The child may have firepower, but they were immortal. 

Immortal but not invulnerable. Chara slowed and looked down at their renewed arm. There had to be another way to do this.

A plan began to formulate in their head.

Chara sheathed their weapon and continued, cautiously checking each corner. “Child, enough of this! I would like to call a truce.” Chara called out, their voice echoing. No response. They continued forward, calling out again, “I have a proposal that will benefit us both.”

Chara felt a bullet fire past their head, the gunshot reverberating throughout the chamber. Chara flinched but caught a glimpse of the gunslinger hiding themselves behind the doorway of the next room. They fought the urge to chase them, and instead smoothed their robe and ran a hand through their hair. There were broken strands where the bullet had passed by.

“Do you not tire of this game, human? Surrender and I will reunite you with your friend.”

“I don’t make deals with the devil,” the child scoffed from behind cover.

Chara chuckled, “You would throw away this chance for such a trifling matter?”

“You killed her.”

“And you killed me. Yet I still live.”

The human stepped into the open, lining up Chara’s skull with the revolver barrel. Its eyes flashed with a familiar menace.

“Wait,” Chara said, raising their hands, “You have witnessed my power. You would be a fool not to use it to your advantage. Killing me means losing your chance to be with them again.”

The child’s gun began to lower before it snapped back on target. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to execute you.”

The human’s grip tightened around the trigger and Chara threw themself to the side as the shot grazed their arm. Chara stumbled, backing around the doorway for cover just as another shot chipped the wall. They grabbed their arm where the skin had been broken. Nothing serious.

“Have it your way then!” Chara shouted back, “I will let your friend know you chose to abandon them.” Chara broke out in a sprint, towards where they had left the body.

“What? Wait! Come back!” The gunslinger made chase, boots pounding against the stone floor, “Don’t touch her!” 

The human chased Chara down a hallway and raised the gun, firing two more times. Both missed. Chara disappeared around another corner of the labyrinth and the shooter barreled forward in hot pursuit.

The child entered the next room revolver first and Chara, waiting in ambush, slashed their knife across its raised hand. The child screamed, the gun dropping from their hand along with two severed fingers. Blood gushed from the wound and the disarmed creature fell to the floor shrieking.

Chara stood dumbfounded. They looked from the dismembered fingers to the bloodied edge of their blade, then started to laugh. “Would you look at that,” they crooned, “This thing is rather sharp, is it not?”

Doubled over, its bleeding hand pressed against its belly, the human was reaching for the dropped gun with its intact hand. Chara collected it before the shooter could reclaim it. The revolver was well taken care of. Other than the fresh blood, it was sparkling clean with a pearl inlay in the handle. The kind of gun Chara could imagine hung above the mantle of a dead-end suburban home.

“If I have been counting correctly,” Chara placed a finger on the trigger, “There is one bullet remaining.” They leveled the barrel with the child’s head. Tears ran down its face as it glowered up at Chara.

“You said—” it choked, “You said you could reunite us. Was it true?”

Chara smiled, “Yes. You will be together forever.”

***

After picking a spot in the room that was clear of any blood, Chara shook the contents of their victim’s backpack to the floor. A lightweight jacket, compass, some sort of flashlight, rope, miscellaneous makeup, and two rectangular bottles of soda made from a paper-like material. There was a small flat metal square that looked like a compact mirror, but when Chara tried to open it, the current time and words requesting credentials showed up on the top. Some sort of watch or communication device? Chara placed it in the discard pile. 

They opened up a black wallet with a spiderweb design on the front, where some loose cash and a couple punch cards fell out. Punch cards in this day and age? Ridiculous. Tucked in the back was a physical ID, with the name of a high school printed on it and the year 2076. The thumbnail-sized picture showed the human with an awkward grin and blue marbled background, its hair not quite as atrocious as it was currently. Chara stilled.

The child’s family name—it was their last name. 

Chara dropped the wallet, taking the card with both hands, and read the word over and over. What was it that the apron-wearing human had said? That there was a familiarity—a resemblance—between Chara and its friend?

“Coincidence,” Chara murmured, flicking the ID into the discard pile. They paused to glance at the two soul containers they had brought with them. They sat side by side, a green soul in one, yellow in the other.

“Or maybe... it's destiny.”

interlude: justice // end

[ ✧ START ] [ « BACK ] [ NEXT CHAPTER » ]

[jackandthesoulmates]

Shared Property

Requested by @robynundertheredhood

For your 300 follower celebration can I request a NSFW Winkline one shot with Jack who really really wants the boys (established!Wincest) to be his and they want him too but have been trying to hide it but he does something like teasing them a lot or being innocently hot in his own Jack way and it pushes them over the edge

Word count: 1070

Read on AO3

or under the cut.

It started quite innocent at first or at least that's what Dean and Sam keep telling themselves, now that Jack's lying in their bed, soaking wet from sweat and cum and breathing heavily. A smug grin on his face. 

Cocky little slut, Dean thinks. And he knows Sam has a similar thought crossing his mind. 

Sam leans down, kisses Jack's swollen lips. 

"Was that what you wanted?", he asks, voice still rough. 

"Yes", Jack's grin gets even wider.

His eyes are half closed, one hand clutching onto Sam's shoulder. "That is exactly what I wanted."

-

At first it was the little things that Sam noticed. Dean didn't. He didn't pay too much attention to Jack, mostly because he felt kind of edgy when he was around. He didn't like the kid at first and he had a lot of reasons to do so. Now that some time had passed he felt better about it. Almost comfortable. 

Sam was different. He liked Jack from the beginning, took him under his wings when he had no one else. He was the caretaker and Dean really admired him for his patience. Until one morning.  

-

Normally, Jack got up and joined Dean and Sam when they had breakfast. And normally he still wore his pajamas. Not today.

He had already showered, and obviously found the tiniest towel around his hips. Dean noticed immediately how Sam turned around, tried not to look at Jack for too long. Well, Dean did look. Closely.

-

Incidents like this kept happening and Jack would ask them very naughty questions in such an innocent manner that Sam couldn't turn him down and refuse answering him. Sam was too nice sometimes. It was obvious to Dean that Jack flirted with Sam. It drove Dean up the walls and they indeed had a fight about it. 

Sam kept saying it was his responsibility to teach Jack about how the world worked. How love and sex worked and that it was just Jack's curiosity.

Dean was jealous and turned on by the image of Sam fucking Jack through the wall. And it drove him mad as hell to feel this conflicted

He fucked Sam hard and raw that night in the war room and marked every inch of his skin he could reach.

Sam had to wear a scarf for days. 

Jack didn't stop with walking around naked and asking frivolous questions, oh no.

He blatantly asked Sam to teach him deepthroating and when Sam told Dean, all flustered and blushing deeply, Dean almost ran over and smacked the kid. 

In his imagination he would shove his dick down Jack's throat and teach him. And make Sam watch. 

The whole situation was fucked up. Weird. And hot.

Another night in which Dean fucked Sam senseless. But Sam returned the favour equally.

Sam caught Jack pleasuring himself. In his room. Which was weird because Sam had knocked and asked if he could come in.

And Jack said yes, hand moving slowly under the covers, voice thin, moaning.

Sam had to take a cold shower afterwards.

Then one night Dean and Sam came home. Dean was a bit drunk, maybe okay, a little more than drunk. Sam completely hammered. Which happened like… never.

Dean was in bed already when Jack sent him a text. It was a picture. Of Jack sitting in Sam's lap.

Enough. Dean thought. 

He yelled at Jack. He was very mean to Jack.

Sam wasn't able to participate or mediate. Dean wouldn't have listened to him anyway. 

Oh little did he know that Jack didn't have enough. He wasn't even close to be done with teasing them.

Sam avoided Jack for a while. It was weird to watch how he would flee from Jack whenever he was entering the same room. Dean made sure to kiss and claim Sam before he ran away. To demonstrate Jack Sam was his. His alone.

And that's when Jack came after Dean.

Even more unnerving to him. Because, different from Sam's gentle nature who always came across as rational, calm and diplomatic, Dean was the exact opposite. 

One evening, Dean was still up cleaning the kitchen and Jack entered. Fully dressed for a change. But the smug little fuck was up to something. Dean knew it in his bones. 

"You don't like it when I flirt with Sam, so you?"

"You're right about that, kid. He's mine."

Jack sat on the table, legs crossed. Still smiling. 

"I don't want to take him away from you. Or you away from him." 

Dean turned around, a knife in his hand. Drying it clean with a towel. Slowly.

"Then tell me, what do you want from us?"

Jack smiled.

"Both of you."

-

Dean was angry. At Jack. At Sam. At himself. But the anger helped him push through. Gripping Jack be his white shirt he pulled him close. Their noses touched. Jack hadn't moved an inch. He smelled of flowers. Dean of jealousy. And lust.

"You'll get it you little son of a bitch. I'll give it to you.. you won't walk straight for days. I'll fuck you unconscious." Hisses.

Jack took a deep breath. 

"Do you want me to beg for it or will you finally act instead of just promising me?"

Enough!

When Dean kissed Jack, this was no gentle kiss at all. It was brutal and tasted like blood.

The adrenaline caused Dean to get high. It was hot, it was blinding and it caused him fucking Jack raw, with only coconut oil at hand. Right there on the table. He couldn't think of anything else to channel this rage. The bloodlust. And the urge to destroy this innocent looking boy. Utterly destroy him. In the best way.

Jack was tight and responsive and hot and such a whore that Dean forgot his precautions. 

Still half hard after he came in Jack's ass, he got him up the table, red marks from Dean's strong hands in his neck, bites on his shoulders. Damn, Dean was still raging. He dragged Jack along the halls to Sam's and Dean's room. 

Sam's face was priceless. And it was such a delight watching him fuck the boy. Such a fucking delight.

-

When Jack passes out, still huddled up against Sam, the brothers look at each other. There's a lot left unsaid, but both know all of it anyway.

Dean is Sam's. Sam's is Dean's. And now, Jack's theirs.

[i-need-entertainment]

Dreams Can Come True: Chapter 5 Bruises

Chapter 4-Chapter 6

~Time Skip because I am author and I hold all power~

Y/n had been working with the Shie Hassaikai for just under a month now, and Chrono’s feelings for her only grew. He had somehow gotten the rest of the Hassaikai to stay quiet about his ‘crush’, with the help of Pops and Overhaul of course. Right now, Chrono was making his way to Eri’s room to make sure she was awake. Lately, Y/n would sometimes wake Eri up and get her day started, she said it was so he could get more sleep, which he appreciated, but its not like he could sleep more anyways. 

He made his way to her room, knocked and walked in. Eri and Y/n were over at Eri’s closet and they appeared to be choosing what Eri was going to wear today. “Good morning daddy!” Eri ran over and latched onto Chrono’s legs, smiling while looking up at him. “Good morning Pumpkin! Did you sleep good?” “Yup! I had a reaaally good dream!” “Oh did you? What was it about?” He heard Y/n sigh and looked over. “Beats me, I’ve been trying all morning but she won’t tell me.” Y/n giggled and made her way over to the trio, helping Eri finish getting ready. “Why not Pumpkin?” “Because! If I tell you, then it won’t come true! And I really want this dream to come true!” Eri stood her ground, with her arms crossed and a determined look on her face. “Pretty sure that’s dreams sweetie, but, whatever works I guess.” Chrono said as he ruffled her hair and turned to Y/n. “I’ve got a mission that’s gonna run pretty late tonight, would you mind watching Eri for me?” Chrono asked Y/n. “Of course! That’s not a problem at all.” Y/n smiled down to Eri, who was now latched onto her leg. “Okay, thank you!” Y/n nodded, and Chrono knelt down to be eye to eye with his daughter. “Hey sweetie, daddy’s gonna be home really late, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow. So be really good for Y/n, okay?” Eri nodded, giving her dad a tight hug. “Okay daddy! I’ll be good! I promise!” Chrono chuckled and stood up. “I know you will sweetie, I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” “I love you too! I’ll see you tomorrow Daddy!” “Bye Y/n, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Bye Kurono, and good luck!” Chrono nodded and left Eri’s room, making his way to Overhaul’s office. When he got there, Overhaul, and the other Eight Precepts and Mimic were there. “So, what’s the mission?” Chrono asked, going to stand beside Nemoto and Overhaul. “We’re going to be meeting some potential business partners, but it might go…south. This group has been giving Pops trouble, so it’s entirely possible it’s some kind of set up, so be ready for anything.” The five other Yakuza nodded their heads. They spent the rest of the day coming up with a strategy, and at 6 o’clock, they headed out to meet their new ‘business partners’. They arrived at a sketchy looking warehouse. As soon as they walked in, Chrono could sense something was off. In fact, they all did. For that exact reason, they all walked in prepared. Chrono and Nemoto had their guns locked and loaded, Rappa and Katsukame were ready to throw punches, Tengai was prepared to defend whoever needed it, and Overhaul was prepared to slip his glove off if it deemed necessary. When they walked in, they were greeted with the neighborhood scumbag, Ken Hashimoto. “Shie Hassaikai! Welcome to our humble abode. I do hope you came prepared?” Ken smirked as he saw the Yakuza enter his building. “This place is filthy, not sure I’d be bragging about it. And yes, are you ready to finally make that deal?” Overhaul stated seemingly bored, looking at Ken with half lidded gold eyes. “Always such a germaphobe, eh Overhaul? Haha, well about that deal,” Ken’s expression darkened “It’s no longer going to work for us.” As he said that, about 20 guys came out from behind him and stood in a fighting stance. “You see, Overhaul your ‘peaceful’ or whatever ways as a Yakuza aren’t gonna work for us anymore, especially not as neighboring Yakuza, so after we kill you, and all your ‘Nine Prospects’ or whatever you call them, we’re going to finally take out that old man, and the little girl. Although, we might not kill her, her quirk could be pretty useful.” At the mention of Eri, Chrono was fuming. How dare he even think about going after his little girl. His baby. “Oh! And I probably won’t kill that scrumptious little caretaker of hers either…no, no I’ll bring her back to have for myself.” Ken said as he and his buddies snickered. Chrono could feel his blood boiling. First, they bring up Pops, then his daughter, and now they’re going to threaten the girl he loves? He thinks no. “Who knows, I might just share her with my new Yakuza. But, none of that really matters, since you’re all going to be dead anyways.” With this, the 20 men charged the 11 members of the Hassaikai, so the odds didn’t look great, but none of them were going down easy, or if all if they could avoid it. “PRECEPTS!! ATTACK!!” Mimic yelled from on top of Katsukame. With that, an intense and messy battle commenced, and after about 4 hours of nothing but chaos, the Hassaikai had come out on top….but not without a fair share of injuries. Overhaul had been beaten up pretty good, and had been hit with a quirk cancelling quirk, so he couldn’t use his quirk for about 24 hours. Tengai had gotten a bad concussion after Rappa had been thrown into him, Rappa had a dislocated shoulder, Katsukame broke his nose, Nemoto got stabbed (He’s okay though, it was just in the arm), Hojo and Setsuno were both knocked unconscious, and Chrono…well Chrono took the brunt of the brutal attack. Chrono was shot twice, once in the shoulder, and in the upper part of his arm. He was also stabbed, but in his calf. He had gotten the most bruises and scratches too, and he was almost covered in blood, most of it his. They somehow managed to get back to the Hassaikai. By now, Setsuno and Hojo had woken up and were resting. The others went back to their rooms t deal with their own injuries. Chrono however…didn’t get too far past the basement stairs before he collapsed, Nemoto barely catching him. “Dang it, he’s lost a lot of blood! Setsuno, go get Y/n! She has medical training!” Setsuno quickly nodded before rushing to get Y/n, while Nemoto brought Chrono to his room. It was around 11 o’clock, Eri ad Y/n were both asleep. Suddenly a series of rapid knocks came from her door, effectively waking up the 20 year old. She sat up in her bed, and Setsuno came bursting in. “Sorry for waking you up, but you need to get to Chrono’s room now! He needs help!” “Okay, I’ll be there In a minute!” Setsuno nodded and left the room, while Y/n got up and put on some shorts. She quickly ran out of the room and over to Chrono’s, almost screaming when she opened the door and saw him lying half-dead on his bead, covered in blood and bruises. “Oh my gosh! Hari Kurono what happened?!” Y/n said as she rushed over to his side, getting the medical supplies ready. “The deal was a bust- *grunt* It was a set up all along.” Chrono tried to get up, but Y/n gently pushed him back down. “Stay still, I’m going to be able to help you, but you have to let me, okay?” He just let out pained noises and nodded. Y/n helped Chrono take off his shirt, and almost started crying at the sight. “Kurono…” Y/n trailed off, looking at his bruised and battered torso, covered in small cuts and bruises. She then saw the two bullet holes in this left arm and shoulder. She got to work cleaning his wounds, and removed the bullet fragments from his arm. Luckily for him, the bullet that shot his shoulder went straight through, so there was that at least…after patching up his gun shots, she moved to the rest of his injuries, even patching up the stab wound on his calf. When she was done, his left arm was left bandaged and in a sling, his torso wrapped in bandages for the 2 broken ribs he had received, and his right calf wrapped up as well. Y/n’s shoulders started to shake, and her eyes welled with tears. Chrono looked up at her, and he felt his heart breaking. “Y/n, why a-“ “Why did you do it Kurono….why would you risk your life!?!” Her small outburst took him back a bit, he had never heard her even slightly raise her voice, but it was loud. “It’s my job Y/n, I had to.” “You had to?! What about Eri, Kurono? What would she do! What about me!? And Pops! I can’t lose you Kurono, I-I” She struggled to find the words, she wanted to tell him how she felt, but that just wasn’t a risk she could take. Not now. “I care about you Kurono. I don’t want to lose you, so please, please be more careful?” Y/n looked at Chrono with a small smile, even with the tears going down her face, she was still the most beautiful thing on this earth to him. “Okay Y/n…I’ll try..” He paused as he grabbed her hand, he wanted to tell her, tell her how he loved the way she smiled, how he loved the little giggle she did at the smallest of things, that he loved how much of a mother she was becoming to Eri, he wanted to tell her how much he was falling in love with her. But he couldn’t…he was scared. Scared of rejection, scared of losing the one woman he had ever found himself loving, she was the perfect girl for him, and he couldn’t function without her, he couldn’t lose her. Pushing his feelings aside, he sat up slightly, “Thank you, Y/n. For patching me up, and…I’m really sorry I did this to you…If it helps we weren’t really expecting a fight, a-and I was careful Promise.” Chrono looked at Y/n, sincerity filling his fierce gaze. Y/n just smiled even more, and gently pulled him into a hug, minding his injuries of course. “I-It’s okay…I’m just so glad you’re okay.” Y/n and Chrono stayed like that for what felt like forever, until Y/n slowly pulled away. They both sat there, looking into each other’s eyes. They were both thinking the same thing. This is it…I’m gonna kiss her/him They both leaned in just a little bit, until “DADDY!!!” Eri ran in, leaping onto the bed and into her daddy’s arms, crying. Y/n just looked away, cheeks red and showing her embarrassment. “Daddy what happened?! Why is your arm in a sling?! Why are you covered in bandages!” Eri was clinging onto her dad, crying. “Woah, woah calm down there tiger! Daddy’s okay, he just got a little hurt is all. But I’m okay, I promise.” He looked down to his daughter and smiled, brushing his fingers through her hair. “It’s pretty late sweety, why don’t you go back to bed, yeah?” “A-Actually daddy…uhm…mhm..can I stay with you…please..?” Chrono smiled, “Of course Baby.” Eri snuggled into the left side of her father (Chrono is on the right side of the bed) being careful of his sling ridden arm. Y/n got up to leave, when a tiny little hand grabbed a hold of her arm. “Wait…daddy?” “Yes Eri?” “…Can Y/n stay with us?” “Eri, We can’t ask-“ “Please daddy!...I-I I’m scared…please…? Just for tonight..?” Eri hopefully looked at both of her parents. Chrono sighed and looked to Y/n, a half smile on his face. “Well? I don’t mind…and she’s never going to give up so…” Y/n’s face went red and her brain just about short circuited. “A-Are you sure? I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” “I promise, you won’t be.” “Yeah! Come on Mommy! It’ll be like a sleepover!” How was Y/n going to say no to THOSE eyes!?! “Okay Eri.” Y/n smiled and got into the other side of the bed. Eri pulled both of her parents close….maybe a bit too close? Oh well. Not for Eri anyways. Eri nuzzled into Y/n’s chest, still snuggled up to Chrono. Y/n and Chrono were both laying on their sides, facing each other. Soon after, they both heard little snores coming from the little girl sleeping in between them. “Thank you…Y/n.” She lightly giggled, “For what?” “For watching over my little girl. Thank you for being a good mom. She needs you more than you realize you know.” Y/n looked down briefly at the little girl, lightly stroking her fingers through her hair, before looking back up to Chrono. “Trust me, I need her just as much as she needs me. I love being her mom…it’s a dream come true really.” Chrono looked at Y/n with nothing but love, and adoration. Everything he had right now, was all he ever wanted, it was all he ever needed. He wanted to kiss his, tell her how he felt, tell her how much he wanted her to be his…but what would he tell her? He had literally almost died two hours ago, he had willingly gone into a dangerous situation knowing death was a possibility, he was going to leave his little girl and love of his life. He couldn’t do that to her. Not yet, anyway. Someday…someday, I’m going to tell her how I feel. Someday..she’ll be mine and I’ll be hers. Goodnight Y/n, I “Love you.”

 A/N: I hope you liked the ending! 😉 D E F I N I T E L Y Didn’t leave the story at a CliFfHaNgEr hehehe sorry bout that~ (Not really lol) Anyways, I’d like this to be about 10 chapters, so there might be a sliiiightlly slowISH burn, but not too slow! I also promise it will be a happy ending! As much as I love writing angst, I will make this one fluffy! Anyways, I hope you have a good day/night! Bye!

[alostdandelion]

My covid Journey

It all started with an itchy throat that I thought would naturally go away if I eat spicy food, or to be exact, ramen. Disclaimer: it was a Saturday and we had gone to the grocery the day before where I bought around 6 pieces of chocolate cream bread from Breadtalk. Yes, I indulged myself with sweetness because yum. I ate what I wanted to, I even ordered buffalo and garlic parmesan chicken wings but that itchy feeling in my throat remained. PS: virus & bacterias love them sweets too. 😅

Sunday, after hearing that they'll put us under ECQ where even outdoor dining is prohibited made me ask my cousin out to eat with me. Yes, despite my throat being itchy. It didn't cause any alarm to me, as I wasn't feeling uncomfortable... YET.

After eating with my cousin, I went back to my place and spent the rest of the weekend watching or doing whatever.

I could still recall that Sunday night though, it was really warm I couldn't fall asleep. But then, suddenly, I shivered. I felt chills. I thought I didn't have fever, but that chilly feeling put me to sleep anyway.

Monday, March 29 - I usually get up at 5 in the morning but that day I got up at around 5:30, feeling weak which I mistook as being lazy. I thought I wasn't feeling well but decided to take a shower and go on with my day.

I did my thing as usual, but as the hours passed by, I started to feel cold despite wearing a sweatshirt. Usually when I wear that, I'd feel comfy already but at that instance, I was still shivering. I tried my best to avoid my officemate as I was afraid to infect her with my fever, if that made sense. I was totally avoiding skinship.

I was able to overcome Monday, and ended up taking Paracetamol before sleeping because at that point, I was well aware that I had fever.

Tuesday, March 30 - I still got up late, mistaking being unwell as being lazy. Damn I hate being lazy. But this time I had to take Paracetamol before going for a shower. I felt uneasy as I still had fever but I still went to work. Just wow.

I was alone this time which somehow relieved me. I was still shivering in the office despite wearing my sweatshirt, and had to take Paracetamol continuously as my fever was recurrent.

Wednesday, March 31 - I still got up late, took Paracetamol before going to the shower. This time I was worried. I had fever for 3 consecutive days already but covid didn't cross my mind, as the itchiness in my throat was gone by Monday, leaving only fever to deal with.

I still went to work because it was the end of the month but ugh, it felt really awful. I was shivering, and my nasal passages were somewhat uncomfortable. They felt dry and I had that feeling of catching a cold I decided to inhale steam from hot water. It was really awful I even decided to leave work early. I left an hour earlier because I wanted to take a rest already, to just stay in bed.

Thursday, April 1 - I got up late again. I was hesitating that time because I was really feeling unwell and uneasy. I still took a shower and got ready for work but the thought of walking to the office terrified me. I suddenly thought, "who will look after me if something happens on the way?"

I kept worrying about work, work, and my client. But... how about me? Who would worry about me?

I ended up crying. I cried real hard. It was around 6:30 already and I usually leave before 6 but at that time I was sitting on my bed, crying for myself.

"Nag-aalala ka sa work mo, kapag ba may nangyari sa'yo pananagutan ka?"

I dropped my bag and sent an email that I wouldn't be able to come to work, but instead, I'll come in on Monday. It was supposed to be a rest day but due to my condition I decided to just swap them. I thought I should really take a good rest that time because I was really sick. I even sent a voice clip to our HR manager because I really couldn't go to work that day.

I went back to sleep and stayed in bed the whole day. I thought taking a rest would result to my recovery but damn during that afternoon, I was crying again. I knew for myself that my fever was high. I couldn't measure then as I didn't have a thermometer but I knew it was because I felt really warm. I was even covered in blanket despite the sun shining brightly outside.

I was crying, I was saying whatever. Was it delirium? I was asking God and my late parents to just take me with them. I didn't like that feeling, and all I could do was cry and pray.

I was taking Paracetamol for my fever, I also didn't have the appetite to eat as I was nauseous.

Friday, April 2 - it felt the same. I still had fever, nauseous, I didn't want to eat but I needed to because I felt hungry. But this time, I was well aware that it could be covid and that I didn't want to infect other people.

I didn't want to trouble anyone, but I had no other choice but to tell our dorm's caretaker and ask for her help. She received the food deliveries in my behalf and brought them upstairs, to the 4th floor. I was really apologetic and thankful to her. The moment she knew I was sick, she helped me buy food and medicines, disinfectant, and other things I might need.

I knew I troubled her a lot. She had to go out a lot of times to buy the things I needed. I kept my door closed and wore mask when I go to the restroom. It was the least I could do. :'(

She helped me through those days of hardship. I still had fever, still nauseous, still no appetite, there was shortness of breath with little activity, and I was starting to cough. It was the weekend, when our HR manager decided to have me tested for covid. With me not getting any better, I admitted and accepted the possibility that it could be covid.

By Sunday my fever was gone but I listened to them and proceeded with the swab test.

April 6, Tuesday. I didn't have fever anymore but was coughing slightly. The med tech who did my swab test was a friend of our HR manager. She was kind enough to buy me lunch, courtesy of HR manager. The way she did the swabbing was gentle, her hands were soft and light it didn't feel painful at all. 🥺 thank you Mariane! ❤️

Right after being swabbed, I felt hungry I started to eat the burger meal she brought me. By this time I was feeling just fine I even drank the softdrinks. 😅 And throughout that day, I started to have the appetite to eat. I was hungry and craving for food. ❤️

I ate everything Jira brought me. Yes. She was bringing me food, healthy meals to be exact that was given by my landlady - her aunt. How thankful I am to have such caring and thoughtful people around me. 😭😭😭

April 7, Wednesday, my test result came out and it was positive. It was covid. Of course I had to tell them. They were all worried but I assured them that I was already feeling better, that I had passed the tough stages. 🥺

I actually hesitated to tell Jira as I was afraid that if she finds out, she wouldn't bring my food upstairs anymore but contrary to my worries... the more concerned they became. They even brought me warm lemon water, they even cooked soup and lugaw to feed me. 🥺😭

This went on, until this week, when I told them I was getting better already and that it's fine even if they didn't send food anymore. I felt shy already. 🥺 then our HR manager sent this food package because it was their birthday. Kkyaaa I was really happy while eating the lugaw because with every scoop, there's laman / meat! 🙈❤️

So as of this writing, April 15, I'm on the 8th day of my 14-day quarantine. How do I feel? I feel better, well, except for my growing wisdom tooth causing pain. 😅 But this pain is nothing compared to the pain I felt during that difficult stage of my covid journey. 🥲

I am still recovering, still eating lots of healthy food, taking vitamins, and eating sweets from time to time. 😅

My 14-day quarantine ends next week April 21 and I can't wait to return to work already as I can't stand the sight of my officemate being troubled because of me. 🥲

Always take your vitamins - twice, wash your hands, and do physical distancing. This virus is invisible, and could be just around the corner. I was complacent I forgot to wash my hands from time to time, lesson learned.

But this experience showed me the people who actually care for me. It made me realize that I'm actually loved and cared for. I cried a couple kf times because of this disease, but I also cried because I was thankful to have people look after me physically and virtaully.

How thankful I am that my case was mild, as I didn't want to further trouble the people around me. But imagine for other people if they get infected, some could get serious. 🥺

Thank You Lord for staying with me! ❤️

Stay safe and healthy! ❤️

Timeline 🥲

27 - itchy throat

28 - itchy throat / 12AM chills

29 - fever

30 - fever, mucus

31 - fever, mucus, headache, inhale uhhhh

01 April (Day 6)

4:14 - high fever

5:10 - medyo okay

6:19 - medyo okay nasusuka

7:13 - ang ginhawa :((((

02 (Day 7)

6:24 - sinat, sipon konti

8:19 - lagnat inom gamot, nausea

10:30 - gutom na gutom :((

11:21 - inom gamot. Okay lang.

4:24 - gutom

5:30 - lagnat

03 (Day 8)

5:25 - ubo, sinat?

8:14 - ubo, sinat

9:37 - antok 9:00 gamot

12:00 - ok lang

5 - 37.6

7:41 - 37.7

8:13 - 36.8

04 (Day 09)

3:36 - 36

7:21 - 35.5

7:46 - 36

10:40 - 36.1

12:36 - 35.8

2:13 - 36.7

3:07 - 36.8

4 - 37

4:53 - 37.3

8:26 - 36.6

05 (Day 10)

8:20 - 36

9:16 - 36.6

11:07 - 36.8

5:55 - 36.5

06 (Day 11)

9:10 - 35.8

10:30 - 35.2

07 (Day 12)

10:15 - 35.8

[every1studio]

“the golden year of the golden mask” [ateez: ???]

genre: FLUFF + hints of angst + fairy tale + reverse harem + female reader 

ficstyle: bulletpoints + mini series? + [LONG INTRO] [PART 2]

prompt: Cinderella with a twist - Everyone was invited to your royal masquerade for the New Year; it was just an excuse for your father the king to find you a suitor. He wanted you to find someone who you are compatible with, hence the masquerade. Little did you know, you’d find love.... and little did you know that, love was closer than you thought... 

note: I hope that you all leave the bad things behind in 2019 and start the new year with positive vibes only~ 

you rolled your eyes as your father went on and on about finding a suitable man for yourself

“HE HAS TO BE STRONG! but he can’t be stronger than me.. AND he has to be able to play chess with me!” he was throwing his hands here and there in excitement

“yeah yeah.. you’ll be the first to know if I’ll find someone..”

his eyes soften as he sits on the edge of your bed, “I just want to make sure that you’re in good hands when something happens to me..”

you smiled at him, “I can take good care of myself and this kingdom...”

“you’re so much like your mother.. I wouldn’t be the man and king that I am today without her.. I just want you to be in love the same way we were-”

“even though mother wasn’t of royalty? from what you want, you just want someone who this kingdom can benefit from and not who I want...” you pushed your comforter away to get out of bed 

“Y/N...” your father reaches for you but you push him away

you spoke with grimace, “I know... killing two birds with one stone.. I’ll be out in the greenhouse..”

the greenhouse was the last gift you had receive from your late mother; she passed away from an incurable disease  

the greenhouse was one of the most beautiful places in the kingdom, it was your go-to place to be 

you washed up and threw your hair in a messy ponytail held by your late-mother’s favorite golden ribbon 

you didn’t take into your consideration how fast you’d open your door until you hit someone 

“OH MY- ARE YOU OKAY?”

the boy started to laugh as he rubbed his forehead, “nothing like a good morning kiss from the princess’s door to wake a man up~”

“Hongjoong... are you sure you’re alright?” you reached to make sure he was fine

but he shot up so quickly, not letting you touch him

“don’t worry about me, princess.. I’m just a mere pierrot-”

“you’re a human before your status,” you stepped closer to the king’s jester, “are you really alright?”

Hongjoong hid his feelings for you behind that clown’s mask of his for years now, but why was it so hard to push you away?

you were a princess, of royalty 

and he was a nothing more than someone used to entertain those of royalty 

“I’m better after seeing a smile from you, milady~” he bows as he hands you a rose, an orange one to be exact; to symbolize a bold, fiery desire 

that was one thing that you two shared in common, sharing the language of flowers 

as soon as you took it, he excuses himself away 

you walked out to the greenhouse, smiling down at your rose, when the smell of sweet, buttery pastries hits you in the face

you popped your head into the kitchen and a warm smile washes over your face, “Yeosang!” 

he turns around with flour dusted over his face, “princess! what are you doing up so early?”

“father woke me up today.. talking about the masquerade.. but enough of that!” you reached up to brush the flour away 

Yeosang blushes uncontrollably but that could be easily excused from the heat of the kitchen, “ju-just a simple souffle.. with a chocolate ganache filling...” 

“SOUFFLE?” you clapped your hands together as your eyes lit up

Yeosang couldn’t help but smile at your face, “it’s New Year’s Eve.. I thought it would be fitting to end the year with your favorite...”

“you’re absolutely thoughtful, you make THE BEST souffles... thank you Yeosang..”

he loved the way you said his name, but how could a chef even imagine about being with the princess? 

“you flatter me too much, princess.. I’ll have someone bring it out to the greenhouse for you..” 

you pat him on the arm before placing your arms behind your back; putting a little pep in your step 

you finally got to the greenhouse; you took the time to tend and care for all of the greenery in the greenhouse even though you had professional gardeners tending them when you are away 

one of the gardeners was near your age, so you found it easy to talk to him and ask him about how to tend for the greenery 

“morning Yunho~” you chimed as you saw the tall boy wiping the dust off of a giant butterbur 

“morning, princess~” he couldn’t help but return the same tone of voice in his greetings 

you grabbed a sprayer and started to mist some plants nearby, “I see we got a new plant in the greenhouse today..”

Yunho points to the cherry blossom tree sapling that has yet to be potted in the middle of the greenhouse, “that little thing? the king just had it shipped here from Japan for your New Year celebratory masquerade..”

you crossed your arms as you smirked at him, “you told him to get me a cherry blossom tree, didn’t you?”

he places the towel down and crosses his arms right back at you, “I suggested it to him, princess.. I would never tell the king what to do..”

you raised your brows at him in a cheeky matter, “even if it was for my sake?”

Yunho could feel his heart explode in his chest but he could only continue on with life looking at you from outside and outside only 

“even if it was for you sake..”

you pouted and huffed, “just wait until I’m queen...”

“you’d make a wonderful queen..” 

you and Yunho turned around to see your personal butler Seonghwa

and he had your delectable cup of souffle with a side of vanilla ice cream 

“Seonghwa! you have excellent timing! I was starting to get hungry~” you skipped to the table you had in the greenhouse

Yunho waves to say goodbye as he makes his way to trim some foliage outside the greenhouse 

Seonghwa places your plate down but stops you before you scarf down the sweet breakfast 

“princess, you need to properly set up before you eat..”

“I’M NOT EVEN IN FRONT OF ANYONE BUT YOU!” you sulked, you hated to be proper but it was Seonghwa’s job to make you a proper young lady 

“you won’t even try to be a proper lady for me?” he raises his brows; he was genuinely curious about your answer

after all, he’s covering up loving you by being a caretaker 

you couldn’t look at him in the eye as you took the napkin and placed it over your lap, “happy?”

he would be lying if he said he wasn’t but he couldn’t show it, “that’ll do..”

you chatted with you butler until it was time for you to take dance lessons 

“don’t forget you have dance lessons with-”

“yeah yeah.. I know, Seonghwa...” you waved him off as he clears the table 

you made your way to the dance room but you were pulled into a room by someone; you were about to scream and thrash until you saw who pulled you in

“did you see someone? maybe he’s over there!” 

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF I EVER GET MY HANDS ON SAN I WILL MURDER HIM!!” you heard one of the maids screech as a bunch of them stormed down the hall

San exhales as he heard them pass

his eyes widened when he saw who he had in his arms

“your highness! I apologize.. please don’t throw me out of the castle..” the boy went onto his knees to beg 

but you brought him up from his knees, “I’m not going to throw you out.. what kind of person do you think I am? by the way, what made the maids want to murder you?”

this was the first time San ever talked to you; he was a new hire in the castle and he’s only seen you a couple of times, even came to your aide a couple time

he didn’t know anyone could be so beautiful until he saw you 

“I walked into a room trying to get towels.. I didn’t know that it was the maid’s changing room... none of the rooms are labeled and are only numbered.. I don’t have all the rooms memorized yet...”

you snickered at him, “you’re a cute character.. tell you what, I’ll let you in on a little secret about the rooms that even the maids don’t know about..”

you pretended like it was this BIG secret by leaning into his ear to tell him

he almost couldn’t take in the information with you being so close

“oh..wow.. I didn’t even know that was a thing..” he murmurs to hide his shaky voice

you looked up at the clock in the room and jumped up in a hurry, “sorry.. uh.. what’s your name?”

“San, your highness...” he spoke up 

“San.. let’s catch up another time, I’m terribly late for dance lessons!”

you ran out before he could say anything

but he was grateful enough to even have the chance to talk to you 

you burst into the room that the dance lesson was being held at

“your highness.. you’re 5 minutes and 47 seconds late..” your instructor announced as he kept his eyes on his watch 

you pouted, “but Wooyoung...I’m here, aren’t I?”

Wooyoung pushes his glasses up before playing music from the gramophone 

“I hope you’d like to start out with waltz, your highness..” he smirks as he gives you his hand to take

you gave him an soft smile as you took his hand, “I do prefer waltz over the other dances..”

Wooyoung was the youngest dance instructor in the kingdom; the king thought it would be a good idea for you to be taught by someone closer to your age, it would be more comfortable for you 

in fact a little too comfortable, there was always this underlying tension between you two and you could never place a finger on it 

Wooyoung know his boundaries; he couldn’t help but use his chances to charm the most beautiful girl in the entire kingdom 

how lucky was he to hold your hand?

place his hand on your waist?

pull you close into his chest?

and not have the king throw him into excel?

it was close to what he had in mind for a perfect dream; almost because perfect dream would have you wrapped in his arms for eternity and not until the song ends 

you stepped on his foot by the end of the song and he yelps in pain

“I’m sorry.. I was dazing off.. are you alright, Wooyoung?” you bent down to check his foot

“your highness... you’re meaning to tell me that your attention wasn’t on me but some place else?” he gently lifts your chin up to look into his eyes with his finger

your eyes widened by his touch, but you were interrupted by a taller gentleman 

“princess, it’s time for horse riding lessons~”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at the gentleman at the door, “Mr. Mingi...”

“Mr. Wooyoung”

Mingi was also one of your instructors for the many activities you were required to do and his lessons were always 15 minutes after Wooyoung’s

“now if you don’t mind~” Mingi takes his hand out for you to take, “the princess has lessons with me”

you took it after curtsying to Wooyoung, “have a good day, Wooyoung”

“you too, your highness”

you and Mingi were always kind of close; he was so smiley all the time 

“why don’t you like Wooyoung? there’s obviously some tension between you two,” you mentioned as you were feeding you horse carrots and apples

Mingi can’t say that they were fighting for your attention since they both liked you

1) that would be childish 

2) neither one of them, who were below royalty, could confess to you 

Mingi shrugs, “I don’t know, your highness.. I just think that some people just aren’t compatible with each other.. BUT HEY, do rode Luna without needing me to guide either one of you two. you’re doing a great job~”

“really?! that just makes me want to go for another ride!”

“wait.. I don’t think you should take her for a ride just yet... she just had a ton of apples so she’s- YOUR HIGHNESS??!!!” 

Mingi’s voice became distant when your horse took off at the speed of light 

nothing you did or said could stop your horse

the only thing you could do was hold on for dear life 

a shooting arrow that flew passed your horse startled it; causing it to rise up 

you couldn’t defy gravity no matter how tight you held on and you started to fall back

but when you fell, you fell into a pair of arms and not the graveled ground

“YOUR HIGHNESS ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“get her horse for her, will you?” the knight called out to Mingi 

Mingi nods and runs after Luna

the knight places you on your feet as gently as possible 

once he takes off his helmet, you couldn’t help but squeal and hug him

“Jongho!! when did you get back from traveling??” 

Jongho was the general’s son and your childhood friend; he had been gone on a business trip to another kingdom 

although being your childhood friend, there was a certain time where he stopped laughing with you  

it was probably when he got dubbed to a knight of the royal kingdom

it was a serious job and he took it very seriously 

well, at least he could smile

Jongho didn’t think that he could hold back smiling whenever he’s with you; you make him feel that way 

“of course I had to come back.. it’s your masquerade to find suitors. I need to make sure that they are worthy enough to have you..” he says with his chest all puffed up 

you hit him in the chest, he coughs in a sarcastic manner

“I’m not interested in snobby suitors.. you know that...” you murmured 

“well it’s getting late.. so that means you have to go back and get fancied up, princess~” he sticks his arm out for you to take 

you don’t know why, but you don’t like it when Jongho calls you princess

maybe it’s because you’ve known him all your life, you rather have him call you by your name 

“okay fine... Mr. Knight~ lead the way,” you link your arm into his 

what felt like an eternity went by was all worth it

you never felt more beautiful; even though your face was partially covered by a light golden mask that was held up with your mother’s golden ribbon 

you wore a champagne dress that was flowy but it wasn’t poofy; in fact, it draped around your figure just nicely 

your father would be furious with the high slit that sat above your thigh, but that was your way of rebelling against him 

you wore uncomfortably gorgeous pair of sequined heels that laced up your legs 

“milady, are you ready?” one of your maids came to collect you, “must I add that you look absolutely stunning.. any man would be an idiot not to fall for you~”

you beamed, “thank you..oh.. I see that you’re all dressed up as well”

the maid nodded as she placed her mask on, “the king said he invited everyone in the kingdom and us workers from the castle are invited as well!”

you smiled at her excitement

you were glad that everyone can enjoy themselves without worrying about who they are and who they talk to 

and with that, you walked out to the grand staircase

of course, everyone is going to know who you are but the real fun is who is everyone else? 

from looking at you, he knew this was his chance 

he knew that it was now or never

he was going to confess to you

To be continued.

[ masterlist + guidelines ]