#and ATTA so far had been amazing to listen to!

[emblazons]

Happy Early Birthday to Me (Sigur Ros digitally releasing all the tracks from their first album in a decade)

[lkfarrout]

Mean (Stan x fem!Reader) 18+

Summary: At your request, Stan brings one of his special skills - putting on an act - into the bedroom

Warnings: Smut/NSFW, a little rough, some degrading dialogue, but lots of consent

18+! Minors, do not interact.

"You dirty girl, are you really gonna cum right here on my fingers?" All you could do was nod and whimper. Stan had been slowly teasing you with his hands for nearly five minutes. This wasn't exactly what you had meant when you asked him earlier if he could try to be a little mean this time, although he had the degrading tone mastered, that was undeniable.

The last several months of slow, loving, sensual sex and pet names had been amazing - but you'd seen how cocky and quick on his feet this con-man could be, and you were ready for more. Stan had been happy to oblige your request, but you were starting to consider that maybe he didn't quite understand the assignment. The meanest thing he'd done so far was not let you remove his pants after his shirt came off.

Just as his pace increased and he was about to send you over the edge, it all stopped. In one swift movement, his touch abandoned you, and he was standing, hands up in the air, with the smuggest look imaginable.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, I'd love to keep going, but," he smirked and looked down at the very obvious bulge showing through his slacks, "somethin' came up."

You pulled yourself up into a seated position on the bed. Oh finally, here we go, you thought, barely able to contain your excitement.

Stan ran one hand through this thick gray hair and used the other to tug on the front of his, now very tight, pants. "You see what ya did to me? Got anything to say for yourself?" The terrible ache between your legs only grew as you watched him, eager to learn what sort of scenario he had concocted for you. You bit your lip to hide your smile.

With his arms now crossed, he came forward until he towered over you. You found your gaze still low, and resisted reaching for his zipper. He asked, serious as ever, "Well?"

Trying your best to look remorseful, you let out a soft, "Sorry, Stan."

You suddenly found youself looking him in the eye, as his large hand lifted your chin and he leaned in close. "That's sir to you." His stern voice juxtaposed the loving look in his eyes.

"Sorry, Sir."

He released your chin and stepped back while smiling with the corner of his mouth.

"You're sorry, huh?" He began to unbutton his pants as he spoke, and soon they were on the floor. "Why don't ya come fix what you did, if you're so sorry?"

You obediently lowed yourself onto your knees in front of his cock - it glistened with precum just inches from your face. You took it in your mouth, but not too deep. Even so, just the feeling of your tongue teasing his tip made Stan struggle to choke back a groan and stay in character. His heavy hand found it's way to your head.

"C'mon, you can suck cock better than that, can't ya?" He slowly pushed his hips into you until his entire shaft was enveloped in your lips. You closed your eyes as you bobbed forward and back, but Stan commanded, "Look at me."

Your eyes met his for only a moment before closing again -- you knew he needed an excuse to change things up, he wouldn't last much longer otherwise. His grip on your hair tightened a bit and he reiterated, "I said look at me."

You repeated your little ruse and, as expected, he pulled you up off of him.

"Don't wanna do what you're told, huh? Suit yourself." Before you knew it, he had you bent over the bed with a firm hand on your ass. Your pussy practically throbbed in anticipation of what was coming. But before you got what you wanted, Stan leaned in very close to your ear, and in a most gentle whisper asked, "You doin' okay, sweetie?" You reassured him with an eager nod. "Atta girl," he planted a soft peck on your cheek before returning to position.

"Now, I'm gonna show ya what happens when you don't listen to me." The return of his voice to the gruff, stern tone made you tremble. As he spoke, his hand made a small circle on your ass cheek. He pulled back and you gripped the sheets to brace yourself as his large palm found it's way back with a loud smack.

"You gonna do what I say now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl, now get on your back for me," he helped you flip over to lay on your back, fully exposed to him as he stood at the side of the bed.

With both hands on your hips, he slid you down toward him until you could feel the length of his shaft pressed against you. A soft moan escaped you lips at the contact, and Stan immediately placed a finger over your mouth.

"Did I say you could make noise?"

You shook your head, and he gently ran his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Now suck," he commanded.

Your lips enveloped his thumb while he lined himself up and slowly thrusted his way inside of you. His now wet thumb found its way to your clit and began making small circles, while his other hand held firmly on your hip.

His girth stretched you out wonderfully and you stifled your noises, his own heavy breathing and groans making it all the more difficult to stay quiet. He pumped in and out, and as his pace increased, so did the warmth and pressure building inside you.

You decided you'd played along for long enough, and began to moan in rhythm with his movements.

As punishment, he removed his hand from your clit and placed it over your mouth instead.

"If ya want me to-- mmm," he panted, "let you finish, you have to be quiet."

He was still thrusting, however, and that was more than enough for you. You came, and as wave after wave of pleasure came over you, your muffled though audible moans fought against his heavy hand.

"I thought I told you to stay-- oh," he sighed and his voice turned soft and breathless. He removed his hand from your mouth and used it to hold himself up.

"Oh, sweetie," he thusted in one final time and you felt the hot spurt of his release inside you, "I-- I love you."

He laid beside you to catch his breath and you cuddled up on him, wrapping an arm around his chest. "I love you too, Stan."

"Sorry 'bout breaking character at the end. Other than that, how'd I do?"

"Hmmm," you pretended to think, "How about one more take?"

"Ha!" Stan let out a hearty laugh, "Ask me again tomorrow."

This was my first time writing smut, I hope it's not too cringe! I realize there's not much of a lead-up, but hey, porn without plot right?

[mrshipsmcgee]

Home: Part Two

Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader (fem)

Part One - pls read lol Part Three

Summary: after randomly showing up in an alleyway, you fight a stranger dressed as Spider-Man, claiming to be Peter Parker… the only issue is, he isn’t your Peter Parker.

What I listen to while I write lol

The so called Peter smiled before his face dropped, “I’m very confused, though.. What the hell is a Captain America?”

You began to laugh uncontrollably as the man stood before you with his hands on his hips, still confused as to what was happening and where in the world you came from.

“Okay, you got me! You really almost had me convinced for a second that something was off. This has been a really good prank.” You press your lips together in a smile before starting to raise your voice in a sarcastic tone, “Is someone going to come out and mess with me and tell me they got me so good?”

The man in the Spiderman costume watched as you started to walk around the alleyway, yelling for your friends to come out of hiding. “Look, I know we prank each other sometimes, but isn’t this just a little much?!”

He cocked his head to the side watching as your steps were followed by icy footprints. The fern crown you had created started to slide off of Peter’s head. His fingertips lightly caressed the greenery before he took it from his head, staring at it in awe before he looked up at you again - seeing that you had stopped yelling for your friends.

“Hey, so -,” you begin to whisper as you approach the man. “This is just a really intense prank that went too far, right? You can tell me - I promise I won’t get mad.. I’m just - I’m starting to kind of get freaked out, honestly. You haven’t broken character once. Like, at all. And this costume is incredible. Is it Peter’s?”

He furrowed his brows as you spoke, just as confused as you were.

“Who paid you?” You ask as you cross your arms. “Was it Peter? Ned? Did a man with a mechanical arm get you to do this? He has a weird name, so you’d remember,” you squint, waiting for the stranger to fold. “No - I got it! Stephen did this because of the cape incident, didn’t he?!” You smiled widely as you started to look around for your friends again, your steps now followed by grassy foot prints that sprouted small wildflowers and clover.

Peter blinked as he remained frozen before you, equally confused by your ramblings and amazed by your abilities. He had never seen anyone else like you.

“Could I use your phone to call someone?” You ask, walking back towards him.

“Yeah - sure,” he nods, passing you his cell phone. You type in the only number you knew by heart - Peter’s. It rang a few times before a woman picked up, “Hello?”

“Hi! Yes - hi, is Peter there?” You ask, biting your lip as your eyes dart to the man in front of you, giving you a thumbs up.

“No - I don’t know a Peter, I’m sorry! You’ve got the wrong number.” She responded before the line hangs up. Your throat had grown dry as you handed the phone back to the man who stood only feet from you.

“Look, no one paid me, I swear. I promise you that I am Spiderman. I was just ending my patrol when you literally came out of a random glowing golden circle,” Peter said as he watched you; your chest beginning to quickly rise and fall as your breath became shaky trying to wrap your brain around what the hell was happening.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter spoke in a whispered - soothing tone, putting a hand on your shoulder as you started to tear up, still breathing heavily.

“I promise, I won’t be mad… Just - just tell me this is a prank, please.” You started to hyperventilate as you hid your face in your hands. “I’m - I’m really freaked out.”

“Hey - look at me,” he spoke calmly, putting both of his palms on your shoulders as he began to breathe along with you, hoping to help slow your breath.

“Good job, Y/N. Atta girl,” he coos as he brought his fingers to your neck - checking you slowly lowered your hands. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head, “No, I don’t think so. Where is everyone? Where are my friends?”

He watched as you fought the tears forming in your eyes, “Could you take me to Avengers tower? It’s not too far from here - you could just drop me off. I just really need my friends.”

He paused, knowing there wasn’t an Avengers Tower to take you to.

“It’s late -,” he said, looking at his phone. “- well, early.. Do you - Well, would you maybe wanna go have a home cooked meal first? I’ll take you wherever you want to go, afterwards.”

You hesitated, looking at the sky - seeing dawn begin to slowly kiss the starry night sky. Peter watched as the sunlight started to shine, illuminating the color of your beautiful yet sorrowful eyes.

“You expect me to just trust you?” You say, eyes still directed towards the sky as you wrap your arms around yourself, growing colder as adrenaline wore off. Peter’s eyes remained on you.

“Well, I- Well, yeah… I guess. People kinda normally just trust me because I’m me..” Peter said as he shrugged, pointing to the Spidersuit he wore. “And honestly, I’m pretty sure you could kick my ass if you really wanted to, so you don’t really have to trust me.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “You really don’t have to be on high alert still, but if it makes you more comfortable - I’m all for it. Just please don’t wrap me up in anymore plants or wind.”

“Wait.. You’re just going to cook a strange woman breakfast?” You asked, finally looking at him through a furrowed brow.

“Well, yeah. I don’t see why not - I’m a good cook. You seem like you really need a friend right now. And if you turn out to be a threat I could just take you down,” he explained as he smiled shyly. A warm blush covering his cheeks.

It was quite before he said, “I’m kidding - I promise I’m not a threat. I know you don’t believe me still, but I promise you are incredibly safe with me. And honestly, you’re wearing pajamas in an alleyway. So-”

“Sure,” you murmur, cutting him off

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows as he started to smile again.

“Yup. Now let’s go before I change my mind,” you tease.

The two of you began to make your way through back alleyways before reaching the backside of Peter’s apartment.

“I wanted to show you something before we go inside. I think it will explain a lot. Do you trust me?” The man holds out his gloved hand to you as you look down at it. “Uh..” you whispered as he shot a web towards the roof of the building. Reluctantly, you give him your hand as he slowly wraps his arm around your waist - his brown eyes looking into yours before quickly hoisting the two of you onto the roof, just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon.

“Look,” he whispers as he unwraps his arm from your waist, backing away and letting you take in the sights.

“It looks the same, yet so so different,” you whispered looking around and seeing a few iconic pieces of the city’s skyline missing. You gasped as tears started to form in your eyes, “Wait… Where is Avengers Tower?”

You whipped your head around to where he stood as your heart began to race, finally believing that the man claiming to be Spiderman was in fact Peter Parker - just not yours.

You were not in your world.

“Oh my god,” you whispered as hot tears started to roll down your face.

Peter’s heart broke as he walked back over to you, wanting to give you a hug - yet too afraid to ask.

It was almost instinctual how you turned your entire body towards the man in the Spiderman suit as he approached you, burying your face into his chest as you began to sob - wrapping your arms around him as you cried. His hands slowly found their way to your scalp, holding you closer to him in a gentle embrace.

His heart raced in his chest like a beating drum as he clung to you.

“I can’t imagine how scary all of this must be for you,” he whispered as he continued to sooth you. The vibrations of his voice echoed in his chest as your head pressed against him. He started to stroke your hair lightly.

“I promise - I promise you, you are safe with me. We are going to figure this out and get you home,” he continued as you remained in his arms. “I’m going to take care of you until we figure this out. I promise. And - and, just consider me your Peter for now, okay?”

You nod, pulling away from his chest and locking eyes with him.

He just smiles when he looks at you, his eyes so kind - so familiar. Safe. Like home. Like your Peter.

But this feeling was different, you felt it all over your body like goosebumps - almost as if you could just melt as a warm feeling started to form in the pit of your stomach.

Peter felt a familiar sense of belonging when he looked at you - studying your beautiful face as you both stood in silence. He hadn’t had this feeling in such a long time. He hadn’t allowed himself to.

“I’m so sorry if I overwhelmed you more, I just didn’t know anyway else to really prove to you that I was being honest other than to show you the skyline,” he explained. “I hope you can forgive me.”

He was so sweet, so genuine as he gazed at you.

The sun finally fully crept over the tallest buildings, shining brightly around the two of you, now fully illuminating the man’s handsome face.

“I’m ready for that meal now,” you say, giving him a soft smile - though your eyes were still glossy with tears.

Peter blinked at you, as if he were blinking himself out of a trance as he stammered, “Are you - are you sure? We don’t have to go in yet if you are too overwhelmed.. Sometimes I sit up on this roof just to breathe. We can do that if you want to. I can take you somewhere you’d feel safe..”

“I feel safe right now with you, Peter.” You whispered.

A wide smile spread across his face.

You finally said his name..

•

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Part Three

[deniigi]

A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

 --

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

 ---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.  

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

 ---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

 --------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren’s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

 --------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

 -----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

 -----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

 -------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

 -----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

 -------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

 -----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room.  This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

 -------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

 --------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

 ----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

 ---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

 ------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

 ----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

 ---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.  

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

 --------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

 -----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

  Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

 -------------

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

 ---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting  the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

 ----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ‘Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

 ------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

 --------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

 ---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

[gladly-be-the-good]

"Hi I'm Boyd, a definitely real boy! Do you want to see the lab?" Danny raised an eyebrow as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Suuure." Jazz smiled widely at the little boy bot and said, enthusiastically,

"We'd love to!" Boyd reached out for their hands. Jazz took his immediately while Danny shoved his hands in his pockets. Boyd didn't seem too discouraged, so Gyro wouldn't eject the moody teen from his lab, yet.

As soon as they were in another room Boyd started taking.

"This is where Dr. Gearlose first thought up the Gizmoduck armor! He made it as a tool to help around the lab, but then Dr- um, I mean, someone totally random that I definitely don't know and love, nailed it, wanted to help people all over duckburg, and beyond!"

"So he's a good person then? Not someone who would be upset with another superhero reaching out to him?" Jazz asked.

This little boy was clearly incapable of subterfuge, so his goodness was genuine. She could trust him as much as she could trust any other sweet ten year old.

"Oh yes! He loves when he gets to work with other heroes! He needs breaks sometimes and is happy for any help he can get."

"Is he someone that would approve of, I don't know, magic or ghosts or underaged superheroes?" Boyd smiled at her, taking her words at face value even as Danny, who had been listening carefully, shot them both incredulous looks.

"You've never met Mr. McDuck before have you? He employs Gizmoduck and he has a ghost butler! And a niece that used to be a spirit and is entirely magic. We even have an intern here who is.... I don't actually know, but he's really nice too! And as far as thinking kids can't be heroes, he wanted me to be one! And he works with Darkwing who has a sidekick that's twelve. Here at McDuck enterprises, we follow rule 53 in the Junior woodchuck guidebook! Greet the unknown with an open mind and an open heart."

"Wow. You people are basically perfect aren't you?" Danny asked sarcastically. He didn't like where Jazz was going with this and he really didn't need a little kid, who obviously couldn't lie to save his life, knowing a secret that would get Danny killed. Or, more killed, at least.

"Oh no, nothing is perfect. Even machines are flawed."

"So Boyd, tell me about Dr. Gearlose?" Jazz interrupted, a nervous lilt in her voice.

"Dr. Gearlose is amazing!" Boyd exclaimed, spinning in a circle with his arms above his head. Danny swore he saw a rainbow in the background. "It's a secret, so don't tell him please, but I like to call him Dr. Dad."

"He's your dad?"

"Well I don't exactly have a dad, but he was the one who created me so- I mean, in the way that all kids, are, created, dude?" Little bulb smacked his head, the sound of metal hitting glass was the only sound in the room as Jazz and Boyd both looked nervously at Danny, though Boyd was looking at Jazz too.

Poor, sleep deprived Danny, who had grown up with awkward Tucker as a best friend, just blinked slowly and said,

"So, are we gonna learn about any of the science stuff here or just your family?"

"Oh! Yes! Those two things are definitely separate things! Over here we have, uh, no that's for Gizmoduck, but this upgrade is-! Oh, no, that's for me, me phone! Yup. Me phone. Ha ha hahahaha. I'm a definitely real boy!!" The kid started shaking and looked so stressed.

Jazz big sister mode: activated.

"Boyd, come here." He ran to her without hesitation. She hugged him and said, "I know you're a robot-"

"He's a what?!"

"And we don't care. Do we Danny?" Jazz emphasized her messing with a sharp glare. Danny raised his hands in submission.

"Nope. Totally cool with the robot boy. I'm just surprised."

"How? How are you surprised by this? When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"Oh come on, Tucker pretended he was secretly a robot for nine months when we were kids."

"You, aren't scared?" Jazz cooed and held Boyd tighter.

"How could anyone be scared of someone so sweet?!"

"A lot of people used to think I was bad, a lot of people still do. Even Dr. Gearlose was worried I was going to hurt people, that that's all I could do." This was a story Danny knew all too well. He looked away and scuffed his shoe against the floor.

"So, what changed?"

"I don't know, actually. One second my programming is being overwritten to terrorise the world, the next I'm being held." Danny moved his hands out of his pockets so he could cross his arms tightly against his chest.

"And you've never worried about, I mean, the guy's a scientist, robotics especially, aren't you worried he'll open you up one day to, to see what's inside? Or break you down for spare parts?' Boyd rubbed his chin.

"I, never thought about that before. I don't think he would, because he loves me. But maybe..." Boyd's chin started to wobble. "What, what If I disappoint him? What if I hurt somebody on accident and I'm too dangerous to be online anymore!?" Little bulb burned a bright red and shook a first at Danny.

"Woah, sorry, just um, stop that? Please? I'm sure your dad loves you too much to ever turn you off okay?" Boyd wiped at his eyes, even though he couldn't cry, and said, desperation and fear in his voice,

"I'll go ask him!" He jumped out of Jazz's arms and ran to the conference room.

"Boyd!"

When they burst into the room, Scrooge McDuck was standing on the table waving his cane in the air.

"Now see here you huanter hunting hooligans-!"

"Dr. Gearlose!" Gyro, the only person in the room that had still been sitting, bolted to his feet and caught Boyd as he jumped into his arms. Gyro instinctively cradled the boy bot and glared at the other kids. Boyd was literally vibrating. Fenton, who was already standing, watched with worried eyes. This was going to end badly.

"You. What did you do to Boyd?" He growled. Little bulb hopped from the chair to the table to Boyd and pat his little brother's head.

"Our kids didn't do anything! We've raised them to be fine upstanding citizens!" Maddy insisted.

"That's right! They know how dangerous ghosts are, don't you kids?" Danny felt all the emotions, guilt, regret, bitterness, jealousy, fear, resentment, building inside of him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for him to be angry because Boyd had parents who loved him no matter what. It also wasn't fair that Danny didn't. He was so tired of always being scared to go home. Of having to run away from his parents as they shot to kill or capture. If they knew what he was, Danny didn't doubt for a moment that the only reason they'd want him alive would be to dissect him. The fact that Jazz had been asking questions about the heroes here proved that she knew the same thing.

"In my experience," Danny said, voice carefully controlled, "ghosts are very dangerous." His parents looked over at the table of angry strangers victoriously. It was the proudest they'd seemed of Danny in a long time. Seeing Boyd, burying his face in his Dr Dad's chest, he felt the words coming out, and with them all the pain and resentment he'd felt for so long, all before he could try to stop it. "But so are people. In my experience."

"Danny, what are you saying?"

"And you don't just throw away a person because they cause you trouble!" He continued. Looking Boyd directly in the eyes as the younger boy had turned his head. "You don't break them down into usable parts, or molecules. Because they feel things and want things and love things! They're just like anyone else!"

"Danny, what has gotten into you?!" Danny walked right up to Boyd and said softly,

"The only people who don't believe that, they," Danny swallowed past the lump in his throat and the realization that came with saying the truth out loud. "They don't really love you." Boyd sniffed and held out a fist. Danny smirked wryly and bumped it with his own.

"What are you talking about? Ghosts don't have feelings, you know this."

"Do we though? Do we even know why they haunt people? Even if they are just, just bad, we don't have to tear them apart." He implored. This was the first time he'd contradicted his parents. This was the closest he would ever get to asking if they could really love him, spooky bits and all.

They weren't even looking at him anymore, they were holding at each other.

"He gets this from you, you know." Jack said, arms crossed.

"What?!"

"Well we Fentons sure don't have that kind of open mindedness."

"I'll say! Who's idea is it out Fenton before everything we own?!" Jack, clearly offended, raised his voice.

"It's called branding! It was your idea to bring the kids with us anyway! It'll be good for them Jack, they'll experience different cultures. Look at what cultural diversity did! It poisoned our impressionable son's mind against ghost hunting!"

"Well excuse me for wanting our children to be educated!"

Danny sighed and his shoulders slumped. His courage died inside of him.

"I was only kidding. Haha. Let's go back to Amity and live in ignorance for the rest of our lives." Jack's face lit up.

"Atta boy!"

"Honestly Jack, he's clearly lying."

"Danny wouldn't do that, we raised him better than to lie, at least to his old man."

"Kids, RV, now. Jack, we'll be discussing this later." She turned back to the scientists and said, professionally, "Thank you for your time, sorry it was a waste for us both." Boyd waved hesitantly, still sniffing,

"Bye Jazz, by Danny." Danny offered a single wave of his hands before slumping it the door. Jazz waited a moment after her parents were gone too. She hurried and took the card she'd made for just this purpose and handed it quickly to Boyd.

"See you soon." She whispered. She was almost at the door when Jack poked his head back in.

"Come on Jazz, we don't need these ghost-lovers."

"Coming dad." Just like that the Fenton family was gone. Scrooge, still standing on top of the table, summed up the feelings of the group pretty well.

"What in dismal downs just happened here?!"

[thefloorisbalaclava]

Yours To Keep

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Fem!reader

Words: ~2.2k

Warnings: smut, dom!maxwell

A/N: I honestly don’t know what to say about this. I wanted to try my hand at writing him and this is what happened.

You had been working for Maxwell Lord for almost a year now. In that year you learned his likes and dislikes, his favorite cologne, what made him tick, and what he was like when no one was around. And he knew the same about you. There were no secrets between you two and he liked it that way. It hadn't always been that way. It took a lot of perseverance on your part and patience on his.

How could you ever forget the first time you tried to touch him? He was always put together well--never a hair out of place. Except for that one time. He had been pacing his office as you sat in the chair quietly watching. You were usually there to take notes but he couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order. You stood and moved in front of him causing him to almost walk into you.

"Sir, you need to calm down." You reached up but stopped and looked at him. He nodded his head so quickly you could have missed it. You carefully straightened his tie then smoothed down his lapels as you spoke. "You're Maxwell Lord," you began, "All those other men are nowhere near as rich or as powerful as you are. They should be the nervous ones. To be in the same room with someone as great as yourself is an honor." Subconsciously, your hand went for the strand of hair that had escaped the rest and hung above his right eye. He grabbed your wrist tightly and tilted his head slowly.

"Don't." But his grip slowly loosened and you found yourself lost in his gaze and him in yours. He leaned in and seemed to study your face before his eyes fell to your lips. His hand was still around your wrist as you gently smoothed the stray hair back into place.

"There," you breathed. You were pressed against him now and his face was so close to yours that your noses bumped. Just a few more inches and��

He let go of your hand and turned away, taking a deep breath. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Shall we go, sir?" He nodded once and walked out, leaving you to follow him. The ride over to the conference was a quiet one but you were used to that. Mr. Lord did not like any distractions before speaking though if you were on your knees in front of him while he was on the phone, it had been a welcome distraction. You looked over at him and he was staring at your thighs. The pencil skirts he liked for you to wear didn't do a very good job at covering your thighs and you were sure he liked them that way. He reached out and ran his hand over one and you sat there still as ever. He pulled the skirt higher, revealing your garters and he let out a breath before pulling his hand away.

---

Upstairs, you watched from outside the room as he spoke. You always enjoyed how much he used his hands because it made you think of how well he used them on you. You squeezed your thighs together and tried to think of anything else to distract you. His eyes wandered over to where you stood a few times and you flashed him a small smile which was never returned but you knew he saw it.

He left the room to light applause but didn't say a word to you, not until you said something. "Good work, Mr. Lord." You couldn't see it walking behind him, but he had smiled.

Down in the car, he became slightly more animated not having to worry about his speech anymore. "They were eating out of my hands." He held them out in front of him and you grinned. What beautiful hands they were.

---

Back at the office, he was a totally different man. He went on and on about how well it went and you listened silently like he needed you to. He walked over to the little wardrobe he kept in his office and loosened the tie he was wearing.

"Have you seen the blue argyle one?" he asked and you cleared your throat. "What?"

"You told me to send it for dry cleaning, remember?" Of course he did. The look on your face all but gave it away. He chuckled dryly. The blue argyle tie had been shoved into your mouth a few nights ago. He needed you quiet as he fucked you over his desk and had no other options. "I will pick it up on my way home, sir. Should I bring it with me tomorrow?"

"I'll come by your place tonight and pick it up actually. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

"I didn't catch that," he said, approaching you slowly.

"Yes, Mr. Lord."

"That's better." He traced your lips with his thumb and you stuck the tip of your tongue out. When he felt your tongue brush along his thumb he grunted and slowly slipped it into your mouth. "Such a pretty mouth." He moved his thumb in and out of your mouth getting lost in the feeling. He is entranced by the way your lips wrap around his thumb. When he finally took it out, you chased it subconsciously and he smirked. "Go home. Wait for me."

"Okay, Mr. Lord."

"Don't forget my tie." He turned away from you as you walked out of the office. You went home to prepare for his visit.

---

You waited patiently for Maxwell to arrive and you had a little surprise in store for him. You sat on the sofa in your coverup waiting for him to arrive and when he did you walked to the door excitedly. After calming yourself, you opened the door and smiled softly.

"Mr. Lord," you said, letting him inside. 

"I see you're wearing the gift I got for you. Very nice." He walked straight to your bedroom and you followed closely. "Take it off," he demanded and you did as you were told.

"Yes, sir." The coverup fell from your body and you revealed yourself to him. You were completely naked save for one thing.

"Is that...my tie?" He pointed at you and waited for you to respond.

"Yes."

He sat on your bed and motioned you over with his finger. You began to walk but he snapped and you immediately dropped to your knees. "Atta girl. Now...come to me." You crawled to him and he opened his legs slightly so you could fit between them. You slowly reached for his belt and removed it then unbuttoned his pants. You must have been moving too slowly for him because he grabbed you by the tie around your neck and wrapped it around his hand, pulling you close before leaning in to speak. "I don't like waiting."

"Sorry." Yours hands made quick work of his button and zipper. He still held you by the tie, watching closely as you moved closer to his semi-hard cock. He yanked on the tie once more and you looked up. "Please," you begged and he finally kissed you. Before you could get into it he pulled away and sat back waiting for you to use that pretty mouth he loved so much.

"Either you do it or I will," he threatened. He grabbed you by the hair now and guided you to his now rock hard cock. You opened your mouth and took him in just the way he liked. "All the way. Almost there." He held your hair back so he could see your face as you took him as deep as you could but that was not deep enough apparently. Maxwell held onto your hair tightly and thrust into your mouth, making you gag. He cursed quietly as he slowly fucked your throat. You steadied yourself on his thighs as he used you. You loved every moment and he knew it.

Eventually, he yanked you away by your hair and you fell onto your ass. He made you watch as he touched himself, snarling all sorts of things to you. "Get on the bed." You moved quickly because you knew it would please him. He still touched himself as he pulled you up by the tie around your neck. "Lie still."

"Yes, Mr. Lord." 

He spread your legs as far as they could go and lowered his head between them, tasting you like he had wanted to all day. Your hands wavered above his head until you finally decided to run your fingers through his hair. You were sure he would kill you for it later but right now he seemed to be enjoying you pulling on his hair as he tasted you like a man starved. Make no mistake, this wasn't for your pleasure, he just wanted to make sure you were ready for him. When he was satisfied at how wet you were, he sat up and pulled you by the tie again.

"On your stomach. Now." You moved quickly, flipping onto your stomach and waiting for the next instruction but it never came. You looked back at him as he massaged your ass then slapped it, enjoying the way it jiggled when he did. "You are mine, aren't you?"

"Yes sir." As soon as you answered he thrusted into you and leaned down to press himself even deeper. You grabbed at the sheets and lifted your hips to meet his thrusts but he slapped your ass again and you knew that meant to stay still. "Mr. Lord...you feel so good!"

"Do I?"

"Yes!"

"Tell me again." Another slap.

"You feel amazing. Please fuck me harder," you begged and he did. You would never understand why he preferred to stay almost completely dressed as he fucked but it had become a kink for you now-feeling the fabric of his clothes rubbing against your bare, sensitized, overstimulated skin.

You cried out into the pillow but soon he was pulling you up against him by the tie. He wrapped an arm around your waist as the other held onto the tie, choking you slightly. Your back was flush against his chest as he took you the way he wanted. "Say my name," he demanded, nipping your ear.

"Mr. Lord," you moaned.

"I said...say my fucking name." He thrusted into you particularly hard and you cried out.

"Maxwell...fuck!"

"There we go. Now...come for me." He cupped your pussy and his fingers found your clit. "This is mine, isn't it?"

"Yes, Maxwell. Yours," you whined. His fingers were like magic, working you in ways you didn't think possible. Your body trembled as his fingers worked on your clit, working in circles or drawing little patterns that drove you crazy. He must have felt you squeezing him because he growled in your ear and fucked you even harder.

"I said now, didn't I?" He pushed himself as deep as he could while rubbing your clit and choking you with the tie. The lack of air, the overstimulation, his breath against your ear--it was all too much and you soon found yourself nearly convulsing against him as you came. Your hands found his and tried to stop it as it rubbed against your clit relentlessly but he wouldn't stop. Maxwell loved seeing and hearing you fall apart all because and all for him. "I'm going to fill you and you will thank you, correct?"

"Yes Maxwell," you whimpered. He shoved you back down so that your face was against the pillows and your ass was in the air. You cried out for him repeatedly and he finally stilled behind you, pressing down between your shoulder blades as he pushed and emptied himself deep within you. He groaned loudly and just about collapsed on top of you, crushing you against the bed. If it were anyone else you would've told them to move or just shoved them off, but this was Maxwell and any kind of closeness to him was a gift that you savored. You swear you felt him kiss your shoulder before rolling off of you with a groan. 

"Thank you," you breathed, turning onto your side to look at him. "Thank you, Mr. Lord." He looked at you and shook his head. "Thank you, Maxwell."

"Better."

You knew he wasn't much of a cuddler so you kept your distance even though your body was screaming to touch him. Seeing him so disheveled was wonderful and you smiled as he caught his breath. When you reached out to him you visibly saw him stiffen but he didn't grab your wrist this time. You smoothed the stray hairs in his face back with the rest of his hair.

"There," you whispered and he took your hand then kissed your palm. He took the tie and wrapped it around his hand bringing you closer to him inch by inch.

“Keep the tie,” he said before kissing you lightly. That was a demand you would happily follow.

[kewltie]

Izuku had broken up with Katsuki on a boring, unspectacular Wednesday.

Afterward, it only took three hours for his name to trend all over the internet and be called a clout chaser, gold digger, and even a harlot by millions of random people he’d never before because he'd broken the heart of their precious Crown Prince.

He couldn't even step a foot outside of his home without being bombarded with paparazzi accusing him of using the prince to social climb before ruthlessly dumping him.

"What did I tell you about dating His Royal Asshole?" Ochako says as Izuku groans, having hide out in her apartment for three days now because the media corps decided to stake out his apartment for him.  

"To not to do it," he admits with a wince, "even on pain of death and that I should stay away from that hot mess."

"Atta boy," she says with a nod, but she doesn't let him rest on his laurels for long, "but you didn't listen and chose to jumped right in and be fucked over."

"It was his hot bod," Izuku murmurs, staring down at their tray of takeout daifuku from his favorite dessert shop; the one that he used to visit often with Katsuki but can't anymore because the kind elderly owner who'd always handed him extra daifuku with his purchased had given him the stink eye and a lecture when he came to pick up his order yesterday.

Ochako snorts. "If only that was the case, then you would have dated Kirishima instead like I'd wisely suggested. At least he wasn’t a prince."

He sulks. "Kacchan took my favorite shoe hostage! He wouldn't give it back unless I go on a date with him."

"Because you threw your shoe at him!" she retorts.

Izuku groans again, because this story had been rehashed so many times already. "It was an accident! And he only asked me out so he can mock me endlessly about it."

"And you found that Royal Ass charming enough to go on another date and another and another.” She huffs. “Now, look where you’d ended up."

Izuku stares down at his pajamas that he hadn't bother to change out since this morning. It has been several days now and he’d barely left Ochako's apartment for anything but the lure of food. What a sad and deplorable existence his life became, and all because he'd fallen in love with the Crown Prince of Japan.

"It been two weeks already," he whines, resisting the urge to shove another piece of daifuku in his mouth. It would have been his thirteen one on this awful evening. "Why won't they just leave me alone? I'm not that interesting enough to keep making headlines after headlines. Every. Single. Day."

Ochako just gives him a long, pointed look. "You broke up with him on live TV and in front of hundreds important guests s at his mother's birthday, who by the way is the much loved Empress. For someone who is afraid of drawing attention to himself you sure know how to wreck complete havoc."

Izuku drops his face into his hands and mutters words into it, muffling his respond. The memory of Katsuki's distraught and confused face that night, just right before Izuku had run out on him, still haunts him.

A hand ruffles his hair fondly. "Hey, hey, can't hear you."

He groans and raises his head in despair. "I wasn't in my right mind."

"I would hope so," Ochako says dryly. "This may even top that time when you broke into Eito Med Lab at sixteen, freed all their test animals, and got thrown in jail for three days."

Izuku grimaces. "That bad?"

She lets out a whistle. "Way worst." She pats him on the shoulder. "If you wanted to cut him off you could have break it to him gently. In private, preferably, and where his parents, various government dignitaries, and the entire nation weren't breathing down your back the whole time."

Tucking his knees against his chest, he chews on his lower lip and quietly confesses, "I found the ring Kacchan was hiding."

Ochako's eyes nearly bulge out of their socket. "He was going to ask you to married him?!"

Izuku hesitates, then frantically, he says, "I panicked!" he protests. "It was just before we’d left for the party and I saw the ring box hidden in his drawers.” He recalls that moment when he’d first found it and how it felt like his entire world had shift on its axis. “All thoughts went out of my head after that." He drags his hands down his face. "What was I supposed to do?!"

"Not break up with him on live TV!" she snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose. Ochako lets out a long-suffering sigh like Izuku's existence is tiring her. That's probably true, because being around Izuku is tiring. "So did you not want to marry him, is that it?" she probes.

Izuku looks away, his insides all twisted up thinking about it. "It doesn't matter what I want."

"Of course it does!" she insists loudly, drawing his attention back to her. "If you don't want marry him then that's fine, but," she frowns at him, "if you do want to then you got to stop sabotaging yourself!"

"I just don't think we're a good match for each other," he reveals his deepest and greatest fear that he had been nursing since he knew what it’d meant to be with Bakugou Katsuki.  

All the anxiety he'd locked away in a chest is now broke open, spilling out of the cracks. He's terrified. Wretchedly afraid like the first time he'd found out every tabloid press had plastered his face and name everywhere just because he was caught hanging out with Kacchan. They weren't even dating at that time.

Her brows furrow. "Why do you date him then? I thought you love," she pauses and shakes her head before continuing, "well, maybe it's loved now."

Izuku nearly jumps out of his seat to correct her. "No, I still do! That hasn't change!"

"Then?" she presses relentlessly.

Izuku swallows, hands clasping together in a tangle of tight knot in front of him. "I'm not a good fit for him. There’s a thick juvenile record with my name written all over it,  I’m chronically anxious and fighting off depression on a good day. My perfect night is cuddling in bed and tuning into a nature documentary, while Kacchan is out pretty much every night shaking hands with the movers and shakers of the world.  Everything little things he do make the news, even that one time he decided to wear a blue sweater and for the next three days that’s all the top news agency talk about the latest Prince Katsuki’s fashion trend. You can’t even be mad at him at all for it because he’s fiercly smart, charming when he wants to be, and more driven than anyone I know. And he lives is an actual palace where he get attended by servants everyday! Like, for him his normal day is  some strange drugged up fantasy! Can’t you see how he's—"

"Also an asshole," Ochako interjects with an eye roll.

Izuku cries out in protest, but she raises her had up to stop him. "Look, Bakugou is smart as you said. Brilliant even," she easily admits. "He’d made a lot of great political moves and done plenty to bolster the economy. He gets shit done and gets it done right, but he's not a people person." She sighs. "He looks at this country and sees it as a machine that he can fix and tinker with, but not as individual smaller pieces that make up the larger picture; he doesn't see us because he's Bakugou Katsuki, a prince who lives in a separate world than us so he doesn’t understand what it like to live on paycheck by paycheck, to worry about where your next meal may come from, and to live off government’s generosity. He's a great prince but you," she looks at him softly, "made him a good man and that’s more than anyone had ever done."

She pries his tangled hands from each other and tucks them in hers, squeezing it meaningfully. "It's because you feel so impassioned for this world and everyone who lives in it and not afraid to get hurt or let your voice be heard that Bakugou actually listened to you."

Izuku looks down at their held hand and feel tears fall down his cheeks. He doesn't deserve the friends he has now. They're amazing people, far better than him. "Ochako, thank you," he says, sniffing hard. "Thank you so much, but you have to understand Kacchan isn't just anyone." It feels tight and painful to admit it, but he wants her to know it’s not about him. It’s all for Katsuki. "He's the heir to the throne and he has so many responsibilities rested on his shoulders that sometimes I would wake up at night and still see him up at 3AM drafting a new speech or policy. It looks easy because he purposely makes it look that way. He just puts so much on himself and doesn’t want to ask for help because his dumb pride, but he cares more than he let on." He smiles thinking of how Katsuki loves, loves so fiercely that it’s drowning him. And Izuku is the anchor currently dragging him down right now.

"He's going to be the future emperor one day and the person standing next to him can’t just be anyone,” he says softly. “It can’t be little old me. I'm just so scare." He breaks at that admission. "So terrified that one day Kacchan will realize I was just one big mistake."

“Oh, Izuku,” she breathes. “You’re such an idiot.” She breaks their hold and grabs him, pulling him against her chest. "It'll be okay."

Izuku knows nothing will be okay again. He'd just broken his own heart and Katsuki's just to save their future. It's fixable now. Who ever said love is fairy tale is damn liar. Did no one wonder what happened after the prince married Cinderella and the magic ended?  

[blackbirdmuses]

Storm || Monologue

Heavy, black clouds hung over the skeletal trees at the edge of Halloween Town. Darkness swiftly descended and the first roll of thunder boomed in the distance. Storm sat on the roof of the treehouse, watching the horizon with expectant green eyes. There had always been something about encroaching tempests that had relaxed him. While his mother jolted at every flash of lightning, Storm stared up, wide eyed as the sky filled with jagged light. Perhaps it was because he was born during a colossal, raging storm, or maybe it was his namesake, but he’d always held an affinity with gloomy weather. He would nestle himself among the broken slates, pressing himself to the hollow base of the dead tree, then, he’d wait patiently for the first droplets of rain to fall from the weighted heavens.

However, something more than an anticipated downpour had coaxed Storm to his perch on the roof today. He’d had an argument with his twin brother, Thorn. It seemed as though, in their ten years of living, neither of them had ever had a very serious disagreement; until today. The boys had got into trouble over a piece of graffiti on the back wall of the Town Hall (a drawing that Storm had concocted) and, instead of taking his share of the blame in encouraging Storm, Thorn had placed all the blame on Storm and managed to escape punishment. Now, Storm would have to spend his entire weekend cleaning the wall by himself. The twins had fought, loudly shouting at one another and stomping around until Thorn had retreated to their bedroom and Storm had run for the rooftop. 

With his knees up at his chest and his hood firmly hooked over his head, Storm watched a bright flash illuminate the billowing clouds on the horizon.  “Stupid Thorn,” he muttered. “Wasn’t even my idea. Always getting me into trouble for nothin’.” 

He kicked a slate from the roof, watching it slide down the edge until it smashed on the ground below. With a huff, he heard a gentle scuffing sound behind him. It was probably Thorn, so he ignored it.

“Thought I might find ya out here,” That wasn’t Thorn’s voice. Storm turned around and looked up to face his father. The shadows dropped away from his sides and he leaned one arm against the dead tree. “Mind if I join you?”

Storm licked his lips and shook his head, shuffling aside to allow him to sit next to him. Now he was in for it. His father hadn’t been around when the Mayor had berated the twins for their graffiti, but he had assured the twins that he would tell him all about it when he saw him. Thorn hadn’t taken the threat seriously, but Storm had. Look who was right, he thought.

Oogie lowered himself into a seated position next to Storm, casting a glance towards him. “Ah,” he breathed, pointing at his hood. “Probably a good idea.”  Storm blinked, watching as his father scooped a hand down towards the shadow of the dead tree and swept it over his shoulders like a cape. When the darkness parted, a dark green hood appeared over his brown curls and covered his shoulders.

Against himself, Storm couldn’t help but smile. “Cool,” he muttered. Oogie looked towards their view. “Won’t be long ‘til that storm hits us, huh?” he commented. “Your mother will pro’ly want us to come inside before it starts gettin’ too close, though.”

Storm sighed, scratching at his hands. “I don’t wanna go back inside.” He could feel his father looking at him again. “That ‘cause of your fight with Thorn?” he asked him earnestly. Storm didn’t answer. “I heard ‘bout what happened today. You ain’t in trouble.” Storm blinked, turning back to him. “I’m not?”

Oogie shook his head. “I thought your drawin’ was pretty gruesome, actually,” he admitted. “Although, you pro’ly shoulda picked a different wall-” Storm shifted around. “That’s what I said! But Thorn wouldn’t listen! He said that wall looked too boring and needed kickin’ up a notch!” Oogie chuckled under his breath. “Well, it’s certainly a lot more vibrant now, that’s for sure. I like the colours you chose, neon green an’ red? An’ that skull with the snake comin’ out of it? You got a real gift, Storm.”

Storm smiled. He’d always hidden his artwork in sketchbooks before, just doodling in the margins of writing pages or on the corner of napkins. It had been Thorn that had noticed his talents and suggested the idea of street art, but after the Mayor and some of the townsfolks’ reaction, it had felt as if Thorn had encouraged him just to get him into trouble. Thorn had insisted that wasn’t the case, but Storm couldn’t help but feel betrayed nevertheless. “Does that mean I don’t have to clean it off the wall?” he had to ask.

Oogie heaved a sigh. “Afraid not, fella,” he confessed. “You kinda covered up an important notice board with ‘Boogie’s Boys’ an’ some folks ain’t very happy about that, but...I guess y’know that already.” Storm looked at his feet dejectedly. Off in the distance, the thunder continued to ominously rumble and lightning cracked through the clouds.  “I wish Thorn would listen to me,” he muttered. “I told him it was a bad idea...and now everybody hates me.”

“Hates you?” scoffed Oogie. “Storm, nobody hates you. All you did was upset a couple ghouls, but forget about ‘em! The Mayor changes moods as quickly as he changes faces an’ the other ghouls will have forgotten all about it in a week.” Storm sniffed. “I thought you’d hate me.” Oogie’s gaze softened. “Me? Why?” Storm buried his face in his knees. “Because...you’re friends with the Mayor and Uncle Jack and they were mad at me and that’d make you mad and then you’d hate me-”

Storm looked up as he felt an arm wrap around him, pulling him closer to his father. “Stormy, kiddo...” he breathed. “...I could never hate ya, okay? Never. You’re my son an’ I love you. One li’l’ badly placed wall doodle ain’t gonna change that.”

Swallowing thickly, Storm wiped his eyes and rested his head on the side of his father’s chest. Storm had almost expected his father to lose his temper and lecture him about how disappointed he was, as he had done on the couple of occasions where he and Thorn had almost fallen into the acidic vat of sewage or played among the - mostly - dismantled sharp instruments in the Lair. It had seemed as serious as that when the Mayor was huffing and puffing at him in town. 

“An’ you know someone else who could never hate you?” asked Oogie. “Thorn.” Storm pursed his lips and sat up straight, looking into his father’s eyes. “But, he deliberally got me in trouble, Dad!” Oogie hummed and shook his head. “I don’t think he did. I figure that Thorn really thought his idea was a good one, an’ when he saw you gettin’ in trouble...he panicked.” Storm frowned. “Thorn? Panic?”

Oogie leaned in, looking left and right before he whispered: “Wanna know a secret? Somethin’ that even Thorn’ll never tell ya?” Storm blinked, nodding enthusiastically. “He’s real scared of bein’ caught red handed when you guys set up pranks.” Storm’s eyes widened. “He is?” “Oh, you bet! An’ I should know, because I’m the-” “Boogieman!” hissed Storm, amazed. It suddenly made sense why Thorn was eager to ensure their pranks were quick, concise and failproof every time they set them up. Storm had always assumed that he was just being efficient, but this made a lot more sense.

“An’ I’ll betcha anythin’ that he was just as scared of gettin’ in trouble as you,” continued Oogie. “An’ I know for a fact that he’s real sorry ‘bout it, too.” Storm made a face, looking off onto the horizon. Rain was beginning to fall in the distance, making dark spots on the ridged grass at the edge of the moors. Against his frustration at his twin, Storm had to admit to himself that he was missing his brother. They were rarely ever apart for longer than a few hours, and it felt like much longer than that today. 

“I guess I could talk to him,” sighed Storm, watching the rain getting closer.  “Atta boy!” breathed Oogie, ruffling his hood and looking into the distance. “We should get inside real soon, huh?” Storm looked up at his father. “Think Mom’ll mind if we stay in the rain for a little bit?” Oogie returned his gaze to the approaching rain. “As long as neither of us catches a cold an’ we dry off when we get inside, I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks Dad.” replied Storm, lifting his face as the rain came thundering down upon the roof, soaking the two of them within seconds.  Storm broke into a peal of laughter and he could hear his father join him. Rain cut through his jacket and onto his t-shirt, weighing him down as the thunder roared above them. “Okay, let’s go!” shouted Oogie, wrapping an arm around him. Darkness covered them both in a blanket, and the next thing he knew, he was flopping into the sofa with his father sitting next to him, the sound of the storm far above them.

“That was fun.”

[collapsingintojupiter]

Sunshine and Stormclouds: Chapter 14

Catch up: Chapter 1  Chapter 1.5  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13

Yes, I’m back. 

Characters: Virgil, Logan, and baby!Patton

Relationships: Analogical

TW: Anxiety around thunderstorms, (brief) mentions of an abusive/traumatic past.

---

The two were visiting Logan’s parents after his mom got sick, and a storm hit on the way back. Turns out, Patton is terrified by them. 

Logan yawned. The rain splattered over the windshield filtered the streetlights glow into a kaleidoscope of gold; over Virgil, who slept with his hood yanked over his head, curled up against the door. Over Patton, who was half-asleep and babbling to himself in his carseat. 

It had been something of a long day for all of them, Logan knew. The husbands had been at his parents’ house, checking up on his father after he’d fallen ill a few days ago. Though Larry had always been healthy and Logan wasn’t terribly worried about it, it had been good to see his parents again. Not to mention, Dot was absolutely delighted to get to see little Patton, spoiling him like crazy while Logan got to talk to his dad like he hadn’t been able to in a long time. 

They left after dinner, which Virgil had helped Logan cook. They all ate together, gathered around his parent’s cozy little dining table, and even Virgil seemed to be enjoying himself judging by how relaxed he was. 

“How’s work been for you, Virgil?” Dot asked. She’d taken over the job of ensuring Patton was fed, refusing to let Logan or Virgil do it--something that Logan both appreciated and didn’t appreciate. That was his thing, after all. Virgil nodded to his mother, nibbling on his portion of meatloaf. 

“Stressful, as always, but it feels good to know I can make a difference, somehow,” he admitted. 

“You have such a big heart,” she answered with a soft smile. “I’m so proud of you, Virgil. I always knew you’d be making a difference one day.”

The expression on Virgil’s face made him look like he was 16 again; reminded Logan of Roman. He understood, suddenly, how Virgil seemed to understand him so well. That look of amazement when he received praise from his elders, followed by trying (and largely failing) to hide it with casual nonchalance; it was the same between them.

“I am too,” Larry added. “For your job; for your son. I have no doubt that Patton will grow into a fine young man one day.” Logan’s father had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but had insisted on coming to dinner anyways. In his hands was a bowl of Ramen, and he smiled over it at Virgil as he spoke. 

“I do my best,” Virgil mumbled, looking down at his food as his cheeks burned red at the praise. He smiled a little; the smallest smile. Dot and Larry exchanged glances, both grinning. 

It may not have seemed like much, but the tiny smile on Virgil’s face meant the world to both of them; Logan knew better than anyone. His now-husband had grown so much from the teenager he had once been; angry at the world and everything in it but him and Remy.

Logan remembered; after they’d gotten him away from Mr. D, and Virgil had first moved in with his family. It had been horribly tense, especially during those first few weeks. Virgil was constantly hiding in his room; so overwhelmed by his new situation and the stress of school that temper flares and panic attacks were commonplace for him.  

But Dot and Larry had been patient. They knew what Virgil meant to Logan; not to mention they knew better that most what the boy had been through not only at the hands of his family, but at Mr. D in the time following his disownment. Logan’s parents were gentle to Virgil; kind, and understanding of what made him “different.” They gave him his space, helped him get a therapist for his anxiety, and told him every day how much they loved him.

Logan had their stubbornness, Virgil had always said; they refused to give up on him.

Logan remembered the nights he spent in Virgil’s room with him, while he clung to him and sobbed into his shirt. He remembered helping the other boy ground himself, time and time again. He remembered how Virgil would apologize, and he would stubbornly tell him that he didn’t need to; that it was fine, and he’d help him as many times as he needed to. 

And behind those stern words, the whispered “I love you” burned in his heart.

And gradually; so gradually, Virgil’s thick shell wore down, and he let Logan’s family in.

Now, the father and husband smiled at Dot as he hugged her; beamed as she played with his little Sunshine on the floor. He even teared up saying goodbye to Larry before they left, and Logan’s heart swelled with pride as his father held Virgil for as long as he wanted before letting go; letting his adopted son go again.

And now, in the car, Virgil slept, as the radio station played quietly and Patton murmured to himself something about bunnies. Logan relished in the silence; in the warmth that glowed in his heart over what had happened earlier that day. He let the silence hang in the air over the hum of the engine, letting out a quiet sigh as he pulled into a gas station to refuel. Virgil’s patch jacket glowed purple in light streaming through the window as Logan got out, where he paid for the gas before going into the convenience store. 

He returned with two coffees to find Virgil awake like he knew he would, silently passing one of the coffees to him as he climbed inside. His husband accepted the coffee sleepily, and Logan almost melted at the soft look Virgil gave him as he took a sip. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly. It was raining a little harder now, and Virgil visibly relaxed as he listened to it patter on the windows, leaning against the door with a sigh. 

“Better,” he answered, in an equally soft voice. “It was good to see your folks again.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Logan said as he started the car. “I know I am not typically one to express much emotion but...I did miss them.”

“Yeah, we know you’re a sap at heart.” Virgil smirked, and Logan raised an eyebrow at him, hiding a grin as they pulled back onto the highway.

The rain fell harder, crashing into the windshield in sheets. Lightning split the sky not far away, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. The roaring sound overhead, though comforting to Virgil, woke Patton. The little boy jumped, and started to cry as Virgil twisted around in his seat to try and calm him down. 

“Hey, hey, Sunshine, it’s okay buddy,” Virgil said softly. Another rumble of thunder echoed overhead, which only made Patton cry harder.

“Patton, please.” Logan could hear the panic in his husband’s voice as he desperately tried to calm the boy down, but to no avail. Meanwhile the rain fell in sheets, followed by hail, which only served to scare Patton even more as it rattled against the car windows. 

“I’m going to have to stop, it’s getting too hard to see,” Logan called. Patton was now sobbing hysterically, and the look in Virgil’s face suggested he wasn’t far behind. He pulled the car over as another streak of lightning slammed into the ground not far away, quickly undoing his seatbelt and getting out as Virgil did the same. They moved to the backseat, and Virgil undid Patton’s seatbelt before carefully lifting the child into his arms. Logan scooted close to him, and Virgil leaned against him as he gently rocked Patton back and forth. 

Patton continued to cry, though he calmed down somewhat in his father’s arms. Virgil, likewise, seemed a bit more calm himself now that Logan held him in his arms.

They sat like that for a while, as the rain pelted against the windows and the wind howled above it. 

Then, Logan opened his mouth and began to sing.

You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. 

You have been my Sunshine today.

Virgil couldn’t hold back a smile at the words Logan sang, and as he started to sing the song again he joined, the husband’s voices swelling in a harmony of pure tenor and soft base notes that kept out the sounds of the storm. Patton stopped his crying to stare at the two in awe, which was more than enough motivation for Virgil to keep going.

They sang the song a second time, then a third, altering the melodies and harmonies each sang as the thunder slowly faded into a background of soft rain. Patton sniffed, his dark eyes wide as he listened, but he didn’t cry again. Virgil smiled at him; as the third round died out he hugged the boy close. 

“You feeling better, buddy?” he asked gently. 

“That was...was scary!” Patton answered shakily, burying his head in Virgil’s jacket. Virgil held him close, as Logan held him close. 

“Don’t worry Sunshine,” he said gently. “You’re safe with us, okay? The storm can’t hurt you.”

The three sat there for a long time in the back of the car, just holding each other. Patton, tired kid that he was, soon fell asleep in Virgil’s arms. Logan helped his husband carefully clip the boy back into his carseat, carefully arranging his soft blanket over him so he’d be warm. 

The rain had slowed enough for Logan to see, so he and Virgil moved back to the front of the car. Their coffee was cold now, but neither of them cared. Virgil sipped at his as they continued on the drive home. 

It was quiet again. 

---

Remy held a bundle of black and tan fur in his arms as it shivered, trying to burrow into his shirt and away from the roaring thunder outside. 

“Don’t worry, little Prince,” he murmured, gently stroking the little creature’s back with his hand. “It’ll be okay, I’ll keep you safe…” the puppy trembled as he wrapped it up in a soft blanket, holding it close and playing some quiet music on his phone. 

“There ya go Princey...just relax, you’re okay…” the puppy calmed down, and slowly stopped shaking in Remy’s gentle embrace, nuzzling its snout into his arm. 

“Atta boy...there you go.” Remy leaned against the side of his couch, cradling the pup gently in his arms. He knew Virgil and Logan were probably okay, but the thought of Roman crossed his mind and refused to leave. 

He hoped the boy was okay...

---

Roman hugged his pillow close to his body, watching the storm as it roared and thrashed in the clouds outside. His stomach rumbled, tears sliding down his face like the droplets on the window. His heart thumped against his chest, heavier than the dark clouds in the sky.

Tomorrow will be better, he whispered to himself. 

Tomorrow...

[writethehousedown]

Trust Fund, Gold Tongue 3/7 (Crygi) - Peridot

A/N: The support for this fic so far has been amazing, and I’m so so grateful! This chapter has got to be one of my favourites, so I hope you guys like it too! Also I know virtually nothing about tennis and basically all of my information is from google, so please feel free to correct me if I’ve got anything wrong! You can find me @artificialperidot as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Crystal had never dated a girl before. Or a boy for that matter. Even though she was eighteen and going to college in a matter of weeks, she had never found time for relationships, or really had any desire to look for one. She had never been on a real date, never kissed someone, and never had a real loving connection outside of her family and her friends and her dog, Disco.

Being invited to play tennis with Gigi Goode was the closest to a date she had ever gotten. 

Which is why she was desperately nervous about it the whole day.

She had ended up spilling the information to Jan on their shift that morning.

“Gigi Goode asked you to what?” she exclaimed, her jaw slack.

Crystal shushed her, anxiously looking around to make sure no one had heard. “Keep your voice down! I think she wants to keep it a secret.”

“Oh, so it’s a secret tennis date. I see how it is,” Jan said with a wink.

Crystal hit her on the shoulder playfully. “No! It’s not a date. I mean, I don’t think it’s a date…”

“But you do like her, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“And she likes you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Crystal whined.

“I guess you’ll know after today,” Jan said, and Crystal hummed in reply.

“I guess.”

“You have to tell me what happens. I feel like I’m in a gay romance novel listening to this shit,” Jan mused. 

The two of them erupted with laughter, their job of wiping down the tables long forgotten. It was at that moment, though, when their floor manager Jackie passed through the dining hall.

“I hope you two are working hard,” she said, eyeing up the pair as they giggled. 

“We’re working hard, don’t worry Jackie,” Jan chirped, turning back to her task. “Only a few more tables left to wipe down.”

“Atta girl!” Jackie said with a knowing smirk, giving Jan a pat on the shoulder before walking through to the kitchen.

Crystal watched Jan purse her lips and gulp as her eyes followed Jackie out of the room. When she turned back to Crystal, a light pink blush had spread on her cheeks. Crystal wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“What? What?” Jan inquired defensively, looking just a tad embarrassed, and Crystal burst out laughing again.

***

Three o’ clock came in no time, and before she had fully comprehended what was about to happen, she was pacing around the tennis court, waiting for Gigi to arrive. She was nervous as all hell - the idea that someone as gorgeous as Gigi had even spoken to her was shocking enough, but the fact that she actually wanted to spend time with her? One on one? Even though she was a millionaire and Crystal most certainly was not? It blew her mind.

After a minute or so of nervously pacing, Gigi came bounding around the corner with a bright smile on her face, swinging two tennis rackets in one hand and bouncing a ball in the other. She was dressed in all white, in a classic tennis outfit that looked as though it was straight from Wimbledon - a white polo shirt, and a white skort, and white tennis shoes, and a white visor on her head. Her hair was tied into a ponytail that bounced when she walked, making her seem energetic and youthful. She looked like she was straight out of some rich teen sports magazine, and Crystal suddenly felt very underdressed in her work clothes.

“Hey!” Crystal called out, her voice shaking slightly, partially in anticipatory anxiety and partially in excitement.

“Hi there, hot stuff,” Gigi said, skipping her way to the other side of the net. “Catch!” 

Before Crystal had time to register it, a tennis ball was flying towards her, aimed directly at her face. She stumbled to catch it in a panic, tossing it between her limbs a couple times before she got a hold of it in both hands, looking a little bit like a headless chicken. But, she caught it nonetheless, and she was proud of herself.

“You can have first serve,” Gigi continued, handing Crystal a racket and taking a few steps back from the net, anticipating Crystal’s hit.

Instead, Crystal gripped her racket like a caveman holding a club, and when she threw the ball up the air, she swung with all her might-

-and missed the ball entirely.

The sheer force of Crystal’s mis-swing sent her whole body flying, and she staggered to stop herself from falling over her own feet. Gigi shook her head and chuckled.

“God, we really need to go back to basics, huh?” she said, smirking, her eyes squinting a little in the sunlight.

Crystal simpered. “Please!”

With that, Gigi was bounding over to Crystal, clambering over the net. She bent over slightly to pick up Crystal’s abandoned ball, and Crystal’s stomach definitely did not fill with butterflies at the sight.

“Okay, you know what a serve is, right?” Gigi began, her tone light and chipper. Her cheeks had a rosy tint and her glossy lips formed a smile and Crystal couldn’t help but find her energy infectious.

“You just throw the ball and hit it, right?”

Gigi giggled. “It’s a little more complex than that. I’m no expert, but I’ll try my best to show you.”

“Sounds good!”

“Well, first thing’s first, your stance is all wrong.” Gigi dropped to her knees and started moving Crystal’s feet into the position she wanted, shuffling her shoes across the ground. “This foot should be pointing towards the net post,” she muttered, “and this one should be parallel to the baseline. There!”

Crystal chuckled as Gigi popped back up from the ground. “Where’d you learn all this stuff?”

Gigi scoffed a little, but her face adorned a wide grin. “I was enrolled in tennis lessons since I could walk,” she laughed. “As well as golf, badminton, water polo, and horse riding.”

Crystal gasped. “Horse riding?! You have a horse?!”

“His name is Banjo,” Gigi beamed. “I’ll take you on a ride someday,” she added with a wink.

And Crystal’s heart did a somersault.

“Anyways, the next step is to fix your grip,” she said, taking Crystal’s right arm in her hands. She carefully manoeuvred Crystal’s fingers across the handle of the racket, bending them into the shape that she wanted. Crystal couldn’t take her eyes off of the way her hand moved so intricately, precisely, and the gentle touch of her skin against Gigi’s sent sparks through her veins.

It was such a tiny, insignificant action, and yet Crystal could still feel the tingle of her skin where Gigi’s hands had been, stroking her fingers.

“Perfect,” Gigi said softly, and suddenly Crystal was aware of how close together they were. Gigi’s icy blue eyes glittered in the sunlight, and she beamed at Crystal. Whether it was out of excitement for her sport or because of Crystal, though, was something that was more difficult to tell.

“Now what?” Crystal mumbled.

“Now, you throw up the ball, and hit it when it’s high in the air. I’ll show you,” she said, moving away slightly to give herself some room. Crystal watched as she assumed the position, bouncing her ball on the ground a few times to warm up.

“Now the key to this is timing your swing,” she said, before bending her knees and expertly tossing the tennis ball in the air, bouncing up and thwacking it over the net with a resounding thud as if it was nothing.

Crystal was in awe, in more ways than one.

“Your turn!” Gigi said, as if serving an ace was as simple as she made it look.

Gigi tossed her a spare ball from her pocket and Crystal caught it with less of a struggle this time. She steadied her position and bent her knees as Gigi had done, tossing the ball and springing into the air. 

And again, she missed entirely.

Gigi laughed, and whilst she was a little embarrassed, Crystal found herself laughing too. Something about Gigi made her feel welcome. Warm. It almost made her forget about how this girl was a millionaire who probably had more money than she’d earn in her whole life.

Almost, but not quite.

“Here, let me help you,” Gigi suggested, skipping back over to Crystal and whipping yet another tennis ball from her pocket and handing her it. 

And then Gigi was holding her: one arm was wrapped around her waist and the other gripped her elbow, and the front of her body was flush to Crystal’s back, and Crystal was having heart palpitations. She wanted nothing more than to lean back into her touch, but being held by her already felt like she was in a fever dream, and her breath hitched in her throat. She could feel Gigi guiding her arm, and her hand on her waist, and her breath by her ear, and her heart raced at a million miles an hour.

“Okay, you need to throw up the ball, and then we’ll hit it together, got it?” she explained. Her voice was soft and hushed against her neck, and the moment felt tender. Crystal simply nodded.

“You ready?” 

Crystal was not ready. In fact, Crystal had never been less ready. Not when the girl of her dreams had her arm around her waist, and her mouth was so, so close to her neck, and their bodies were pressed so closely together. Not to mention the fact that said girl of her dreams was the extremely wealthy daughter of the owner of the country club where she worked, and seemed to be throwing out hints that she was into Crystal just as much as Crystal was into her. 

No, she absolutely was not ready. Not in the slightest. But she hummed in confirmation regardless.

And then she launched the ball in the air, and with Gigi guiding her arm, her racket actually connected with the ball, sending it soaring over the net to the other side of the court.

Crystal knew that it was almost entirely Gigi’s doing, but she felt proud nevertheless.

“Amazing!” exclaimed Gigi, pulling away and clapping her hands together in excitement, before embracing Crystal in a hug, throwing her arms around her neck. Crystal was a little taken aback, but she found herself sliding her arms around Gigi’s waist, squeezing her tightly as the two of them started giggling. 

She didn’t really want them to pull apart, but if the hug had been any longer, Crystal was positive that she would’ve short-circuited.

“I knew you could do it,” Gigi said, and Crystal could tell that she meant it. 

Crystal mimed tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What can I say, I have an excellent teacher,” she giggled.

Gigi beamed, and Crystal smiled back, and for just for a moment their smiles were all that mattered in the world.

***

Tennis became a regular thing for them.

They found themselves meeting each weekday afternoon on Crystal’s break, Gigi having snuck away from whatever family commitment she had and the two of them constantly on the lookout for anyone who could potentially spot them. But there were so many tennis courts scattered around the country club premises that they were rarely joined by any unwanted guests.

By day four, Crystal had managed a successful serve all by herself, even if she had hit the ball into the net at least a hundred times before that. Gigi called it progress.

At a week, they had played their first proper game. Crystal didn’t know the rules. Gigi let her win anyway.

After a few more games (in which Crystal was very outmatched in terms of skill level), their daily meet-ups became less about tennis, and more about each other. It wasn’t long before they had abandoned sport altogether, simply meeting on the tennis courts for a chat and a well needed break from Crystal’s busy work and Gigi’s hectic family life.

It became a system, and it worked well for the both of them.

And Crystal found herself falling for Gigi more and more every day.

Through their chats, they had gotten to know each other a lot better. Crystal told Gigi about her plans for art college and her favourite indie rock singers and the time she failed her driving test because she thought there was a bug in the car and she panicked. Gigi told Crystal about her love of fashion and her family drama and all of the insane rich-kid house parties she had been to.

She also told Crystal that sometimes she wished she was born into a different family, and could be normal. Crystal had disagreed pretty strongly on that last one, but she didn’t let it show.

And, though neither of them had said it outright, Crystal had worked out through their subtle hints and less-subtle discussions, that they were both gay. It was reassuring for Crystal to know that she wasn’t completely delusional, thinking that someone like Gigi Goode could possibly have an interest in her. After all, Gigi had been seemingly dropping hints left right and centre, and it would have been concerning if she hadn’t  picked up on at least a few of them by now.

One time, Crystal brought ice cream.

Gigi was already sat cross-legged on the ground waiting for Crystal, mindlessly scrolling through her phone, when she arrived. Crystal plonked down beside her, two tubs of ice cream and two spoons in either hand.

“Strawberry or vanilla?”

Gigi jumped a little in surprise, but her face broke out in child-like glee at the sight of the ice cream. “Strawberry,” she said, without hesitation.

“That works out well, because vanilla’s my favourite,” Crystal replied, handing Gigi a tub and a silver spoon (that she had ‘borrowed’ from the dining hall) and popping open the lid of her own tub.

“Vanilla is your favourite flavour? Really?”

“Hey! It’s nice!”

“Boring,” Gigi droned, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I’m so not a vanilla person.”

Crystal couldn’t help but pick up on the double meaning of that, and Gigi winked to drive the point home.

“I can take your ice cream back, ya know,” Crystal warned, but the threat was empty, Gigi having already started to tuck in.

“Fuck, this is so good,” she moaned, throwing her head back in bliss. “Where’d you get this?”

“We got some new orders of ice-cream in this morning, and the chef needed to make some room in the freezer.”

Gigi nodded. “Gotcha,” she responded, her spoon practically hanging out of her mouth.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they both snacked, every once in a while passing a comment about their day or the heat or how good the ice cream was. Crystal found herself totally at ease, as if she hadn’t had a hard day at work and she was just hanging out with a friend. Because that’s what Gigi was. A friend.

(Except the two of them both knew that they were a little more than friends, but neither ever decided to bring it up.)

Regardless of any of that, Crystal found that seeing Gigi made her automatically happy. It was as though a switch flipped in her brain at just the sight of her, and the most crappy day could turn into one that wasn’t so bad after all. Sure Gigi had lots of things going for her - she was gorgeous and rich and confident - but she also possessed the natural ability to make Crystal feel better in no time at all.

But today, Gigi herself didn’t seem to be so at ease.

“I have something I need to tell you,” Gigi piped up.

“What is it?”

Crystal noticed Gigi’s sharp intake of breath before she spoke. “So you know my mom’s boyfriend, James, right?”

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“Well, uh, he has this nephew. Matthew.”

With that, Crystal felt her heart plummet. Who the fuck was Matthew? She found herself automatically assuming her worst fears, jumping to conclusions straight away - that Gigi was clearly straight and had never liked her and that she was delusional for even thinking that in the first place - but then, Gigi continued.

“He’s spending a couple weeks here at the country club with my family. And my parents are trying to push us to date, and I really don’t want to, Crystal, I want you to know that.” Her eyes were wide and sincere, and she spoke fast, as though she was desperate for Crystal to believe her. And Crystal did believe her, and she felt her stomach twist with emotion.

“I’ve already told my parents that I’m not going to date him,” she went on, “but just in case they make me spend time with him - I want you to know that I’m not interested in him. At all.”

Crystal shot her a sympathetic smile, her eyes tracing Gigi’s features that were full of concern. “It’s okay,” she said calmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gigi caught her breath a little bit and seemed to relax, but there was still something bubbling underneath the surface, something behind her pale blue eyes that Crystal couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“I’m only interested in you, Crystal,” she said, her voice soft, barely a whisper. She ghosted her fingertips over Crystal’s hand, and Crystal felt electricity pulsing through her whole body. She clung onto Gigi’s hand, their fingers interlocking, and right now the rest of the world didn’t matter because they were together.

Their eyes met, and Gigi smiled. “I like you,” she murmured, her blue eyes tracing Crystal’s features and making her heart flutter. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really, but Crystal couldn’t help the sudden sharp feeling in her chest, as if her heart was trying to escape from between her ribs. The shock made Crystal feel like her entire world was falling apart, but simultaneously she saw everything falling perfectly into place, like a twist in her fairytale, a new chapter in her story with Gigi.

“I like you too.”

[ghostxofxartemis]

WIP

Joining the fanfic snipet’s I've seen posted. @theoriginalladya 

So, I’m writing some fluff right now for my Alexandra Shepard series. I have to admit, writing a father-daughter relationship is quite difficult when you never had one growing up yourself. My father was present - but that’s all he was A presence, most of the time he was to drunk and would sleep his day away or yell at my brother or I. But, I have to admit, John’s already winning father of the year in my perspective. Below is fluff that came to mind while at work, and I’ve been working on it since then. Just a quick 2 chapter background story. 

“John's busy commanding the ship and ground missions and on top of that, helping out with both kids during off duty - which have been basically during sleeping hours lately. So he’s...we are too tired to do anything intimate. The Alliance and the council have him running off everywhere for them. He's doing his best to be a father at the same time. He's doing amazing considering everything... But, some nights I send him to go sleep in the Starboard Observation Room - Alex's room- just to make sure he gets rest before doing ground runs. He can't be running off into missions half dead already.. Of course, he’s always hesitant to do so because that leaves me having to deal with Kaidan alone and getting no sleep. He feels guilty," Ashley paused, rubbed her forehead with her fingers and sighed pulling her hand away again, "I can't lose him again. My God Sarah, we have children together now!"

Almost on queue to emphasize her point, another squeal coming from Alex in the living room could be heard in the kitchen, followed by her pleading, "again, daddy! Again!" 

"You ready?" John's baritone voice could be heard.

"Ready!" Alex giggled.

Jumping to her feet, Sarah rounded the island to pick up the baby carrier, "tell you what. I'll watch the kids this afternoon so you and John can have some alone time. Do what you have to do while you're two are still on shore leave. I'll drop them off later, say about 3 pm?" She looked at the time on the coffee brewer, it was currently 10:30 am. Plenty of time for them to spend time alone. "And then, I'll get ready at my place and come back around 6 pm, we'll have a double date. Just here. I'll order something and have it delivered here so you don’t have to worry about getting dinner read.”

Ashley contemplated the idea for a moment, she couldn't deny it sounded really good right now. "Alright. You have a deal," she agreed as she moved to open the freezer door. She grabbed a couple of bottles filled with breast milk and placed them on the counter. She then gestured to her sister to follower into the living room. 

John was on the floor lying on his back, lifting Alex in the air, her feet reaching towards the ceiling, face close up to his. A giggling Alex had her hands close to her face, John was playfully nibbling at her fingers and tickling her with his stubble's. “It tickles!” She giggled. Moving her head slightly to her left, she saw her Ashley and aunt Sarah standing watching them. Her giggles turned into a happy squeal, “Auntie! Daddy put me down please!” John gently placed her back down on her feet and she ran up to Sarah, wrapping her arms around her leg, giving her a tight hug. John clumsily stood up, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his N7 hoodie and approached the women. He ghosted a kiss on Ashley’s lips and she placed a hand gently up against his stomach. “Sarah offered to watch the kids this afternoon,” she explained.

“Sure,” he said while taking one of his hands out of his pocket and snaking it around Ashley’s waist bringing her in closer to him. 

“She also suggested having dinner together tonight, introduce us to her new beau”

“Oh yeah?” he raised an eyebrow and shifted his gaze to Sarah. Sarah smiled and shrugged her shoulders. 

“What do you say, hero-man?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright with me”

“I get to play with auntie Sarah?” Alex looked up at her mother, her blue eyes twinkled with excitement.

Ashley ran her fingers through Alex’s hair, “yes, baby. You get to spend the day with Aunt Sarah”

“Go put your shoes on, honey” John added to confirm. Turning to his wife, he gently gave a few affectionate taps to her waist, “I’ll go get the diaper bag in the room for Sarah,” and turned to make his way to the bedroom located on the main floor. 

“Yay!” Alex squealed, raising her arms in joy and darted to the main entrance. 

Ashley and Sarah followed Alex to the main entrance. Alex was sitting on the floor, putting her shoes on. “Make sure they get their nap around 13:00,” Ashley instructed her sister while crossing her arms across her chest.  

Sarah tapped her sister on her shoulder and rolled her eyes, ‘Don’t worry, I got this handled. It’s not the first time I’ve babysat you know. And look who you are talking too.” 

John arrived in the entry, bag in one hand and stored the feeding bottles Ashley had left on the counter in one of the storage pockets of the bag with his free hand. He held out the strap for Sarah and she looped her free arm and her head inside, and he adjusted on her shoulder. 

Alex jumped to her, “Okay! I’m ready!” she said as she looked up to her aunt Sarah. 

“You’re not going to get very far with your shoes on the wrong feet, little duckling” John chuckled, he booped the tip of her nose, as he looked down to make sure his daughter had her shoes on right. It still took a few times before she got them on right. 

Alex marched in place, something she always did when they pointed out her shoes weren’t on right. “Oh, oops!” Sitting back down, she started taking her shoes off.

Normally her parents would let her try putting them back on again herself, she had to learn somehow. But since Sarah was waiting after, John bent down and pulled Alex’s left shoe off from her right foot, grabbed her left foot and put her shoe on for her. He let her put on the right shoe on herself. 

Standing, he offered his hands to his. She took his hands in his and was pulled up onto her feet. Letting go of his, she slipped on hand in aunt Sarah’s and nodded. “Now I’m ready”

“Now Alex, you remember what we told you to do when you go out?” John asked her.

Does-Blue eyes looked up at him and she nodded “don’t let go of the hand or you’ll get lost in the bustle.”

“Atta-girl. So you better listen to your aunt Sarah. Don’t let go of her hand until she says otherwise, and you stay close. Got it?” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a ‘that’s an order’ look, which she has grown all too familiar at recognizing.

[heycasbutt]

Worship The Flame

A/N: Written for Stu’s Break My Heart B-Day Challenge

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Oral (fem rec), Dean being kind of an asshole?

So, if you’re cool with all that and over 18, read on!

7 years. 84 months. 2,555 days of unrequited love. You knew it was a mistake to fall in love with him, watching him fuck and dump every bartender or diner waitress who gave a look in his direction had assured you of that. Spending long hours in the car, listening to him talk about how the single life was the best life and he didn’t need a woman to tie him down had made you acutely aware of the fact that Dean Winchester had never given a second thought to you. To the two of you. 

The times that your fingers brushed against one another, you were searching for solace in his touch, but he was making sure you were still there to save his ass when shit went sideways. You were nothing more than an ass cover for the flannel clad elder Winchester. But to you, he was more than that. 

When his hand rested on your knee at the diner in Stow, Ohio, you thought that something had happened. That maybe you were wrong, maybe he did in fact feel the same way. But that same night you found yourself kicked out of the motel room with Sam to sleep in the car while Dean had his way with the waitress from said diner. 

That one time on that hunt in Oregon when the two of you had to pretend to be a couple. When he kissed you, it was like your whole body caught fire but you didn’t want anyone to put it out. Everytime he held your hand on that hunt and referred to you as “my wife”, it was like butterflies were let loose in your belly. 

But it was all an act. It was always just an act, you were one of the boys, and Dean would never and could never see you like that. 

Tuesday nights were always reserved for pizza night in the bunker. You’d order the same thing every time, half Meatpocalypse, and half Vegsplosion. Put it on paper plates, served with slightly cooled beer and it was home. Tonight was different though. Sam was out with a girl he’d met in the library last week, Cas was off God knows where and so it was just you and Dean. Dean and you, all alone. 

“Pizza’s here!” Dean shouted from the top of the stairs. You ran, maybe a bit too eagerly, to meet him, nearly knocking over the broad shouldered hunter in the process. 

“I’ll get it if you want to go wash up and set the table.” You said softly, you pried the grease soaked box from Dean’s hand and disappeared to the kitchen while he headed down the hall. 

“Figured you didn’t want any of that kale shit that Sam gets so I got a full Meatpocalypse, and stuffed the crust” the gruff baritone of Dean’s voice pulled you from your pizza-induced stupor. 

“God it smells good,” You moaned in agreement, opening the box. Pools of grease settled between the various meats on the pie and your stomach grumbled in anticipation. 

Dean’s worn hands slipped under your arm as he grabbed a single, greasy, stringy-cheese slice of the pizza. 

“Mmf tafes ev’n bet’er” Dean smiled between bites. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Dean,” You scolded playfully as you took your own slice, the first bite had you reveling in the spice from the sauce and pepperoni. 

He scowled playfully at you and took another bite before launching into a discourse about the latest case. Possible skinwalkers in Kansas City. You could see the years of hunting had settled into hardened lines on the hunter’s face. When his olive eyes met yours you could see the trauma that had been left behind. 

Before long, the pizza had been devoured and the two of you retired to the dimly lit Dean Cave. 

“What’re we watching tonight? Die Hard again?” Dean waggled his eyebrows as he held up the DVD case of your favorite movie. 

“Only if you want me to repeat every line.” You laughed softly, leaning against the back of the leather couch.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.” Dean winked, loading the disc and pressing play before taking his spot next to you. One long arm snaked around your body and pulled you close. Your hand tucked close to your head that rested softly on his muscled chest. 

After 2 hours of John McClane, Hans Gruber, and Holly Gennaro, you found yourself still tucked firmly against Dean’s chest. 

“You still up?” Dean rumbled, his hand stroked your arm softly. 

“Hmm? Yeah.” You lifted your head off his chest and stretched as the credits rolled. 

“Good.” Dean whispered as he leaned down and took your lips in a kiss. 

Feeling Dean kiss you wasn’t a sensation you were unfamiliar with, but it wasn’t a sensation you were 100% familiar with either. His lips were slightly chapped and he tasted of garlic and cheap beer. The way his teeth bit gently into the soft flesh of your bottom lip had you arching into his touch. 

“Oh you like a little pain, do ya?” Dean muttered against your ear. You could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he pushed the seam of your sweatpants against your swollen clit. 

“Mmf yeah. Kinda I guess.” You gasped. Your fingers worked furiously to divest the man of his many layers as he worked his ring finger in circles, sending you skyrocketing into ecstasy. “God you wear so many fucking layers!” You cried out in frustration. 

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not gonna give in that easily.” Dean bit softly at your earlobe, one hand trailed up underneath the thin sweatshirt you wore. He groaned in satisfaction when his hand met a single bare breast and pebbled nipple. “No bra? Were you planning to get me into bed all along?”

You bit your lip as Dean made eye contact with you for the first time that night. His usually sparkling green eyes had been blown dark with lust. His lips were red and swollen from his worship of your body. 

“Now, let’s get you out of these damn sweats, hm? I wanna taste that sweet little pussy.” Dean hooked two fingers into the waistband of your pants and panties, pulling the layers off together as you pulled your shirt over your head. 

Dean’s kisses turned fevered as he slid two thick fingers into your waiting heat. 

“Oh God.” You groaned into his neck. His stubble scraped across your heated skin in the most delicious way. 

“You ready, doll?” Dean winked playfully before he lowered his head to give a tentative kitten lick to your waiting heat. 

The moan that came out of your mouth would have made a porn star jealous, and it certainly made Dean excited. He used two fingers to spread you open before he ate you out like you were the last thing he was ever going to taste. 

“D-Dean. I-fuck-I need you inside me.” You gasped as he placed a kiss to your swollen clit. 

“Want me to stretch out this pretty little cunt and fill it up nice and full?” Dean kissed up your body and quickly divested himself of his remaining garments. 

Sure, you’d seen parts of the boys when you were on hunts, when you had to stitch each other up. You’d even seen them after a shower when they came back into the motel room, the thin towels doing nothing to hide what lay beneath. But now, you were really seeing Dean for the first time. The hard muscles, the way his cock hung heavy and thick between the two of you. The faint lines of scars that criss-crossed his chest and abdomen. 

“I need you.” Desperation clung to your words as you clung to Dean’s biceps. 

“Atta girl.” He laughed softly and fisted his cock in one hand before notching it at your entrance. 

You had been with men before. You had been with men who were above average and men who were, well, below average. But none of them could compare to Dean. The way he filled you up. The way he stretched you with a pleasurable burn until you thought you couldn’t take it anymore. Just when you were sure you were going to break, he bottomed out with a feral growl. 

“Fuck you’re tight.” Dean grunted through clenched teeth as he began thrusting. The only sounds permeating the air were your gasps and groans and the sound of skin against skin. 

You reached down between your bodies and gently massaged Dean’s balls. Desperate to feel his release on the cusp of yours. 

“You close baby?” Dean bit softly at your collarbone and then licked the reddened skin. 

“Mm fuck yes. God you’re so big!” You groaned as your walls clenched around him, slippery and wet. 

“Let go then baby. Let go for Dean.” He cooed gently in your ear. He pinched your clit between two fingers and gently massaged it. Bringing you closer to that edge you had been running towards, and then pushing you off. 

Tears of pleasure trickled down your cheeks as you came, hot and hard around his cock. Dean growled against your neck as his own release emptied within you. You could feel it beginning to drip down your ass onto the couch, but right now, you couldn’t care less. 

“Wow. That was. Wow.” Dean chuckled softly and kissed your sweat soaked forehead. You smiled contentedly as the elder Winchester wrapped a long arm around you. 

“Dean,” You looked up after sitting in comfortable silence for the better part of an hour. “What are we? I mean we’ve never done that and I really enjoyed it. But I don’t know if I—if we can go back to being just friends.” You looked down at your hands as you waited for an answer. 

You got your answer. In the form of a heavy sigh followed by a confession. 

“I’m not going to lie to you that sex was amazing but I just don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.” 

Your heart dropped and your eyes dropped down to focus on a scar on Dean’s chest. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re fucking beautiful but that’s about as far as it goes for me, doll. Dean Winchester doesn’t do commitment” Dean kissed the top of your head. 

“Oh yeah, yeah, me too. I was just making sure that nothing would change.” You lied with a small laugh.

“Well, it’s not that nothing will change. I don’t know if I could give up that sweet pussy after getting a taste of it.” You could hear the smirk in his voice and feel his eyes drag across your body. 

“Yeah?” You bit your lip and made eye contact. Dean just nodded and took your lips in a fevered kiss. His cock began to harden and twitch beneath you as he lifted you to straddle him. 

“Now how about we forget all this shit and you give me another taste, huh?” Dean slid a thick finger through your folds as he lined himself up again for the second time that night. You could only nod as he filled you up for the second time that night. 

Maybe one day you’d tell him how you feel. 

[clumsyclifford]

very sexy of your campus to even have milkshakes 😅 what's your go to milkshake? well i would prefer driving in actual shoes to both of these options but i just need sth between my foot and the pedal so if i had to chose? definitely flip flops. catch me and luke hemmings dying bc we're stupid and drive in flip flops. well i'm not good in general but at the same time i'm not too stressed? & idk i've been ignoring my feelings and responsibilities to cope which is working pretty well rn (1/3)

(2/3) honestly that kind of sounds like my absolute dream class, i love shakespeare. but i really hope it stops stressing you out so you can enjoy it a little 🙈 & oh my god all your classes actually sound interesting (except for maths) i really hope you continue to not hate them 😅 nine hours of sleep oh my god look at you!! i'm in envy of your ability to like.. be awake. can't relate. like i'm really tired 24/7 and if i get like under 6 hours of i basically stop functioning altogether 🤷‍♀️

(3/3) i'm very excited to hear the new deep breath additions! also i listened to your fletcher recs a little today (can't give proper feedback yet bc i didn't have the time to like actively listen) and i adore the vibe and sound a lot so far 😊 anyway are you feeling a little better now? lots of love, fiancee

chocolate milkshake for sure zero question anyone who says otherwise is a liar

god i wanna be like Don’t Do That but i literally do that constantly....ALL the time.....so like.....i get it. sometimes you just have to be like yeah im gonna feel fucking sad eventually so i may as well wait til it builds up and then let it all out in one go! and in the meantime i am going to binge watch ajr videos and pretend everything is fine :))) you know

really!! well you can take this class for me then alkfjgkdfgn me too tbh i am PLANNING to get through all the late stuff on labor day (monday) cos we don’t have class so fingers crossed that i can hold myself to that

ah well you know i got used to living on Not A Lot Of Sleep in high school lmao plus i like to alternate between getting four hours and nine hours i mean i slept ten hours last night since i didn’t have to wake up for anything this morning which was really amazing god the feeling of NOT setting an alarm......there is Nothing better

!!! hope you like em ALSO this is so random but whatever i had walden pond by atta boy like....on some playlist somewhere idk but anyway it played on my spotify randomly the other day and i was like hey this is a pretty nice song so i put it on the deep breath playlist AND THEN i was watching the neotheater tour docs on youtube and that song??? played??? as like background??? it was just one of those very trippy “hey i just heard this in a totally separate setting” life moments really weird just wanted to share that with someone

yes i am feelign better now!! however you have made me crave a milkshake i may have to get one with dinner........or instead of dinner.......we shall see

[thebookishaustin]

Magical Readathon 2020 - O.W.L.’s Part I

I stumbled upon a wonderful reading challenge called the Magical Readathon (Twitter | YouTube | Instagram | Website) and I convinced a couple of coworkers and friends to join me in the fun. Usually this is a coordinated event throughout the month of April with the N.E.W.T.s in August. My companions and I wanted to be prepped for August so we are completing our O.W.L.s throughout the month of June since we missed the April festivities! 

I know there has been a lot of discussion about Harry Potter as of late, primarily centered around the recurrent comments from J.K. Rowling regarding the trans community. My friends and I do not approve of her stance, but we have decided to complete the O.W.L.s (as we had already started them) as this readathon does not support Rowling in any fiscal way. Rather, it’s our way to continue loving a novel that transformed our childhoods. However, we are going to continue following conversations and will support whatever decision is made by the Magical Readathon creator (I know they are currently debating how to continue). 

With all that said? I have set my goal to complete all twelve O.W.L.s (I’m thinking of the professor or librarian pathways with an animagus certification). Here are the first six O.W.L.s I’ve completed so far: 

Herbology (Mimbulus Mimbletonia: Title starts with an “M”): I chose My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite. This book has been receiving rave reviews. It’s classified as mystery but I didn’t feel the mystery vibes as deeply - this is definitely a character study of the main character as she explores her own loyalty and depth of connection to her sister. Is there murder and intrigue? Yes, but I felt the focus was more on the main character learning about her own dark potential. Definitely give it a read! 

Defense Against the Dark Arts (Grindylows: Book set at the sea/coast): I chose Merman in My Tub, Vol. 1 by Itokichi. I was a bit disappointed by this manga. It had some well placed humor, but I became incredibly impatient with the lack of coherent storyline. These seemed more like mini-stories compiled into a volume for reading; I wanted more flow from one to the next. I also do not like that creepy, younger sister. 

Astronomy (Night Classes: Read the majority of the book when it’s dark outside): I chose Fence, Vol. 2 by C.S. Pacat. This second volume continues the story of these incredible athletes as they compete to be on the fencing team this year. I love the artwork and the storyline is quick, with humor in all the right places. Definitely a graphic novel to check out. 

Charms (Lumos Maxima: A book with a white cover): I chose Sabriel by Garth Nix. This was a selfish reread for me. I have loved Sabriel since I was an early teen. The original covers are still my favorite, but this re-release with an almost completely white cover is gorgeous. Follow this light necromancer as she battles the dark forces of dark necromancers trying to gain power from the dead. Want to up your game? Listen to the audiobook read by the amazing Tim Curry! 

Transfiguration (Animagus lecture: Read a book featuring shapeshifting): I chose Hounded by Kevin Hearne. I read this years ago but never completed the series, so I thought a reread would be a great start to getting back into the series. This series is definitely for fans of The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher except replace “disgruntled wizard” with “gregarious Druid”. There’s treachery, magic, ancient deities, and the ever loving Druid with his dog companion to keep you entertained. 

Muggle Studies (Read a book from the perspective of a muggle [i.e. contemporary]): I chose The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta. This novel was just released in the United States and I am so happy it was - I have been waiting a while to get my hands on it. It’s a book in verse about a black teen coming into his own as a drag queen. It’s brutally honest but touches the heart in all the right ways.  

I’ll update you on my other six books in two weeks - I have some reading to accomplish still! Until then? What would you have read for these six O.W.L.s? I’m looking forward to delving into more reads. Feel free to message me (Tumblr | Instagram | Goodreads) and happy reading! <3

[skz-candy]

inside

April 30, 2019

Jeongin took a deep breath as he looked in the mirror, but he still couldn't see anything horrific on his face. He looked like he always had, maybe his features a little more defined. There was nothing on his face that explained why all the people he once considered friends looked at him as if he were a horrendous monster.

"Jeongin! Get out! Other people need in there!" Seungmin banged on the door. He must have overslept.

Jeongin went to the door and opened it, an exasperated Seungmin on the otherside. Seungmin pulled him out, leaving him alone in the hallway. Even living in a dorm with nine other people, he felt the lonliest he's ever been. And for what, because he got dumped?

Jeongin trudged back to his room, which he now shared with Chan. He rolled his eyes as the memory of Jisung switching rooms. To be completely honest, he hated that he didn't know his roomate was in love with his girlfriend. Hopefully Chan wasn't in love with her either, or any one else for that matter.

Jeongin wanted her back, but he didn't know what to do. Apologizing didn't work, she just handed him a trashbag full of his clothes. He hated how easily she was moving on, how easily she could put what they had behind her. Didn't she feel the same way he felt about her, or were all those midnight conversations just a way to lure him in?

Jeongin shook his head. He knew Candy, why would he ever think something so meticulous could be why she did anything. Then again, he knew Jisung too. He guessed he knew nothing about anyone any more.

"Who's in the bathroom?" Chan asked as Jeongin opened the door.

"Seungmin is running late," Jeongin told him. Chan glanced at him before giving a short nod.

"Are you gonna participate in practice today, or sit out?" Chan asked, throwing his things into a bag for practice.

"I'll participate," Jeongin sighed, sitting on his bed.

"Changbin and Jisung are already at the studio, so I'm leaving now. Help Woojin get everyone ready within the hour, okay?" Chan stood at the door.

"Yes, dad," Jeongin rolled his eyes.

"Atta boy," Chan saluted and walked out.

-

"Do you think fairy dust has a taste?" Felix asked, sitting on the floor.

"What would it even taste like?" Hyunjin raised an eyebrow.

"Well, there's plenty of options," Felix shrugged. "I'm not a fairy, so I don't know."

"Why are you so curious about fairies if you aren't one?" Minho asked.

"Why are you so worried about girls when you aren't one?" Seungmin smirked.

"Who says I'm worried about girls?" Minho argued.

"Have something you wanna admit?" Candy smiled, making everyone laugh (including Jeongin) while Minho argued back.

Jeongin hated this, really. He wanted to feel proud that his girlfriend could make the group of guys laugh, but she wasn't his anymore. When was the last time she was? Afterall, since when he had punched Jisung, she had been different toward him.

Jeongin kept thinking about that day, when ge threw the most amazing girl away because of his insecurities and jealousness. He thought he knew better. He thought he knew how to treat the girl he cared most for as such. He thought a lot of things, really, and the truth was now spilling out. It was eating him alive.

"Jeongin, are you listening?" Candy asked, staring at him. His heart jumped out of fear, but she seemed rather annoyed than worried about him. "We have been trying to leave for a while and you didn't even move. Get up."

Jeongin nodded, but he made sure no look of disappointment or sadness crossed his face. She really couldn't care less about him, and it broke him inside.

-

Jeongin hated the way Jisung looked at her. He had never noticed it before, but he could see the way Jisung looked at her. He could see the way Jisung's eyes flickered up from whatever he was doing to see her for just a second. He could see the way Jisung's body relaxed when she laughed or smiled. He could see the way Jisung's eyes followed her in the mirror when she worked on a dance with Hyunjin or Minho or Felix. He could see the way Jisung was always looking at her as if she was the brightest star in the sky. He could see all that and still feel angry, but also defeated.

Jeongin didn't know if he was in a losing battle at the moment. Looking at Jisung and seeing how Jisung was with Candy, Jeongin wondered if that's what love really looked like. Neither of them had mentioned it, they had never really talked about what they exactly felt for each other. If Jeongin thought about, which he opted not to, he'd soon realize he simply liked the special treatment she gave him. That wasn't love, it wasn't even what a relationship should be based on.

Jeongin didn't want to do anything anymore. He didn't think anything he ever did would be enough to win her back at this point. Thus far, he was certain they wouldn't even be friends in the near future. He wasn't sure anyone was in his corner anyway. Jeongin just kind of wanted to lay in his bed and pretend his mind wasn't filled with what if's and regrets.

-

Jeongin wanted to die. Not really, but if he wasn't forced to sit in this restaurant and watch the way Candy smiled and laughed like everything was okay then maybe he'd be able to focus a little more. Maybe.

Jeongin was also a little glad they never went public. It was a blessing he was thankful for and he was sure the whole group was. It was a mess to clean up the rumors about Candy and Minho, so he didn't really mind her not having that many with him. Anymore, anyway.

Jeongin wanted to be the fun and carefree guy he was before all the drama wrapped itself around his life, but he couldn't find it in him to jump up and join the dance party. It was as if losing Candy drained him of all his livelihood. He knew he shouldn't let this one girl be getting in the way like this. He knew, deep down, they never should have started dating anyhow. Dating a member, obviously, can ruin relationships. Though, it seems that is only a problem for him.

"Jeongin, come on!" Felix said, jumping in front of him.

"What?" Jeongin came alive to what was really happening around him. They were standing in the back and if you knew the dance, then you went and faced everyone to do it. It was dark, but the practice room was lit up by a disco ball. Honestly, it looked fun.

"I know you know some of these dances, come on," Felix pulled Jeongin up, making the whole group cheer. Well, except Jisung and Candy who weren't even paying attention and were talking amongst themselves.

Jeongin resolved to live his life as if he didn't need her constant validation. He was fairly certain she was with Jisung while they were together now anyway. What did it matter whether Jeongin's heart was broken and all he wanted was her? Nothing. Jeongin meant nothing to her.

-

"You know, maybe if you didn't look like that all the time, just maybe, you'd realize we aren't taking sides," Chan said, interrupting the silence that had settled over the shared room. Jeongin looked up at him and shrugged.

"I know how you guys feel about the issue anyway. Me acring different won't change that," Jeongin admitted, pulling on a pajama shirt. "She's moved ob already, so-"

"What?" Chan looked at him funny. "Are we talking about the same girl?"

"Candace Lee? The pretty girl down the hall?" Jeongin played along.

"You must have her confused with someone else. That girl is no where near moved," Chan confessed. "She just wants you to think so."

"Why?"

"You hurt her. She wants to seem strong."

"I hurt her? She broke up with me!"

"You questioned her values and her character. She trusted you, and you didn't trust her. She is allowed to be hurt."

"And I'm not!?"

"I never said that," Chan sighed, sitting on his bed opposite of Jeongin. "You're allowed to hurt, but so is she."

"Goodnight, Chan."

"Night Jeongin."

-

"Felix! Give it back!" Jisung yelled, shaking their dining table as Felix stood on it.

"Let me read the first paragraph aloud then!" Felix yelled back despite their close proximity. Jeongin stood in the doorway, a little confused.

"If it's about Candy, I've probably already heard it," Seungmin called from the kitchen.

"It isn't!" Jisung argued. "It's still...private."

"She's single now so you don't like her anymore?" Felix sat on the table.

"That isn't it," Jisung huffed. "There's no way I'd ever stop liking her, but she isn't even mine to like. She's Jeongin's. We all know that."

For the first time, Jeongin regretted punching Jisung.

[onthesandsofdreams]

Yule Ball

Summary: "What's got you on such a mood?" Diana's head snaps to where the voice comes from and finds Mera watching her, "Yule Ball." "Ah," Mera wisely says as she nods her head. "Haven't asked Trevor yet, I see." Characters: Diana, Steve, Mera  Words: 1377 Notes: Written for @wondertrevnet‘s WonderTrev Week. Day 6: AU.

Read @ AO3

Diana finds herself pacing in the girl's dormitory. She's been informed that as the champion of Hogwarts she needs a date for the Yule Ball. And she wants to ask Steve Trevor to be her date. Her only problem is, that her bravery seems to desert her as soon as she's going to ask.

"Such Gryffindor I am," she snorts and keeps on pacing.

"What's got you on such a mood?"

Diana's head snaps to where the voice comes from and finds Mera watching her, "Yule Ball."

"Ah," Mera wisely says as she nods her head. "Haven't asked Trevor yet, I see."

Diana sat down on her bed and groaned, "I haven't. But he hasn't asked me yet either."

Mera arched an eyebrow, completely non impressed, "You're Hogwart’s champion. Maybe he's afraid of overstepping?"

"I hate that you're right," Diana looked at Mera, who looked quite pleased with herself. "Help me?"

"Fine, and I'll be there by your side when you ask him. Or I will ask him for you, clear?"

"Crystal."

"And if you don't," Mera glared. "I will enlist Arthur and Lois. And you know Arthur has no problem asking Steve on your part."

"Ok, I get it, I'll ask him tomorrow before class."

"Good."

****

The next day, Mera stuck close, not wanting her to go back on her word. And if Diana thought of escaping her, she knew that Mera would simply ask Steve herself or get Arthur to do it.

They found Steve and his friends inside the classroom. And Mera gave Diana a gentle shove, "Go, ask."

Diana swallowed and approached Steve, who was deep into a book, "Hey Steve."

Steve looked up and gave her a dazzling smile, "Hey Diana."

"Uh, listen," Diana shifted, feeling a little awkward. "You know how the Yule Ball is happening right?" At his nod, she continued, "Well, I - I, wanted to ask if you wanted to be my date for it? I mean, if you're not going with someone else!"

If possible, Steve's smile had grown wide and his eyes were shinning, "I'd love to! I was going to ask but..." he sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "Lost my nerves and I thought you were going with someone else."

Diana shook her head, "No, I've been meaning to ask, but," she waved her hand, "now I did. And I'm glad, thank you Steve."

Steve was about to reply when Professor McGonagall called for everyone to take their seats.

Diana bolted and sat down next to Mera, who gave her a kind smile and an approving nod, "Atta girl," she whispered.

Diana rolled her eyes amused, but her good mood carried throughout the class and Transfiguration had never passed so quickly.

*****

Diana spends the following week in a constant state of worry. Far too many terrible scenarios run through her head, and she really wished she could turn them off. She likes Steve, she wants to date Steve, she just... has to vocalize that particular desire. Maybe the Yule Ball will be their chance and she feels like she can't ruin this.

Fortunately for her, her friends are supportive. Mera does her best to distract her and Lois is supportive and reassuring. And Steve is lovely and friendly, for she is grateful.

The day of the Ball, Mera helps her get ready, Lois being a Ravenclaw has agreed to meet them after dinner. Her robes are blue with gold embroidery. The shade complimenting her skin. Mera chooses a pale silver. They both get their hair up.

By the time they are ready and making their way to the Gryffindor common room, Steve is there, sitting with Charlie. Once he sees them, he waves goodbye to Charlie and stands up. "Ladies," he makes a bow and offers his arms.

They both take them with a smile. "Why thank you kind sir," it's Mera who teases.

"Only the best, for the best Gryffindor girls," Steve's smiles.

They make their way to the hall, and only after spotting Arthur does Mera leave them alone. Only moments later, Professor McGonagall gets their attention and tells them to wait for everyone to get inside and then make a grand entrance.

"You look lovely Diana," Steve told her quietly as they waited for the doors to open.

"Thank you, you look very handsome." She smiles at him and gives his arm a gentle squeeze.

The doors open and in they walk. The whole dinner hall is beautifully decorated, everywhere they look, something shines, "Hogwarts outdid itself!" Steve's lips are curled upwards as he looks around.

"It's so lovely," she agrees before they sit down for their meal.

Professor Dumbledore makes a short welcoming speech and dinner starts. They eat and talk and enjoy the moments of calm, specially before they open the dance floor.

Diana's nerves kick in when they start to slow down on the food and talk more, talking with Steve doesn't make her nervous at all, Steve is kind and friendly, listens just as well as he talks. He argues, but does so respectfully without talking down on her. Another reason why she likes him really.

But he is also smart and caring, an amazing friend and great quidditch player. In her eyes, what truly makes Steve Trevor the best is not how handsome he is; being handsome seems to be the wrapping bow on a wonderful package.

Then Professor Dumbledore stands and her hands get a bit sweaty, so she quickly wipes them on her robes and stands as Professor Dumbledore invites the champions to open the dance floor.

Steve smiles at her and gives her another bow and offers his arm again. She smiles back and takes his arm and together they walk to the dance floor. He takes her hand and gently places his other on her waist, while she places hers on his shoulder.

And the music starts and they begin to sway together, looking at each other's eyes, for her, the world disappears. Only Steve and the music remain.

"I've wanted to ask you out for a while," Steve confesses quietly.

She blinks surprised yet pleased, "Why didn't you?"

"Because I'm an idiot? I've liked you for a long time... I just, I don't know. You seems out of my league."

"I'm not out of your league, Steve... I like you too." There, she's said it, no taking back now. Whatever happens, happens. But still, her heart is pounding in her ears.

"Then, can I call this a date?" Steve's face is hopeful.

She smiles and relief flows through her whole body, "I'd love to say this was a date."

"Then is a date miss Prince."

And is quite the date, they spend the night dancing together, only separating for drinks or bathroom breaks. And they dance the night away, joking, laughing, talking, they create a little world where only the two of them exist.

And they danced and danced until the music began to wind down and eventually stopped. Only then did they realize that they were among the lasts on the hall, Diana shrugged, unworried.

They made their way toward the Gryffindor's tower in comfortable silence, both tired but happy. Steve quite gallantly walks her towards the stair for the girl's room, her arm in his and his other hand atop hers.

"I had a great night Steve, thank you." Her smile is gentle, a tired, but happy look on her face.

"Me too," Steve's face is soft. "Can I ask you out again?"

"I'd love to go out with you again."

"Great! Maybe we could go Hogsmeade one of these days."

"That'd be fun," she fights out a yawn. "But maybe we should sleep?"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry about that! Good night Diana," Steve bows to her once again, capturing her hand in his and gallantly placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. "Sweet dreams."

She feels her cheeks warm up, but her happiness overrides whatever embarrassment she might feel, "Sweet dreams to you too Steve, good night."

She goes to the dorm, tired by happy. She's nearly falling asleep as she changes into her pajamas and untangles her hair. She falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits her pillow. But she smiles in her sleep.