#and now its 4 thousand words and took a full week

[weird-homosexual-in-your-area]

“Pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Repeat, pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Assigned technicians, escort pilots in unit B43C1 to docking bay immediately.” 

She was roused from her dream-like state by a blaring siren, louder than anything she remembered. She wasn’t startled, nor did she reflexively cover her ears like she would have done months ago, she just sat up and left her rest bay. A technician, she didn’t have his name memorised- whatever, they all looked the same to her since the conditioning- was at the door, clearly agitated at her for some reason or another. He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her out of the room, toward the docking bay. 

“You know, I had tickets to go out with my mates, evening of that sortie the other day,” he commented, face slightly reddening, grip on her arm tightening. “Tickets to see that Terra-Kadora game- you know the one I’m on about? Of course you don’t, you don’t see that shit now.” 

He suddenly stopped, with a painless jolt to her arm pulling her in front of him. He towered over her, but she felt no fear, more confusion as to what he was getting at. 

“’Course, you didn’t care if we got to see that game, did you? It don’t matter to you that we were stuck in repairs for two full fucking days, fixing your leg after that stupid jump kick trick you pulled,” he muttered. He was clearly unimaginably angry. She didn’t really pay much notice- he didn’t know how good it felt in the cockpit pulling that off. He couldn’t know. The joy of piloting was beyond him. “That was my first scheduled off day for a full month. Can you imagine that? A full month doing nothing but working, and your first day off gets cancelled because some idiotic brain-dead little shitbag felt like looking flashy. Can you imagine that?” 

A dreamy smile fell onto her face. She was imagining it, and it was as close to heaven as she could imagine. 

“What are you fucking smiling at?!”  He pulled her close to him, screeching in pure rage. She reflexively tried to activate her close-range jammers, to fire off an AP volley to disable the attacker, close in for that sweet, sweet kill; but nothing happened- those facilities weren’t available in her flesh-body. She dropped her smile, knowing better than to provoke the anger of the techs- especially ones who work to fix her mech.  

He sighed in exasperation- they were nearing the docking bay, and she’d have to have the helmet on soon. “I’ll be watching you today. If you pull that shit again, we’ll have issues- I managed to convince the highers to let my guys out today instead, and I doubt they’ll be convinced to do it again.”  

He passed her onto another technician, telling him to “put it in the cockpit on B43C1E”, and gave her the pilot’s helmet. She slipped it onto her head, and suddenly, darkness.  

Silence. 

Nothing except the hand of the technician dragging her to her beloved suit. 

She was pushed down a step into the cockpit and harnessed in. She felt several jolts of agony and euphoria, bright light and blackness, screeching sound and empty static, as she was plugged into the neural system. 

Then, the OPH- the oxygenated liquid allowing her flesh-body to breathe in the cockpit- flooded into the heart of the mech. She fought the urge to recoil as it reached her stomach level, the cold seeping down to her reactor- no, her bones. She wasn’t synced with the mech yet, unfortunately, so she had no reactor to keep her warm. 

As the liquid reached her head height, she reflexively held her breath, preparing to drown, but caught herself and exhaled fully. The liquid needed to fully get into her lungs, or the sheer pressure of the liquid around her would crush them. As it made its way down her windpipe, she fought the urge to splutter it up, to get it out of her lungs, and just let it into her body. Her vision filled with stars, red and yellow hues as her brain screamed for air, until suddenly she didn’t need to breathe anymore as the OPH reached her lungs, filling her with ample oxygen. 

Silence again. No sound, no sight, no feeling but the frigid liquid encasing her like a personal prison. Nothing. 

Then, all at once, her senses lit up with the familiar view from the eyes of her true body, one not of flesh and blood but of reinforced titanium and coolant.  She heard the familiar hissing sound of the scaffolding holding the mech retracting, its purpose fulfilled as the body was now inhabited. 

DEPLOY 

She didn’t hear the word, but it popped into her head. One second it wasn’t on her mind, the next it was all she could think of, and she had no choice but to do what she’d been conditioned to on hearing it said. She pushed her rear thrusters to full, leaning forward slightly and engaging the front calf thrusters to balance her out, so as to achieve the best speed she could- the system loved it when she did that, and so did she, as an overpowering wave of dopamine flooded her system as the reward drive kicked in for her compliance. Her flesh-body shook in response, but her true body, her gleaming body of steel, remained unwavering in its flight. 

She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but at some point in her flight she just knew what she was being sent out for. A few hundred kilometers away from the outpost at which she made her residence, 7 enemy mechs had been spotted making their way toward a crucial state power station. They were new mechs- analysis put the suits themselves at about a week old, so the pilots wouldn’t have much experience. Her unit could easily deal with them- 16 pilots with a few months’ worth of experience versus 7 with a couple of days? Walk in the park- the only real challenge was doing it cleanly enough for the reward drive to deem them worthy, but at this point even that was easy. 

About 15 minutes after her troop set out, they began to see the enemy mechs across the horizon. They were hulking things- 25 meters tall on average (about 5 meters taller than her), armour-piercing round emplacements on each shoulder, with laser arrays along the ribs of the machine. And that was only the armaments the mechs had that she could immediately see- for all she knew, there could be thousands of rocket pods stored in those four arms, there could be EMP generators hiding in that disfigured face, there could be blades that could cut through her sleek, metallic form like butter hiding in those legs. Those mechs were everything she’d been taught to hate, to fear, to want gone. 

For even a thousand infantry troops, dealing with just one of these would be suicide. For her mech troop? 10 minutes, maybe just 5. 

Mechs 1 through 7 began the assault, opening fire with rocket pods to slow down the bulkier four-armed monsters. They took several hits, clearly not expecting any opposition, the fools that they were. They snapped around, frantically shooting off AP rounds to try and slow down the oncoming storm, but not one shot met its mark, all being dodged by her unit, giving each a little hint of dopamine. God, the dopamine was incredible in piloting. Like nothing else in her life before the program, or what little she remembered of it, or during the program. Those techs couldn’t ever begin to understand how good it felt- she could take whatever “issues” they’d give her if it meant she’d get just a fraction of the euphoria she was going to experience over the course of the sortie. 

As the troop closed in, the enemy mechs grew increasingly desperate. They started firing off all-too-predictable laser arrays, each being swiftly dodged by all the mechs, and releasing some hidden rockets from a compartments in their arms, which she just knew were going to be there. She got another hit of dopamine from that- so fucking good- that was quickly cut short by the shared pain she felt over the comms relay, that was honestly more like a thought-sharing system, from several of the rockets finding their mark on number 5. 

 Hatred newly refueled, she boosted her thrusters into overdrive and sped over to the enemies, a cheetah running after a gazelle. She activated her elbow thrusters and drove her fist clean through one of the enemy mechs’ chestplate, grabbing the fusion reactor within and tearing it out, crushing the still-beating “heart” of the machine in her bare hands, and the dopamine was unlike anything else she’d experienced. A clean reactor kill always was- her system was flooded with pure satisfaction, and her flesh body shivered in reflexive response. The unresponsive shell of her kill keeled over, a deafening crash resounding across the barren wasteland as it hit the floor. 

 She noticed an enemy mech behind her through some optical data from mech 3, and span around on her left leg, whipping out her right with a thruster-boosted roundhouse kick that cleaved the foe in two with relative ease. Another rush of euphoria, slightly less satisfying than the last due to the damage she caused to her leg in the process of the manoeuvre, but still significant enough to make “her” body tense up in the cockpit. 

With the new injury to her leg, fighting at the front line was too much of a risk, even though it would net her so much more reward, so she reluctantly opted to retreat to the backline consisting still of mechs 1 through 7, now also with her mech E, to provide supporting fire for the front liners. They fought with grace and beauty, dodging the more unwieldy days-old mechs’ blows like flies dodging weak attempts at swatting, before countering with devestating punches and kicks that caved in heads, carved off limbs, detonated ammo reserves, each hit only adding to the sheer rush of dopamine they all felt. Her and the other 7’s fire was extremely helpful, provided much-needed openings on the mechs that were far more occupied prolonging their own survival than dealing with the far more apt attackers. 

After a couple more minutes of trading blows, only one enemy remained, its four-armed form glistening in the harsh sunlight like the angel of Death it so desperately wanted to be. Strangely, it didn’t attempt a retreat to save itself, or to fight back, or anything of the sort, it just fell to its knees, like it was accepting its fate. Strange. Why would it do tha- 

Suddenly, it clicked to her. It was overloading its fusion core. It’d result in a massive nuclear explosion destroying everything in a... 14 kilometer radius- just about leaving the power plant safe, thank God. Since she knew it, all the other pilots immediately did too thanks to the thought-sharing process. Everyone frantically turned away, boosting thrusters into overdrive to get as much distance between them and the explosion that was about to destroy everything near it- including them if they weren’t fast enough. 

After two minutes of flying, panic overtaking her and every other pilot in the troop, an all-encompassing blast rang out from the battlefield they were at minutes ago. They were pushed a good 50 meters back by the shockwave, all maintaining balance thanks to their experience with this sort of explosion. Their heads were searing from the sheer pain of the soundwave, everything within 14 kilometers of the mech was reduced to ruins, but at least they were alive.  

Pilot B ran a quick diagnostic check to ensure no major damage had been done to any of them- all that returned was E’s leg (the front panels of which had completely shattered with her second kill), some mild overheating in the backs of all of them except 1, 4, 9 and A which could weaken the armour if left unchecked, and several breached armour plates on 5’s front from the rocket salvo they endured. Still, she’d been on missions that had ended far worse for her troop. 

RECALL 

Again, she didn’t hear the command as much as it became her thoughts, and as soon as it did, she reflexively began flying back to the base. She allowed herself to blank out on the way- if there were no briefings she’d receive, no diagnostics to run, no enemies to fight, she didn’t need sit around in a boring flight back for however long it’d take. 

***** 

Some time passed- she wasn’t sure how much- and her home base came into view over the horizon, a gleaming silver compound contrasting against the blood-stained sand and bright blue sky. She slowed down to walking pace (still many times faster than her pace in her flesh-body) and walked through the bay doors, alongside the rest of her troop. They each slotted into their respective docking bays, and she felt the scaffolding swing onto her, holding her down for the extraction process. She wanted to fight it, needed to stay in her true body, had to stop them tearing her out, but it was useless fighting back, as several anti-mech infantry units were stationed on the various gantries that lined the room like capillaries, weapons trained on each of them, waiting only for the slightest deviation from procedure to open fire. Despite every joint in her body, every cell of her brain that still housed what little remained of her crying out to stop it, she allowed the scaffolding to lock around her. She allowed the piping to drain the OPH from the cockpit. She allowed the doors to be levered open. 

She allowed herself to be torn from her true body in a jolt of pure, unfiltered agony, as the neural ports disconnected from her spinal cord. 

Her brain took a while to recover from the overuse in the mech, and even longer to recover from the sheer shock of the disconnection, so when she next noticed that she still existed, she was being carried by a technician to the debriefing room. She twitched slightly, trying to run diagnostics to ensure she was unharmed- but that facility wasn’t available in her flesh-body. 

“Oh, you’re awake now,” came the voice of the man who was carrying her. She noted it was the same as her earlier assailant, the one who’d warned her about breaking anything- shit, she’d broken the leg, hadn’t she? She tensed up, expecting the technician to break out into a shout, but he laughed softly, almost affectionately. “While you’re here, I may as well just say well done on the mission before the briefing. You did really good, honestly- you took a quarter of them down yourself! That spin-kick was also really well done; I’m kinda shocked.” She relaxed, realising he wasn’t yet aware of the damage she’d done. She knew she was going to suffer when he found out, but that was in the future.  

The technician gently placed her down onto the ground, and she walked alongside him. Several times, she nearly fell over when she had to turn, expecting her thrusters to kick in when she willed them to, but they remained in the docking bay on her true body, not on... this body. They walked in comfortable silence, as she checked every corner, half expecting an enemy mech to ambush her around it, then catching herself and looking ahead, focused on where she was going. 

After a couple of minutes walking, they reached the briefing room, and they went in their separate entrances. The technician went into the main door of the room, into the conference room itself where the details of the mission would be relayed to the staff as a whole by the Base Director, the woman who ran the site. She went in through the back door of the room to behind the stage, alongside the other 15 pilots who were on the mission, catching a glimpse of a pale, unemotive face that wasn’t truly hers in the reflection of the stainless steel door. They were also there for the briefing, to pick up any details they’d missed during the mission, but couldn’t be allowed in the crowd, with their dead eyes and identical gaits being deemed too unsettling for the public to see. 

The booming, yet comforting voice of the site director came over the microphone urging the crowd to quiet down, an order they all quickly obeyed. She then continued; “As you may know, pilot unit B43C1 were deployed into the field a few hours ago. Our sensors picked up a strike team of Forcemesh mechs approaching Power Plant Delta- one of the most crucial plants here on Kadora, for those who make their residence somewhere else. Unit B43C1 was deployed to dispatch of them- if they made it to the plant and were allowed free reign, the consequences would have been disastrous.” 

The crowd murmured in shock- presumably some images of an example of the possible devestation were being displayed on the screen for the audience. There was no screen behind the stage- it would have cost very little to install one, but there was no need for the pilots to experience the briefing (“they’re not human anymore, they wouldn’t get the intricacies,” the Director had said on the topic)- but it didn’t take being shown to know what was being shown.  

“Fortunately, the brave pilots of Unit B43C1 arrived just in time to make quick work of the threat. We have here some footage captured from Mech E’s sensory array of the scene.” The crowd erupted into cheers- likely as her textbook reactor kill was shown on screen. God, that was incredible. “Incredible work from the mech, right?”  

“So, the gains of this mission have been discussed, but now we must talk of the costs. Mech 5’s chest was breached by a rocket salvo, so I’ll need technician section 5 on that tonight. All of the mechs except A, 9, 4 and 1 have had some overheating to their backs from that massive blast the final enemy released, so I’ll need the corresponding teams to check on those at some point in the coming week- it's not the most urgent, but it being done as soon as possible is needed for the continued defence of Kadora. Finally, mech E shattered a couple of the armour plates on its right leg, and the joints need checking too, so section E, you’re on that tonight.” 

She heard some commotion, presumably from section E, after that was announced, with the director chiding them for their childish response. “It’s got to be done, and it’s got to be done today. Sorry, you lot. With that, this meeting is adjourned. Glory to Stormcell!” 

A resounding chorus of the whole room echoing her cry of glory, then footfalls and idle chatter as the crowd filtered out of the room. As per procedure, the Lead Technician of each sector came to the backstage area to escort the pilots back to their assigned rest bays. Her escorter was red in the face, and grabbed her arm with a ferocity that nearly matched that of the rest of her troop. 

They walked in silence, with him almost dragging her along when she failed at rounding corners. When they eventually reached the resting bay block, though, he tugged her arm to drag her into the left turn to the technician dormitories instead of her rest bay. Fuck. She should’ve known this was coming. She should’ve just not broken her leg. It wasn’t necessarily going to hurt- her sensitivity to pain had been annihilated in the conditioning process, as had many other parts of her personality that she missed to varying degrees- but she wouldn’t be in a state in which she could pilot for days. 

As she was dragged into the technicians’ dormitory, she saw the technician who dragged her in- the same one who’d been interacting with her all day, she realised- raise his fist in a punch, and she tried to activate her close range jammers- but they were on her true body, not her flesh-form. As the punch landed, she fell to the floor, and everything went dark. 

***** 

She wasn’t sure how long it was before she came to, but when she was she wasn’t in the grimy, dark dormitories but the unsettlingly clean medical bay, with its flourescent lighting and too-polished walls and floors. She saw a figure sitting on the side of the bed she’d been put on, not one she recognised but not one she viewed as a “stranger”, per se. 

“Sam, it’s awake. Get in here, you’re the one with the damage report,” came the voice of the figure. The voice was bored, like it’d been sitting there for hours and this was the first thing worth his time that had happened. Then, another figure came in. She couldn’t tell the difference between the two- their medical scrubs were identical. 

“Right, E, so you fell off a gantry apparently- side note, pilots seem to have horrible balance on days they damaged their mechs, but that’s just an observation- and ended up with a concussion, extreme bruising pretty much all over you, but luckily for you, no broken bones. Good on you, you ‘landed’ well.” She let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding at that- at least she could get back to piloting fairly soon. 

 “You’re staying on rest for a day or 2 while you recover, but after that you should be good to go back in the field after that. Also, your technicians asked me to pass on a message to you when they found you- ‘be more careful, you braindead piece of shit.’ I’m sure they’re lovely people to be around. Anyway, that’s all, so… yeah.” 

He stood there in arkward silence for a few seconds, before he and the other figure walked out of the room, leaving only her, the hum of the lighting, and a reflection that wasn’t hers in the polished, shining ceiling. 

She could have gotten off worse, at least. 

[karahalloway]

A Leviathan Surprise

Fandom: TRR

Series: None - this is a one-shot

Pairings: Maxwell Beamont x Bertrand Beaumont (nothing sexual - just brotherly love)

Synopsis: Maxwell unveils a larger than life surprise for Bertrand's birthday

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: Posh British swearing, using the Lord's name in vain, oversized squid

A/N1: This is my off-the-cuff submission for Day 4: Friends and Family of the inaugural Maxwell Beaumont Appreciation Week, hosted by @maxwell-beaumont-appreciation.

A/N2: The idea for this one-shot was actually born back in December when @maxwell-beaumont-appreciation reblogged this post by @fictionangyl featuring the cover photo and the question 'Think Bertrand would approve of a little redecorating at Ramsford? 🤔' and the general consensus was 'no' 🤣 But I got inspired by the pic and the comments and decided that I had to immortalise this visual in a fic, because it was too perfect to pass up!

A/N3: I know I normally write in first person POV, but this drabble came to me in third person, so here we are 😇

A/N4: Since Bertrand is 33 at the start of (Un)Common Attraction, I guess that means that this fic takes place 3 years before the start of the social season.

A Leviathan Surprise

Maxwell was giddy with excitement.

Scratch that.

He was positively bursting with anticipation!

Bertrand was going to be home any minute now, and the young Beaumont could not wait to surprise his older brother with his... Well, surprise.

It was Bertrand's birthday, after all...

And even though Bertrand hadn't wanted a fuss made, much less a party thrown — because, let's face it, they were broke — when one of his thousands of Insta followers had tagged him in a post featuring this jewel of divine inspiration, Maxwell had known: THIS was it... the perfect birthday present for his brother.

The fact that it had cost the better part of an arm and a leg and had required several hundred dedicated man-hours to accomplish was besides the point.

Bertrand was going to love it!

And that's all that mattered.

Because this year — of all years — Bertrand deserved to be treated. And a bit of financial bother was not going to stop Lord Breakdance from properly commemorating his brother's epic milestone.

The big 3-0.

Bertrand was now officially (and irreconcilably) a grown-up.

So what better way to celebrate (or commiserate?) than by killing two birds with one stone?

The painting gallery had always held a special place in the Beaumont brothers' hearts. In large part because it was where their mother's portrait hung — young, beautiful, full of life, she beamed out at the viewer even though it was against the conventions of formal portraiture.

But then, their mother had never been a stickler for the rules...

...probably why everyone said Maxwell took after her.

But a dreadful summer thunderstorm last year had sent a 100-year old oak tree crashing through the roof of the wing of the House that the gallery sat in, leaving an unsightly hole in the ceiling. Which — even though it had been patched — had never been completely made new.

We have more important things to allocate our meagre funds on, Bertrand kept reminding him every time the subject was raised.

Well, no longer!

Maxwell had taken matters into his own hands — raising a chunk of the money through livestreamed charity breakdance-offs with prominent YouTubers, and receiving the shortfall via a last-minute cheque made out by a well-heeled benefactor — to not only bring the painting gallery back to its former glory, but to improve it!

Bertrand was going to love it.

He was sure of it.

In fact, he had never been more sure of anything in his life!

...apart from the time he had bought an entire ostentation of peacocks so he could perform a peacock wedding.

Because what better way to celebrate the fact that these beautiful birds mated for life?

...or was the swans...?

It didn't matter. The point was that Maxwell had become ordained so he could perform the ceremony of the two fowl becoming one with the necessary sanctity and gravitas.

And his brother deserved the same level of commitment and dedication to detail as those beautiful birds had gotten through the course of the two-and-a-half hour long marriage affair.

Just with a lot less poop.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Maxwell!" cried Bertrand, storming into the picture gallery. "What in the blazes is so urgent that it couldn't—? Oh, good God...!"

The elder Beaumont froze as he laud eyes on the centre-piece of the newly renovated space — the gargantuan papermaché kraken that sat suspended upside-down from the ceiling like some nefarious, overgrown bat, waiting to pounce (or fall?) on its unsuspecting victims.

The ominous creaking of the wires that held in in place didn't help matters either.

"Happy birthday, Bertrand!" exclaimed Maxwell, rushing up to crush his big brother in a celebratory hug. "May your—"

Bertrand deftly sidestepped the ill-timed PDA to thrust his finger accusingly at the ceiling. "What... in the name of all that is holy... is THAT?!"

"Your birthday present!" grinned Maxwell, completely unfazed by his brother's rapidly twitching eyelid. "Do you like it?"

Bertrand was visibly trembling. "It's... it’s..."

"Gorgeous?" prompted Maxwell. "Glorious? Utterly res—?"

"IT'S AN ABOMINATION!"

Maxwell's face fell. "Oh."

"What in the devil possessed you to conceive of, let alone spend money — money which we do not have, might I add! — on such a massive piece of macabre monstrousness!"

"I thought you'd like it..." Maxwell muttered sheepishly.

"Like it?" Bertrand spluttered incredulously. "I’d like to clobber you over the head with it! I'd—!"

A lone sniffle escaped the younger Beaumont...

...and Bertrand's shoulders fell.

"Oh, bugger..." he muttered under his breath.

Stepping up to what was left of his family, he laid a consolatory hand on his sibling's shoulder. "My apologies, brother. That was crass of me. I shouldn't have—"

"You hate it," lamented Maxwell, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"No, no!" objected Bertrand quickly. "I... I was simply caught off guard. It's not everyday that you see a giant cephalopod dangling from the ceiling."

"It's okay if you hate it..." whispered Max. "I... I'll just get it taken down and—"

"You will do no such thing!" admonished the elder Beaumont. "You've already frittered away God-knows how many hundreds of guilders on—"

"Thousands," corrected Maxwell.

"Thousands?" squeaked Bertrand, going deathly pale. "Oh, dear Lord in Heaven...!"

"2,375.97 to be exact," clarified Maxwell. "And that was just the materials."

Bertrand wheezed asthmatically.

"But it was all funded by charitable donations."

Bertrand snapped his head up. "Charitable? Donations? Who in their right mind would—?"

"Fund the creation of a one-of-a-kind avant-garde art installation?" asked Leo, stepping out from behind a neo-Greek pillar.

"And spend hundreds of man-hours elbows-deep in papermaché and glue?" added Chris, emerging from behind a curtain.

"Not to mention risk life and limb trying to attach the damn thing to the ceiling..." grumbled Drake.

"You?!" demanded Bertrand with wide eyes. "You were behind this?"

"We... may have contributed our respective skills-sets," admitted Leo with a sly smile.

"If by 'contribute' you mean 'got press ganged'..." muttered Drake.

"But it was all Maxwell's idea," added Chris. "He organised the fundraising, the equipment, the workmen, even the tea and biscuits."

"Those were good biscuits..." agreed Leo with a far-away look.

Bertrand turned back to his brother. "You... you project managed this shambles? By yourself?"

Maxwell shrugged. "I had to keep it a surprise."

"Oh, you silly muppet," sighed Bertrand as he wrapped his brother into an uncommon embrace. "There's hope for you after all..."

"So... does that mean you like it?" asked Maxwell, hope sparking in his baby-blue eyes.

"I... I think it may be a somewhat of an acquired taste..." admitted Bertrand with a shudder. "But I'm proud of you, brother. You finally showed me that you have what it takes to be a true Beaumont."

"A hereditary obsession with squid?"

"Pluck," smiled Bertrand, clapping his younger sibling on the shoulder affectionately. "And that is the best birthday present a brother can ask for."

Permas:

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[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

26th September >> Mass Readings (USA)

Thursday, Twenty Fifth Week in Ordinary Time 

or

Saints Cosmas and Damian, Martyrs.

Thursday, Twenty Fifth Week in Ordinary Time 

(Liturgical Colour: Green. Year: B(II))

First Reading Ecclesiastes 1:2-11 Nothing is new under the sun.

Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth, vanity of vanities! All things are vanity! What profit has man from all the labor which he toils at under the sun? One generation passes and another comes, but the world forever stays. The sun rises and the sun goes down; then it presses on to the place where it rises. Blowing now toward the south, then toward the north, the wind turns again and again, resuming its rounds. All rivers go to the sea, yet never does the sea become full. To the place where they go, the rivers keep on going. All speech is labored; there is nothing one can say. The eye is not satisfied with seeing nor is the ear satisfied with hearing.

What has been, that will be; what has been done, that will be done. Nothing is new under the sun. Even the thing of which we say, “See, this is new!” has already existed in the ages that preceded us. There is no remembrance of the men of old; nor of those to come will there be any remembrance among those who come after them.

The Word of the Lord

R/Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14 and 17bc

R/ In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge.

You turn man back to dust, saying, “Return, O children of men.” For a thousand years in your sight are as yesterday, now that it is past, or as a watch of the night.

R/ In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge.

You make an end of them in their sleep; the next morning they are like the changing grass, Which at dawn springs up anew, but by evening wilts and fades.

R/ In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge.

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart. Return, O LORD! How long? Have pity on your servants!

R/ In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge.

Fill us at daybreak with your kindness, that we may shout for joy and gladness all our days. Prosper the work of our hands for us! Prosper the work of our hands!

R/ In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge.

Gospel Acclamation John 14:6

Alleluia, alleluia. I am the way and the truth and the life, says the Lord; no one comes to the Father except through me. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Luke 9:7-9 John I beheaded. Who then is this about whom I hear such things?

Herod the tetrarch heard about all that was happening, and he was greatly perplexed because some were saying, “John has been raised from the dead”; others were saying, “Elijah has appeared”; still others, “One of the ancient prophets has arisen.” But Herod said, “John I beheaded. Who then is this about whom I hear such things?” And he kept trying to see him.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saints Cosmas and Damian, Martyrs 

(Liturgical Colour: Red. Year: B(II))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Wisdom 3:1-9 As sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.

The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace. For if before men, indeed, they be punished, yet is their hope full of immortality; Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. In the time of their visitation they shall shine, and shall dart about as sparks through stubble; They shall judge nations and rule over peoples, and the LORD shall be their King forever. Those who trust in him shall understand truth, and the faithful shall abide with him in love: Because grace and mercy are with his holy ones, and his care is with his elect.

The Word of the Lord

R/Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 126:1bc-2ab, 2cd-3, 4-5, 6

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

When the LORD brought back the captives of Zion, we were like men dreaming. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with rejoicing.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Then they said among the nations, “The LORD has done great things for them.” The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad indeed.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the torrents in the southern desert. Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Although they go forth weeping, carrying the seed to be sown, They shall come back rejoicing, carrying their sheaves.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Gospel Acclamation James 1:12

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed is the man who perseveres in temptation, for when he has been proved he will receive the crown of life. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Matthew 10:28-33 Do not be afraid of those who kill the body.

Jesus said to his Apostles: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna. Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[kalevalakryze]

Aliit Ori'shya Tal'din

Bo-Katan Week Day 4: Scars Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, Grogu, Din Djarin, The Armorer Pairings: Bo-Katan Kryze & Grogu, Din Djarin & Grogu, Din Djarin & The Armorer, Din Djarin & Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer & Grogu, The Armorer/Bo-Katan Kryze Warnings: Past injury mention, depression mention, canon death mention, non-descriptive s/h scar mention  Notes: auntie Bo is a bad influence, Korkie would tell you so. Did I get carried away on the mushy stuff? Maybe… but they deserve it. Keshnian Armorer, for this fic only ( eventually, I want to get good enough to start writing Zabrak armorer, but baby steps for now? ) was this how I planned this to go? No, but I still love it Word Count: 3,877 Summary: “You can handle him? Din Darin questioned carefully as he passed Grogu into Bo’s arms, where the child instantly latched onto her, babbling quietly  as she settled his weight in her arms. “He’s not my first Jedi, or nephew,” The Armorer squeezed past the front door, her hand resting heavy on her Riduur’s shoulder. “I don’t believe that is what he is worried about,” The golden helmeted warrior leaned down, a gloved finger moving to rest under Grogu’s chin. “Take care of the Mand’alor, don’t let her do anything reckless,” “Patu!” The child babbled, before the two Mandalorian’s took their leave, leaving Grogu and Bo-Katan alone. “Well, kid… this is where the fun begins,”  AO3 Link: Here!

Bo-Katan blinked her eyes open to The Armorer getting ready for her day. “Mesh’la,” Bo grumbled, thick as sleep clung to the edges of her arising consciousness. Her hand reached, stretching out across the bedsheets to grasp the edge of the thick leather of her Riduur’s skirt. 

Bare fingers brushed through her hair, causing the woman to finally work on blinking sleep from her eyes to stare at the woman before her. Every time she saw her Riduur without her helmet, it truly felt like a blessing. She would equate seeing The Armorer’s face to the same calling as the Mythosaur still living in the depths of the living waters. 

“Good morning, cyare,” The woman rumbled softly, leaning across the mattress to press her lips to Bo-Katan’s forehead. “Din Djarin will be arriving shortly,” She whispered against cool skin, bringing a groan from the redhead. 

Life had settled down for the reclaimed planet and its inhabitants, with an alliance with the New Republic, and the promise to still remain a neutral system, Mandalore became a safe haven for thousands of their stars spread across the galaxy. The other planets in the system were brought back top thrive, and Mando-motors was even back in full starship production, with contracts from the New Republic. 

Bo-Katan had a thriving chain of command, she hadn’t needed to bear a single burden alone, thanks to those she trusted to handle other matters and aid her as well. She’d been more herself than she had been since before… any of this, really. It gave her a comfort she’d never thought she would obtain in her age. 

“He can wait,” The Mand’alor groaned, fruitlessly trying to tug The Armorer back into their bed, only bringing a heartwarming chuckle from the other woman. 

“You did promise, Lady Kryze,” She reminded, prying the pillow Bo had been trying to burrow herself under, and tossing it into Akaan’s bed, who yipped, before trying to initiate a game of tug-of-war with himself. 

The redhead groaned, now pushing on The Armorer’s shoulder, contrasting her decision to tug her closer. “Alright, but you’re all mine, later,” Once she was out of bed, cool air brushing her legs, Bo pushed away the thought of the warmth and comfort of the bed, to reach for The Armorer once more, grabbing the fur around her shoulders top tug her close and press a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Go, I’ll be out shortly,”

True to her word, the Mand’alor got ready in near record time, considering she was not preparing for battle. Her armor had changed little over the years, though she still bore the crest of the niteowl, and the combined crest of the Mythosaur, with the sigil the two women created when they’d spoken their vows. The Mythosaur’s tusks wrapped around the sigil of Clan Kryze, with The Armorer’s hammers outlined in the back, sitting proudly on both shoulders now. The previously silver piece had long since been painted red, like the blue painted pauldron that now protected The Armorer’s shoulder. Their Beskar hearts still sat alternated in their chest plates, Bo’s blue contrasting beautifully against The Armorer’s red, reminding them both that neither of them would have to be alone again. 

There was a sweetness in the air as she stepped out of the bedroom, boots quiet against the hard stone under her feet as she approached the woman, who always seemed to add an otherworldly amount of sugar and other sweeteners to her caff. She stepped up behind the shorter woman silently, arms wrapping around stocky shoulders, with her forehead resting against the back of her helmet. 

“You do not wish for me to go,” The Armorer observed softly, as she began to pour a second mug of caff for Bo. 

“I never wish for you to go,” Bo agreed, before relenting to let her go so she could grab the offered mug. The Armorer’s helmet hissed as it was removed once more and settled gently on the counter so she could enjoy her own caff.

Before she was allowed to touch the mug though, The Armorer’s still bare hand moved to rest against the Kar’ta that rested in her chest, the piece that had come straight from her armor. “No one’s ever truly gone,” There was a smirk pulling at her lips and a twinkle in dark eyes, her amusement giving Bo the permission she needed to swat her hand away.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” 

“I do, but you will not be alone, and you will not be without my company for too long,” The Armorer promised between sips. The caff was still hot on her tongue, but Bo knew by now that with all the cool liquid sweeteners she added every morning, it helped make it bearable. 

“Just come back safe, don’t be a dikutt, and please, don’t let Din swim,” Bo relented as she leaned her back against the counter, reaching idly with her free hand to hold onto the other warrior’s skirt once more. 

Skira’s head tilted to the front door, a warm amusement in her gaze as she rose her mug to her lips. “Tell him yourself,” The Keshian nodded towards their door at the same time as a loud knock echoed. 

“How do you do that?” Bo questioned with a shake of her head, before she leaned up to press a kiss to The Armorer’s lips, before the woman would have to don her helmet once more. “I’ll go say hi, finish your drink,” 

The door swung open just enough to allow Bo to prop her hip against the frame, the toe of her left boot hooked around the heavy door to keep the breeze from outside from blowing it open. “She’s still getting ready,” She greeted to Clan of Two on their doorstep. 

“Patu!” Grogu called, his fingers flexing as he held his arms out, practically vibrating in his fathers hold. 

“Good morning, Lady Kryze,” Din’s head bowed, before lifting enough to ruffle the patches of white hair growing on Grogu’s head. 

“How has Navarro been treating you two?” Bo continued, reaching her hand out to the excitable child, who grew very interested with gloved fingers and the armor on the back of her hand.

“It has been nice, calm. Grogu has been learning a lot, I wish to bring him with me for our next outing, but he needs to be big enough for his own armor,” At the mention of armor, Grogu lifted his head, lips pulling into a sharp smile, and bringing a shake of Din’s head at the little one’s reaction.

“I understand, besides, you n=deserve some time with her alone,” Bo agreed. Din was The Armorer’s foundling, after all, she understood their bond, even with the prior strains, they still deserved some time together as the mentor and apprentice they once were. ‘The Shining Lineage,’ as Ragnar had once referred to them.

Grogu began squirming in Din’s arms, towards Bo, who’d taken her hand back to cross over her chest. “Here, give ‘im here,” 

“You can handle him? Din Darin questioned carefully as he passed Grogu into Bo’s arms, where the child instantly latched onto her, babbling quietly as she settled his weight in her arms. 

“He’s not my first Jedi, or nephew,” Bo assured him as she pressed a soft kiss to Grogu’s forehead. “Your dad woke you up way too early, too. I get it,” She sympathized, nodding her head seriously as he yawned. 

The Armorer squeezed past the front door, her hand resting heavy on her Riduur’s shoulder.  “I don’t believe that is what he is worried about,” The golden helmeted warrior leaned down, a gloved finger moving to rest under Grogu’s chin. “Take care of the Mand’alor, don’t let her do anything reckless,” 

“Patu!” The child babbled, before the two Mandalorian’s took their leave, leaving Grogu and Bo-Katan alone. 

“Well, kid… this is where the fun begins,”

* * *

It would turn out that ‘fun’ for a Mand’alor with a working government, and a lack of civil war, meant showing Grogu around the newer structures and city blocks of the rebuilt Sundari Civic Center that he hadn’t seen since his last visit. 

The pair had gone all over the city, from sparring arenas, to some of the smaller shops of armor, weapons, and trinkets, to bakeries that had been more than happy to give the child ‘just a taste’ of their freshest goods, ranging from Uj cake, all the way to delicacies made from immigrated bakers from Coruscant itself. 

The two were fairly exhausted by the time Bo brought Grogu back to the living waters, dropping herself heavily onto a stoop before she settled her nephew in her lap once more.  

“See, that was fun,” She started as she gazed past his head and to the dark waters below. It was much clearer now that filters were running, though no one had ventured deep since Bo-Katan had seen the Mythosaur. If she looked real closely, she thought she could make out a tusk, but she understood the reality of the water’s depth meant she truly did not. Still, having the knowledge that it was down there was a different feeling in itself. 

“Patu,” Grogu agreed as he leaned into her, little clawed hands reaching for the lip of her armor to keep himself up. 

“Tuckered out? Me too,” One of her arms wrapped around him to keep him steady, before she was laying back in the dirt, where Grogu instantly made himself comfortable against her chest. Before long, small little snores filled the cavern, and Bo-Katan was falling asleep shortly after.

* * *

She awoke to the feeling of sharp nails lightly tracing the scar across her forehead. Her eyebrows pulled together and scrunched her nose, forehead wrinkling before her eyes even opened. 

Grogu still sat on her chest, big eyes staring in wonder at the streak of discoloration against her skin. “Nice nap?” Bo grumbled quietly, hands moving to steady Grogu as he nodded and shifted his weight on top of her. 

There was a silent question in the air, one Grogu still lacked the means to articulate, as his finger once again traced against the purplish scar. “Mmm, you want to know about that,” She grumbled, her own hand raising, sliding beneath little clawed fingers to touch the scar herself. 

“I didn’t always wear my armor, not when I was younger. I have many more,” Many more that she would rather tell the story about. Though, unfortunately, Grogu seemed all too intent on this story.

The redhead settled in, exhaling slowly through her mouth. For a moment, she felt as if she could reach out, and draw upon the Mythosaur for the strength she would require. One of the tricks Ahsoka had spoke about once, when she’d explained how she was able to find strength in the worst times. 

“Mandalorians have not always been on the same side, as I’m sure you’ve seen. We’ve spilled a lot of our own blood, through the years...” Her gaze turned to the vast ceilings, watching a droplet of water slide from the sharp tip of a stalagmite. 

“My Ori’vod, my sister, Satine- she was the Duchess during one of these times,” A soft smile pulled at her lips at her memory. “She did everything she could, preached pacifism, peace, safety. There were many who refused to listen, myself included. I wanted to be a Mandalorian, and I allowed that to cloud the importance of my clan, for a very long time.”

“The day I’d left to join The Death Watch, Satine and I had gotten into a fight. I was so… angry,” A frown replaced the smile, as she recalled the fire in her own veins, fueled by the words of a dead man, who’d traded their planet for power in the dar’jetti. 

“I blamed her for the opposition of our people, for the death of our Buir, and for a dozen other things that must not have been important enough to remember. I put it all on her, because I was too… afraid, to look at the truth, to see that the state of the galaxy went beyond what she could control. I refused to see that she was doing the best with what she had, what was expected of her.”

In the recesses of her memory, she could still hear the splintering of wood, echoed voices shouting, glass shattering, her own voice, renouncing Satine as her vod, removing herself from her aliit. 

“My actions are my own, as are the consequences are mine to bear, along with these scars. I did not search for strength from my clan, but from a man who truly did not have mine, or Mandalore’s best interests at heart. We had fought,” It had been explosive, and Bo often blamed Satine’s deeper dive into pacifism on the outcome.

“I never truly was able to beat her, she was.. she is my ori’vod. Taught me most of what I know, too. I just kept pushing, if she hadn’t,” Once again, her fingertip traced the scar. The leathery feel of Grogu’s finger against her cheek, wiping away wetness, brought her attention to tears in her eyes. “Thank you,”

“If she hadn’t defended herself, I may have seriously hurt her,” She would have killed her, of this, Bo-Katan was certain. She had been angry enough, had Pre Vizsla on her shoulder, whispering in her ear that Satine needed to die so Mandalore would not be lost. “So she did what she had to,” 

The knife, she remembered, had come from her own gauntlet, had sliced through her face and dropped her just as fast. The Guard had been fast in their response to the Duchess’s calls. Bo could remember the sight of her blood on Satine’s hands, could still hear herself snarling out insults ‘If this continues, all Mandalorian blood will be on your hands!’, and then the enveloping darkness, before she’d woken up on a transport, exiled away from the Mandalore system with the others who had refused to turn over their armor or warrior ways. Pre had saved her from the transport, had taken her to Concordia, and promised her the place she deserved, at his side.

“I walked away from my clan, that day. I refused to acknowledge it for so long. I was just Bo-Katan. And yet…” A pause, her head turning to the side to catch her helmet, sitting by the pillar with the Living Water’s plaque. “She did not turn me away, when I came back. She accepted me as her sister once more, as readily as I had denounced her,”

Grogu watched with big eyes, his hands eventually coming to rest on Bo-Katan’s cheeks, squishing them together as he stared into her eyes with all the intensity of a child and a Jedi Master alike.

“Family is important, endlessly so. While they do not deserve your love for simply existing, when they are willing to accept you, however you may come, whatever you may have done, we can’t take that for granted,” 

The sounds of a pair of footsteps echoed through the hall, and soon enough, the gold and silver duo appeared under the torchlight of the caverns. 

“Hey, look at that, our aliit,” She whispered, giving Grogu a gentle nudge, before he was using the force to fling himself into his father’s arms.

“Did you two have fun?” Bo questioned as she started to rise, taking The Armorer’s offered hand for assistance once she’d come in range. 

“Oh yes, however, Din Djarin will be returning shortly for assistance with swimming,” The Armorer announced with a shake of her head. Even without being able to see his face, the way Din shifted his weight showed his mild embarrassment. 

“Hey, I’m sure Axe can come learn with you. He dumps enough fuel to get out of the water, but not enough to keep him out of it,” She assured as she patted her hand against his shoulder. 

“Did you two have a good time?” Din parroted as he brushed some dirt and old crumbs from Gorge’s face.

“Oh yes, just leave Xiti out of any questioning. Also, Akaan may have gotten into Paz’s,” Though truly, that was the man’s problem. It was clear that Akaan liked Paz even more than he liked The Armorer, which led to silent fights between lizard and Mandalorian at night.

The Armorer hummed softly, as if there were anything to ponder. Though she had been certain that the two would set something on fire, so otherwise, it seemed like a desirable outcome. 

A gloved thumb swiped at the remaining moisture under Bo-Katan’s eyes, though she batted the worry away with a quiet promise of later. 

The small family made their way back to their quarters in peace, exchanging stories of the days events between each other, with Grogu’s babbling cutting in every so often. They’d parted ways with the Clan of Two outside of Din’s residence on planet, before retiring to their own home.

As the women removed and cleaned their armor of the days grime, The Armorer turned her attentions back to before. “You were crying, before we’d come in,”

Bo deflated with a soft sigh as she picked caked in dirt away from her clan’s sigil. “I don’t always talk about a lot of my scars,” They had moments together, laying in bed late at night where they would pass questions and stories, though there were still many scars that Bo-Katan could not bring herself to speak on. Her forehead was not the only scar she would not speak on, like the white-purple slashes down her back, or the claws across her abdomen, or even the scars clustered tight together on her legs. 

“You have lived a lot of life, in a short time,” The Armorer comforted as she settled her helmet down on its stand and lowered herself on the arm of Bo-Katan’s chair. 

“We all have,” The Mand’alor reminded, fingers tapping against The Armorer’s knee, where she knew the scars from an early knee replacement resided. “I’ve had a lot more second chances than many ever could have,”

“You were chosen,” The woman reminded gently, her brows furrowed as she stared at her Riduur contemplatively, attempting to figure out where she was going. It was no secret that the redhead would often slip into a rut. Not every day was easy, for any of them, but Bo would often doubt her worth in her title, her value as a Mandalorian, and the meaning of her survival. 

“I’ve accepted that, for the most part,” Bo promised with a hand on her knee, steadying her worrying thoughts. “I bare the marks of many of my mistakes, from my family, to my Niteowls, to many other failures, and I should not get to… to hide behind them all,” 

“You are not hiding behind anything,” The Armorer promised, before she moved to raise Bo-Katan’s thigh plate from the floor. “Yes, you have scars, as does your armor,” A gloved finger traced a large dent across the silver streak in black paint. “Not all are bad, many have simply helped to shape you,” She turned the piece around so Bo-Katan could see it. 

“The sparring session, when your hand had first healed, and I first began courting you,” She traced the chipped paint once more, before reaching to grab the plate of armor that covered the back of Bo-Katan’s hand. The metal was reforged and welded together, after having to be sliced away from Bo-Katan’s hand to get it off, to treat the shattered bones beneath. “When Gideon destroyed the Darksaber, and you came to terms that you did not need the weapon to lead our people,”

Bo-Katan followed each movement across her armor, as The Armorer told her story between all the marks that cut across blue and black paint. When the other woman shed her gloves, Bo’s brows had furrowed once more. 

She’d paused at the zipper of Bo-Katan’s flight suit, meeting her gaze, waiting. It took Bo-Katan an embarrassing amount of time before realizing that her hesitance was her searching for permission. “Please, be my guest,” Before warm, calloused fingers were spreading the zippers and her fingertips were brushing against the textured skin of different scars. 

Her hands wandered, until they were moving down the expanse of muscle of Bo’s back, across the old scars that stretched across her skin as she’d grown. “You have given yourself over to slavers for the chance to help your people,” Bo-Katan paused, because truly, only Ursa Wren had ever known that story, had been one of the rookies in Death Watch when Bo-Katan had sacrificed herself to keep the Zygerian’s away from them. She’d only been freed, because Ursa, Alrich, and Axe had gathered a squad with Pre’s minimal consent, to get her back.

The warm tingle that followed The Armorer’s fingers spread to the claws against her abdomen. “You have put yourself in direct harms way to save children, even at your darkest,” Death Watch was far from innocent in slave trafficking, she’d been part of it all… but she’d saved those kids, when the Akul had bore down on the Togrutas. She’d been young herself, fresh in The Death Watch, but she’d acted as a True Mandalorian should have, instead of what Pre would have preferred from her. 

The kids lived long enough for the others to enslave them and sell her off, and she’d been forced to drag herself back to base camp in the deep recesses of Shili alone. There had been two Togruta, who’d helped her, briefly. They did not like her, but in their words, at the time, they’d owed her, for saving their own from one monster (even if she’d turned them over to another, in the end). 

A small squirm from the redhead, as her flight suit was pushed further away. Fingertips brushed across the scar tissue on her thigh. “You have repented in many ways,” Bo’s gaze locked onto Akaan, tired and spent, snoring on the floor just feet away. “Even for events out of your control,” 

“You have lived a life of love, grief, failure and victory, loneliness and companionship. You have lost and learned, have given as good as you’ve gotten. These are not the stories of a woman who has hidden, but of a woman who has proven herself worthy in every aspect. Worthy of love, since the beginning, worthy of companionship, from the beginning, and worthy of leadership, once you learned from it all,”

“I’m going to cry again,” Bo warned in a low grumble, and The Armorer let. A warm, rich laugh pass her lips, as she pressed forward to wrap the redhead in an embrace. 

“You are more than free to, Lady Kryze,”

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” Bo whispered into the thick furs, as the safety of the arms around her allowed more tears to slip out. 

“This is the way,” She returned in kind, fingers brushing through Bo-Katan’s hair. Their clan went beyond the two of them. It went to the Clan of Two, across the stars, to all Mandalorians who’d made mistakes, and grew from them, instead of submerging themselves in the proverbial darkness. 

Translations: Mesh’la - beautiful Riduur -partner Cyar - beloved Kar’ta - beskar heart Dikutt- idiot Ori’Vod- older sibling Dar’Jetti -sith Buir - father/parent Aliit - family Ni kar’tayli gar darassum - “I love you” “I will know you forever “ (lit.) Aliit ori’shya tal’din (Title) - “family is more than blood”

[amoebaforce]

Cat/Mouse

Part 1 of 4 (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

After a string of bold thefts rocks the Edenite art scene, veteran hunter Nadine picks up the bounty of a lifetime. Fifty thousand credits, just to capture the elusive thief and bring her in alive. It should be an easy job... but one look at her mark tells Nadine she might have bitten off more than she can chew. On a space station full of secret dealings, dirty money, and luxurious lies, it seems even the simplest contracts are prone to complication. tags: alcohol use, suggestive themes, short depiction of harassment, sexual tension A/N: In this setting, "Earth" has long been renamed "Terra", and therefore humans are called Terrans. Additionally, I use the terms "female" and "male" instead of "woman" and "man", because they apply cross-species. Enjoy!

Less than an hour in, and this job was already turning out to be a pain in the ass. Literally. Nadine was perched on the edge of a metal barstool that was decidedly too small for her six-foot-one frame. Its rounded edge dug into her tailbone, sending a steady, dull ache down the backs of her legs. Even worse, every time she shifted her weight, the damn thing creaked like an ungreased hinge. Nadine sighed to herself and took a sip of her beer. She should have listened to the lobby receptionist that morning, when he tried to dissuade her from taking this bounty. 

“That’s been posted for three weeks,” he’d said. “Two other hunters already gave up. She’s a runner.”

Nadine had snorted at him then, snatching the page off the corkboard and exchanging it for a thick case file. The target was a semi-notorious art thief — a Diralith female known only by her first name: Ulu’zah. A new player on the Eden black markets, but skilled enough that she’d already caught the notice of the upper echelons of Edenite society. Pilfered paintings, stolen sculptures, even an ancient Terran crown… All of them lifted and replaced with forgeries in the narrow window between appraisal and auction. 

It was impressive stuff, really. Definitely the kind of work that required a team… Hence the stipulation that Ulu’zah had to be brought in alive. Apparently, the cops wanted to take down the whole ring at once, and they needed her to ID her collaborators. It was all the same to Nadine, really, so long as she got hers in the end.

“Hmph,” she’d replied. “Third time’s the charm, ain’t it?”

Now, here she was, crammed in the corner of a dim space station club, ass going numb on a shitty uncushioned stool, wishing she could just finish her cheap bear and go back to her hotel. 

Damn, she thought. I must be getting old.

Nadine glanced around the room for what felt like the thousandth time. In the fifty minutes she’d been sitting in the Starshard Bar, no one had come or gone. At the bar, a pair of Mruunxi travelers sat in the corner seats, while three boisterous Uroki males occupied the middle — mercenaries, judging by the amount of concealed weapons they wore. Neither group had acknowledged her, and that was perfectly fine by Nadine. She was merely one of two dozen Terrans in the room, including the bartender. The rest gathered in booths and around tables, some content to talk and laugh over their drinks, while others danced and fed credits into the song selection machine in the corner. 

By their hand, some new-sounding, synth-heavy song started thumping through the overhead speakers. Nadine’s lips twitched downward. This kind of music always gave her a headache. But what could she do? She wasn’t gonna get up and switch it herself, that’s for damn sure. Places like this always charged an arm and a leg per song. And besides, Nadine was here to work. She had to be on the top of her game. Any minute, that little thief was going to–

The door swung open. Nadine’s eyes sliced toward the sound.

Purple. 

That was the first word that came to Nadine's mind. The female in the entry was entirely purple. And she could only be Ulu’zah — of that, Nadine had no doubt. She’d studied the photo in the dossier all day, memorizing the curve of the Diralith’s cheekbones. She’d poured over the stacked placement of the female’s four eyes and the low bridge of her nose. But that image was grayscale, taken from a malfunctioning security camera. It had utterly failed to capture the breathtaking lilac blush of Ulu’zah’s skin, or the icy blue of her irises, or the rich violet of her hair. 

Not hair, Nadine corrected silently. Sensory organs. 

Dozens of thick tendrils adorned Ulu’zah’s head, arranged just like a pixie haircut, complete with little strands to frame her heart-shaped face. The thief was shorter than Nadine expected — no more than five feet tall — but she held herself with a slick confidence that enlarged her presence. She threw a disinterested gaze around the room as she stepped inside. Nadine avoided eye contact by taking another long sip of her beer. Maybe it was a bad idea to drink on the job, but the jittery unease in her gut told her she’d probably need it. 

The thief’s stride was easy and unrushed as she approached the bar, choosing a seat near the Uroki mercs. She left two empty seats between them — a respectful distance, but not nearly far enough to keep them from noticing her. Like clockwork, the males’ heads lifted one by one. She settled into her seat, undeterred, placing her back toward Nadine. 

The bounty hunter cursed under her breath. Now she couldn’t read the thief’s lips. Was that intentional, or just a coincidence? Had Ulu’zah already clocked her? Nadine leaned forward a little, trying to hear Ulu’zah’s order as she tilted her head at the bartender.

“–and a blue Viro, please,” was all she caught over the bass. 

The thief’s voice was just as pretty as her face… and just as silky as that tight red dress she wore. Its back was cut into a deep V shape, leaving her spine bare. Nadine’s eyes traced the trail of little white spots that decorated her back, following it all all the way to–

Focus, Nadine.

A “blue Viro”. That’s what she said, right? Those didn’t exist — Viro wine only came in red, green, and pink. Nadine knew that well enough from university. It was a code phrase, obviously. The Terran bartender smiled and nodded, then disappeared through a curtained doorway. 

Nadine felt the ghost of a smile pull at her lips. A hunch of hers had just proven true: Ulu’zah did business at the Starshard. She knew there was a pattern to those visits! Now the question was: What about the bartender? Was he just a messenger? A middle-man? Or was he a full-fledged member of whatever group Ulu’zah had aligned herself with? 

Nadine would have to wait to find the answers. For now, she watched Ulu’zah with hawkish eyes, trying to soak in every detail. The thief rested her chin on her hand, legs crossed at the knee, looking quite comfortable as she ignored the giggling males to her left. She traveled light tonight. No partner, no earpiece… not even a clutch to slow her down. She was confident. Capable. Nadine could respect that.

The bartender returned with two drinks in tow. One was a sweet-looking blue concoction in a martini glass, and the other looked like ice water. He placed two napkins under each drink. Strange. Just strange enough. A gut feeling made Nadine’s eyes flicker to Ulu’zah’s hands. The thief curled her delicate fingers around the cocktail’s stem — but sure enough, as she lifted its thin rim to her lips, Ulu’zah’s other hand flashed across the serviettes, then dashed backward again. Nadine couldn’t tell for sure, but she would wager fifty thousand credits that she’d just witnessed a data-drop.

The bounty hunter dipped her chin and exhaled slowly. She’d watch for ten more minutes, she decided, and then it was showtime. But the show began early. No more than four minutes passed before one of the Uroki mercenaries grew bolder. Nadine’s frown turned to a scowl as she watched him toss back the last third of his drink and slide into Ulu’zah’s personal bubble. He was drunk and carefree enough that his voice carried as he said:

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ here all alone?”

Really, man? Nadine thought. That’s the best line you got? 

The bounty hunter sighed to herself and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. Ulu’zah blinked both sets of eyes at the male. Damn, even her profile was stunning. Her features were naturally elegant. Refined, yet soft. She could have been a model — one of those girls you see in perfume advertisements. She could have had a penthouse apartment and a luxury brand ambassadorship. A personal assistant and a little pet in a purse. Instead, she was sitting in a seedy nightclub, doing illicit business and getting hit on by some dumbass merc.

Nadine could have laughed at the cruelty of it all. Ulu’zah’s plush lips parted around an unheard sentence. A rejection, no doubt, because the male’s face twitched.

“Me and my friends just wanna show you a good time,” he told Ulu’zah, still trying to maintain his idea of a suave demeanor. 

Yikes. 

Nadine’s attention sharpened on the male. He was leaning closer, playing oblivious to Ulu’zah’s discomfort. This was going nowhere good. Nadine couldn’t have some puffed-up male scaring away her thief.

“Not interested,” Ulu’zah said firmly, raising her voice to match his volume. “Not in you, and not in any of your meathead friends, either.”

The male’s smile faltered. 

“Does the guy you’re waitin’ for know how much of a bitch you are?” he snapped.

And that was Nadine’s cue. Her stool creaked as she rose to her feet. In five long steps, the hunter closed the distance to her prey. She slid into the space behind Ulu’zah, beer still in hand as she rested one casual elbow on the bar and cast an easy smile at the Uroki. He was only a few inches taller than her, and Nadine savored the way his eyes widened as he gawked.

“Actually, big fella,” Nadine drawled, “she ain’t waitin’ for a guy.”

Ulu’zah cast a soft glance over her shoulder, and for the first time, Nadine made eye contact with her mark. The thief’s gaze was deliberate and even as it roamed across Nadine’s face, taking in her cropped black hair and rich, hazel eyes. Ulu’zah’s straight-mouthed expression opened into a knowing grin.

“What took you so long, baby?” she asked. 

She laid a lilac hand on Nadine’s sleeve. Her nails were cherry-red, and they glittered like jewels against the hunter’s black leather jacket.

“Baby?” the male sputtered.

“You must be havin’ a hard time hearin’,” Nadine said. She took a sip of her beer. “So let me say this loud and clear for ya. Get lost.”

Anger clouded the merc’s yellow irises. “Look here, you d–” 

Suddenly, a slate-gray hand appeared on his shoulder and yanked him backward. One of the male’s more sober friends appeared over his shoulder, an apologetic grimace on his face. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, ladies,” the other Uroki said. “Rico here was just leaving.”

He dug his fingers pointedly into the one named Rico’s flesh, ignoring the arguments already forming on his friend’s tongue. Nadine nodded curtly as Rico was steered away, silently grateful she wasn’t the one who had to remove him. It would have been messy, and it was still too early for that kind of trouble. Ulu’zah sighed, then swiveled back to Nadine. A strange spark glinted through the Diralith’s eyes. Curiosity, or maybe mischief.

“Well, that was awfully nice of you, stranger,” she purred, swirling her blue cocktail in its glass. “Do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress?”

Nadine smirked. “No. I’m just an expert at repelling males, and you looked like you could use the help.”

Ulu’zah giggled and rolled her eyes, exhaling some tension from her shoulders. Perfect. Every inch that her guard dropped was an inch Nadine gained against her. 

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Ulu’zah observed. “You new in town?”

“Just passing through,” Nadine said.

“On holiday?”

“Business trip.”

A brief, tense pause. A moment of mutual measurement. If Ulu’zah knew the truth, her face did not betray it. 

“How interesting,” Ulu’zah hummed. “I was certain you were here for pleasure.”

Nadine allowed herself a low chuckle. Overhead, another pounding bassline began to pour through the speakers. A few Terrans in the corner exclaimed and jumped to their feet, hurrying to the dance floor. Ulu’zah’s fingers tightened around Nadine’s arm.

“You should come dance with me,” Ulu’zah said suddenly.

Nadine arched a brow, swallowing the knee-jerk refusal that threatened to spill out. Nadine didn’t dance. Not for lack of ability, but a lack of desire. She was stared at enough as it was, thanks to her large frame — and flailing herself around would only make it worse. But Nadine was in the thick of the chase, now, and she couldn’t risk letting the thief slip off into the crowd and disappear. She had to play along.

“Sure, baby,” Nadine replied, letting her voice dip flirtatiously. “But go easy on me. I’m a little rusty.”

Ulu’zah laughed, a twinkling sound that reminded Nadine of a silver bell. The hunter set down her beer as the thief led her away from the bar and into the crowd of dancing bodies. The illuminated dance floor flashed blue and pink under Nadine’s boots. Ulu’zah’s glossy lips sparkled under the strobes as she glanced backward. Her body was already moving to the beat. Her hips wagged hypnotically, hands tracing wavy patterns through the air, and she beckoned Nadine closer with a smile. 

Something took hold of her. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was just the look in the little thief’s eyes. Nadine wasn’t sure. The bass seeped up through the floor and into the soles of her feet, and then she was bobbing and swaying in sync with Ulu’zah. Nadine’s blood rushed, her lungs pumped, and a reckless grin crept onto her face. Her mind hazed. Ulu’zah reached forward and found Nadine’s hands. They twined their fingers together, feet drifting toward one another until Nadine could see her own distorted reflection in Ulu’zahs eyes. 

The song machine transitioned into a new number, one with an even-heavier beat and a rhythm that pulsed across Nadine’s skin like water. Ulu’zah pivoted on her heels and eased Nadine’s hands down to her waist. The hunter’s heart skipped a beat as the thief’s bare back arched against her. Their bodies melded together, moving as one. Ulu’zah’s hips ground backward onto Nadine’s thighs, sending a ripple of heat through her body. Nadine’s hands wandered mindlessly. Needily. One traced her spine, connecting each of Ulu’zah’s white patches before grasping the curve of her hip. The other skimmed up her torso to the small swell of her breast, fingers brushing experimentally before taking a handful.

Ulu’zah tilted back her head and flashed Nadine a look that sent her pulse through the roof. Nadine’s hands flexed involuntarily, squeezing a breathy little gasp out of the thief’s mouth. 

Fuck, this is getting out of hand. 

Nadine hurried to loosen her grasp, but as she slipped her palm down the tantalizingly-smooth underside of Ulu’zah’s breast, her fingertips found something hard and out of place. Something small and square, just about the size of a–

A data chip, Nadine thought suddenly. 

The realization snapped her from her trance. Her mind plummeted back to reality. This wasn’t a meet-cute; this was work. Nadine was here to take a criminal into custody. Ulu’zah was here to pick up a link. That was all — everything else was ancillary. Frivolous. 

So why did it feel so good? So right? Why was her body pleading for more, even while her mind reeled and refused? Nadine’s emotions tangled, clanging dissonantly inside her. Her face must have twisted, because Ulu’zah’s brow creased up at her. The thief straightened and turned around.

“You okay?” she called over the music.

The hunter nodded. 

“Loud in here,” she said with a wince. “Wanna step outside, baby?”

Ulu’zah gave Nadine a sympathetic pout and agreed, leading her to the door. Humid station air kissed Nadine’s face as she followed Ulu’zah through the partition. When the latch clicked behind her, silence fell like a woolen veil. The night was quiet and dim, and the simulated sky was full of clouds. Nadine felt her heart thud against her ribs as the calm of the evening permeated her form. All at once, her ears began to ring. She took a long, steadying breath, rubbing her temple with one hand.

“I know how you feel,” Ulu’zah murmured. “I can’t stay very long in these clubs, either.”

Nadine glanced down at the Diralith. She was leaning against the smooth metal wall with her arms folded, but her face was soft.

“Why’s that?” Nadine asked.

Ulu’zah gestured to the violet tendrils curling around her head. “They’re too sensitive. It’s the vibrations.”

"Oh.”

“Yeah, it sucks. I can’t stand more than a couple songs.”

“Then why go to the club in the first place?” Nadine pressed. 

It was a valid question. Sure, a nightclub was as good a choice as anywhere. There were lots of distractions, and most of the bystanders would be too hammered to remember faces. But if the ambiance bothered Ulu’zah so much, why not simply arrange a different location and avoid the problem altogether? 

The thief smiled. “I could ask you the same question, stranger.”

Fair enough. Nadine’s mouth tugged up at the corner. 

“We could stop being strangers, ya know, if we knew each other’s names. You can call me Nadine.”

A brief pause while Ulu’zah tilted her head back and studied the taller female’s face. She had a hell of a poker face, this thief. Nadine knew she was being sized up, but Ulu’zah’s calm, sultry expression never erred. It was as alluring as it was frustrating — and Nadine still couldn’t tell if her cover was blown. Finally, the Diralith snickered.

“I am Ulu,” she said. 

“Oo-loo,” Nadine repeated, as if it was the first time she’d ever considered the syllables. “That’s a pretty name. Means ‘flower’, don’t it?”

Ulu’zah’s quick blink betrayed a bit of surprise. “You know Diralith?”

“Just a few words.”

That wasn’t technically a lie, but most of the words Nadine knew were swears she’d picked up at university. As for the thief’s name… Nadine had simply done her research. 

“I see,” Ulu’zah said, still eyeing her with a tinge of suspicion. “More than the average Terran, still.”

“I ain’t the average Terran, Ulu.” 

Nadine took a step forward, eyes blazing. It was a challenge — an ultimatum. They both knew it. Show me what you are, and I’ll do the same. Show me, show me, show me. Ulu’zah cocked her head.

“I can tell.” 

She loosened her arms in a silent surrender, urging Nadine nearer. The hunter obliged, bracing one arm on the wall over Ulu’zah’s head. The other hand found the thief’s small, pointed chin and tilted it back. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“Oh?” Nadine teased. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Ulu’zah breathed.

“What am I, then?” 

She brushed her thumb along the small female’s lip, relishing the way her eyelids fluttered. Nadine’s heart panged. This was cruel, wasn’t it? Letting herself do these things, feel these things, knowing it was all pretend. A game that would end too soon. Only one of them could win, and it had to be Nadine. Had to. Right?

Ulu’zah smiled. “You’re worse.”

She took a handful of Nadine’s shirt and tugged her downward. Their necks craned; their mouths met. The kiss they shared was languid, yet searing. The heat that coursed through Nadine’s veins was a slow, loathsome torture, whittling away her self-control bit by bit, until her eyelids slipped closed. Ulu’zah hummed and parted her lips, inviting Nadine’s tongue to sweep between them. Her acceptance coaxed a low moan from Ulu’zah’s throat. The way the thief shivered made Nadine’s mind race.

She had to stop this. Had to come clean.

Nadine released Ulu’zah’s chin and slid her palm to the nape of her neck. In one swift tug, she ripped her mouth away and spun Ulu’zah on her feet. She pressed her flat to the outside of the bar, cheek flush to the metal, and wedged one boot between her heels. She was thoroughly pinned. Ulu’zah gasped and wriggled helplessly, fear creeping into her eyes.

“Hey!” she shouted. “What is this?”

“Sorry, baby,” Nadine murmured, mouth hovering above Ulu’zah’s temple, “but we gotta talk business for a second.”

She stiffened. “Who are you? Who sent you here? If you’re a cop, I swear I’ll scream so loud–”

“Not a cop. Bounty hunter. And you’ve got quite the prize on that sweet little head of yours, don’t ya?”

Ulu’zah’s knees wobbled. “Listen! Whatever those pricks are offering, I can double it. Just let me go.”

Nadine snorted.

“Fat chance, sweetheart. I do that, and you’re gone before I can say ‘Geronimo’ — along with that data chip in your dress. And besides, where’s a two-bit thief like you gonna find a hundred thousand credits?” She tutted, letting her words sink in. “No, I have a better idea.”

Ulu’zah squirmed again, testing Nadine’s grip on the back of her neck. It didn’t budge so much as a millimeter. The hunter’s other hand left the wall and snaked around Ulu’zah’s heaving chest. Her calloused fingers dragged between silk and skin, producing an offended gasp as well as a small square of multi-colored metal. 

“How about this?” Nadine proposed. “I’m gonna put this chip into my drive, right here, right now, and I’m gonna copy the packet. Then, I’ll give it back. I’ll let you go. We’ll each do what we have to do.”

“You’re just gonna let me get away with it?” Ulu’zah blurted, too stunned to watch her tongue. Nadine shook her head.

“No. I’m gonna let you try. I’m gonna let you go back to your team and make all your preparations. I’m gonna let you craft your forgery, case the auction house, draft your exit strategies… All of it. And then, when the stage is set, I’ll be waiting in the wings, watching for the perfect moment to send it all crashing to the ground.”

“What’s the point?” Ulu’zah demanded. “Just finish the job now! Cash in and be done with me, asshole!”

She made a point of stomping on Nadine’s foot, but her stiletto proved wholly ineffectual against the tip of a steel-toed boot. Ulu’zah snarled angrily. Her pulse pounded under Nadine’s thumb.

“Tempting,” the hunter said. “But this little chip isn’t gonna give the cops what they need — and neither will you. So I gotta let you work, so I can collect more info.” 

Nadine used her teeth to pull up her sleeve, revealing a thick chrome cuff on her wrist. A few small buttons lined the edges, each with a two-letter abbreviation etched below. She inserted the chip into a tiny slot on the cuff’s underside. A screen blinked to life, and a few inputs later, the processor within zipped to work.

“You’re out of your mind,” Ulu’zah said, almost to herself. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“I’ll find out,” Nadine replied. 

“You’re making a mistake.”

“We’ll see.” Her cuff-drive beeped and spat the chip back out. With two careful fingers, she slipped it back into its hiding place within Ulu’zah’s bodice. “And I reckon I’ll see you soon… Ulu.”

Nadine lifted her hands and took a step back. Ulu’zah whirled around and slunk to the side, chest heaving shallowly as she retreated. All four eyes were glued to Nadine’s face. The hunter expected her to bolt, but instead, she paused.

“Why?” Ulu’zah muttered. 

She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t have to. Nadine exhaled a sigh, letting her shoulder lean into the wall. 

“Because, just for tonight… I think we both deserve to win.”

Ulu’zah’s eyes widened, then darted to the ground. Her hands balled at her sides, and then she was running. The thief stepped wordlessly into the shadows, body melting out of sight. Nadine listened to the click of her heels until it, too, faded away to nothing. She swiped her thumb along her lip and pulled away a smudge of glittering purple lip gloss. Somehow, she knew it was going to stain.

[theblinkserial]

Chapter 1

And there, there overhead, there, there, hung over Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes, There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover, There with vast wings across the cancelled skies, There in the sudden blackness, the black pall Of nothing, nothing, nothing — nothing at all.

-- Archibald MacLeish

Ryan knew the instant he opened his eyes that he was going to be fired.

The curtains covering the windows of his cramped living room no longer glowed with afternoon summer sunlight as they had when he stretched out on the couch for a quick power nap thirty minutes earlier. At least it was supposed to have been thirty minutes earlier, but naps had a funny way of turning into full blown sleep when you forgot to set your alarm.

Three months of unemployment had rewired Ryan’s brain into believing that naps were now a requirement, a necessary half-hour of downtime that kept him functioning through the blank pages of his days. More than that, he had come to see a nap as a vital step in what he considered his “creative process.” Before he would even start to rework another cover letter for another company that would send him another “Thank you for applying, but” email, Ryan would close the curtains to block out as much of the Texas sun as possible and set his alarm for thirty minutes. When the alarm sounded, he would arise a new man, refreshed and full of ideas for how to better present himself to potential employers. On good days he could see the perfect closing line printed out right there in his dream, Times New Roman font hanging in the air even when he opened his eyes.

But then he’d actually landed a job, and things had changed. Getting on at the Honey Grove Herald had been a godsend, make no mistake, but the disruption to his daily naps had been like kicking a bad drug habit. When noon rolled around each day Ryan found he couldn’t think straight, he became irritable, and when he finally dragged himself home at 4 in the evening all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch for a short nap–just a short one, ten minutes, fifteen max–but those evening naps almost always left him feeling worse instead of better. The golden hour of napping came and went each day after lunch while he was stuck staring bleary-eyed at a Word document, his third cup of burnt coffee no stronger than decaf in the face of his withdrawal. It was like his body knew exactly when it was time for his daily fix and, upon being denied its expected and necessary dose, promptly shut down all upstairs operations until it got its way. This lack of productivity in the office meant Ryan took most of his work home every day, where he could have a quick nap (ten minutes, I swear!) and then hammer out a whole article before the sun went down. Was it an efficient way to write an article? No. But it worked, and it had worked for the last three weeks he’d been employed.

Until today.

Ryan leapt up from the couch, his phone and TV remote flying across the room as he threw off his blanket. One of them, he wasn’t sure which, sounded like it exploded from the impact, but he didn’t have time to look. He turned on the corner lamp and straightened the pages fanned out on the coffee table, a lead ball of dread settling in his gut at how much work he had to do before tomorrow. Each sheet of printer paper had a keyword for his assigned article scrawled at the top, leaving him a whole lot of blank space to write out ideas and figure out where the story would lead him. Despite, or maybe because of, the extra hours of couch sleep Ryan had received, he still had no idea how to make this one work. The current assignment was an especially uninspiring writeup of a town council meeting from the day before, one involving tax cuts and spending budgets and a great deal of other lines less interesting than a play-by-play commentary of paint drying, but Ryan recognized it as a necessary rung on the ladder to becoming a real reporter. Everyone had to start somewhere, and even writing about the percentages of Honey Grove’s annual budget allocation was a step up from the handful of opinion pieces he’d written so far.

But oh, how he missed those opinion pieces now.

Ryan flipped open the manila folder containing the meeting’s minutes and began copying over important finance figures onto the appropriate blank page, wondering if it would be better to make a pot of coffee or just go lie down in the street and call it a night. Before he could decide, the passing sound of squealing tires came to him from outside, followed by a loud crash. Ryan looked up and froze, his ears dimly humming in the silence that followed. He waited to hear a car door open or another car pull up, anything to indicate that his assistance wasn’t needed and that he could get back to his article, but for several seconds he heard nothing at all. Then came the blare of a car horn that sounded like it was right outside the window, another long screech that grew louder instead of fading away, and then a metal KTHUNK that Ryan actually felt through the floor.

The lights went out half a second later, as did the A/C, refrigerator, and anything else plugged into a wall.

Ryan blinked, his eyes instinctively widening in an effort to distinguish light from the darkness that invaded his living room. All he managed to find was a thin strip of yellow that stood out like a highlighter mark on the floor beneath the window curtains, shadows drifting through it as people passed in front of headlights outside. Worry shifted to fear as Ryan rose to his feet and carefully approached the front door. What the hell was going on out there? Two accidents and a power outage? He debated whether or not to open his door, his mind filled with the openings of half a dozen zombie movies where scenes exactly like this happened, always just seconds before a horde of infected broke down the doors of everyone stupid enough to poke their heads outside, but he shook the thought away and reached for the door knob. Someone might actually need help out there. And anyway, a car crashing into a power pole was a bit more likely than an undead apocalypse unfolding at his doorstep.

A second thought, this one somewhat more realistic, crossed his mind and again stopped his hand from touching the doorknob. If a car had slammed into his street’s power pole hard enough to kill the power, didn’t that mean power lines were down? The crash had sounded like it was right in front of his house. He pictured sparking wires writhing madly at his doorstep like black snakes, waiting for him to touch the metal doorknob so they could inject their venom into his hand and fry his nervous system. Ryan gritted his teeth and grabbed the handle anyway, not wanting his nap-enhanced imagination to be the reason some poor soul bled to death in their car ten feet away.

There was no electrocution as the door swung inward, no electric serpents dancing at his welcome mat. There also were no zombies, he noted, which was good. The power outage was limited to his house alone, it seemed, as every other window along his street glowed with light from inside. He noted with a bit of inward humor that the zombie movies had gotten it right after all; all down the street people stood silhouetted in the door frames of every single home. If it had been zombies, well, there was no doubt about it. They’d all be dead.

Ryan turned his attention to the more important matter of the night: the three cars that weren’t where they should have been. The first (and arguably the most obvious) car had its front fender jammed a good foot into the wall of his bedroom. Smoke rose up from the crumpled hood where the car had taken out what Ryan guessed was his home’s connection to the powerline. A second and third car sat sideways on the road, fenders dented in what looked like a minor rear end collision. Ryan took in the scene and pieced together what had happened: Car A hits Car B, blocks the road, Car A tries to warn an approaching Car C with a horn blast but is a second too late, Car C swerves and skids into the corner of a house. Ryan’s house, because of all the other homes it could have hit, why would the universe allow any other to lose power? Wasn’t like he was busy or anything.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. The real problem would be getting his landlord to fix the new window his bedroom had suddenly gained.

Something about the crash bothered him, though. No one had been injured, at least not that Ryan could tell, but every face he looked at was turned in the same direction. That would have been expected if they had been turned toward the smoking cars, but not one person was looking at the crash. The people standing at their doors, a man straddling his bicycle on the sidewalk (the dumbass doesn’t even have a headlamp on, Ryan thought), even the people in the cars that had been in the crash, they were all looking in the same direction up over the rooftops. Ryan followed their gaze to a patch of empty night not unlike the rest of the sky above them, dark and rich and brimming with starlight, no full moon casting its haze into the night to spoil what must have been the most beautiful view of the Milky Way he had ever seen. His phone buzzed from inside but he ignored it, too caught up in the wonder of seeing the creamy brushstroke of the galaxy stretched out above him. It was a sight he hadn’t seen since he was a boy staring up from his childhood backyard outside of town, miles away from another porch light. There was also the awestruck, somewhat unsettling silence of the people around him, people who seemed fully hypnotized by the stars and unable to look away. Sure, the stars were bright and beautiful tonight, but that was nothing to wreck a car or two over, was it?

Ryan tore his gaze downward and started to ask a nearby woman what he had missed, if there had maybe been a meteor or fireball that had drawn everyone’s attention skyward, but before he opened his mouth the streetlight across from him hummed to life and cast a weak, orange-tinted glow down onto the sidewalk. As if following some unheard call to action, the next streetlight came on, then the next one, and the next, until the whole street began to glow under the dull red of warming bulbs.

That’s what was different, he thought, looking up as the stars appeared to lose some of their luster to the brightening street. The streetlights were off. Which didn’t make sense, as they were all automated by those little light sensors that detected when it got dark. Sometimes a good summer thunderstorm was enough to trigger them, but they were always on by 8 this time of year, 9 at the latest. Before he had time to consider this further, Ryan again heard the sound of his phone faintly buzzing from inside the house. He took another look at the fading stars before retreating back inside to see who was calling him.

Face down, his phone crawled across the linoleum with each burst of buzzing, but as Ryan reached down for it his hand froze. A floaty haze of unreality settled over him and for just a moment he was almost certain he was about to wake up from a dream. He must have still been on the couch napping safely in the land of logic where swerving cars didn’t target his house and people didn’t all stare silently up at the night sky, because the sound coming from his phone wasn’t his ringtone. It was the annoying, repetitive chirp he heard every single morning at 6AM before waking up for work. The same sound he also heard every afternoon right after his 4:30 nap.

It was his alarm.

Ryan picked up the phone and tapped STOP beneath a box informing him that it was in fact only 5PM, that his thirty minute nap was over now and he could start working on his article. Dazed, he drifted back to the doorway and joined the rest of the street—the rest of the entire Western Hemisphere—in staring up at the place the sun should have been but wasn’t.

[fujupro]

How I Went from Broke to Making $10,000/Month Writing Online — My Blueprint for Success

From Zero to $10,000: The Step-by-Step Process to Starting Your Writing Journey Without the Overwhelm

Introduction

If you had told me three years ago that I'd be making $10,000 a month from writing online, I would have laughed. It seemed impossible. Back then, writing was just a hobby, something I did in my free time. Fast forward to today, and that same hobby is now my primary income stream. Sounds surreal, right? But here's the kicker — it didn’t happen overnight. It took time, persistence, and, most importantly, a shift in my mindset. In this article, I’m going to lay it all out for you: the exact steps I followed, the platforms that propelled my growth, and the mental shifts that turned writing into a full-blown business for me.

Chapter 1: Why Writing Online is the Best Skill to Build Wealth Today

Writing isn’t just putting words on paper — it’s a gateway to unlimited opportunities. In today's digital landscape, writing is one of the most flexible, scalable, and profitable skills. You don’t need a fancy degree, an office, or even an extensive portfolio to begin making money. 

Platforms like Medium, Quora, and LinkedIn have democratized writing, giving everyone access to audiences that used to be unreachable.

What makes writing even more powerful is its versatility. You can write blog posts, create eBooks, develop online courses, or freelance. The opportunities are endless, and the startup costs are practically zero. Writing, at its core, is the foundation of most online businesses. And this is why it stands out as one of the best ways to build wealth today.

Chapter 2: Finding Your Niche — The Key to Standing Out

Let’s face it: writing about everything won’t get you anywhere. To succeed as an online writer, you must niche down — and niche down hard. It’s the secret sauce to gaining traction in a crowded market.

When I first started, I dabbled in various topics — health, productivity, personal finance. My growth was sluggish, to say the least. The turning point? I doubled down on a specific niche: personal finance and entrepreneurship. These were topics I was passionate about, but more importantly, they were areas where people were willing to pay for knowledge.

The trick to finding a profitable niche is simple: combine what you love with what the market demands. Find that sweet spot, and you’ve hit gold.

How to Get Started Without Feeling Overwhelmed

Starting is always the hardest part, right? It feels like climbing a mountain, and the peak seems so far away. But here’s the good news — it doesn’t have to be overwhelming. The secret is breaking it down into bite-sized steps.

Choose your platform: Start on free platforms like Medium or Quora. These come with built-in audiences, so you don’t need to worry about SEO or traffic at the beginning.

Create your first piece of content: Don’t overthink it. It doesn’t need to be perfect. Write something valuable, even if it's rough around the edges.

Consistency is key: Set a simple goal of writing twice a week. Consistency beats perfection every time.

I began by answering questions on Quora, and that small step helped me build confidence while gaining visibility. Remember, it’s about starting — not overthinking.

Chapter 4: Building Consistency — The Habit That Transformed My Writing Career

Consistency was the fuel that powered my growth. I made writing non-negotiable. Whether I felt inspired or not, I wrote. Some days, it was just a few hundred words. Other days, I churned out thousands. But I wrote every single day.

The habit of writing is like a muscle — the more you exercise it, the stronger it gets. Here’s how you can build this life-changing habit:

Start small: Write for 15 minutes a day.

Track your progress: Keep a simple log or journal. Seeing your progress will motivate you to keep going.

Reward yourself: Celebrate your wins, no matter how small. It’s the small victories that lead to big results.

Chapter 5: Monetizing Your Writing — From Pennies to Thousands

I won’t sugarcoat it — my first earnings from writing were laughable. I made just a few cents here and there. But that’s how it starts. Over time, I scaled my earnings, and soon enough, I was making thousands.

Here’s how I diversified my income:

Freelancing: I offered my writing services on platformslike Upwork and Fiverr. Small gigs eventually turned into a solid portfolio.

Affiliate Marketing: As my blog grew, I began promoting products that aligned with my niche and earned commissions on every sale.

Self-Publishing: I wrote eBooks and courses, which became additional income streams.

The key? Diversification. I didn’t rely on one income source. Instead, I created multiple streams that added up over time.

Chapter 6: Leveraging Platforms for Maximum Exposure

Writing alone isn’t enough. You need to put your content in front of the right people. The secret to making real money from writing is exposure. Here’s how I did it:

Quora: Answering questions related to my niche helped me build authority and attract a loyal audience.

Medium: I used Medium’s Partner Program to monetize my articles and reach a broader audience.

LinkedIn: Posting articles and engaging with professionals in my niche opened doors for freelancing gigs and collaborations.

Each platform has its strengths, but the key is learning to use them strategically to grow your audience and boost your credibility.

Chapter 7: Scaling to $10,000/Month — What Really Made the Difference

Hitting my first $1,000 was tough. But getting to $10,000? That took strategy. Here’s what made the difference for me:

Repurposing content: I reused my content across multiple platforms, reaching different audiences without extra effort.

Networking: I built relationships with other writers and influencers in my niche. These connections opened doors to collaborations, guest posts, and speaking opportunities.

Outsourcing: As I grew, I outsourced administrative tasks, giving me more time to focus on writing high-quality content.

Scaling takes time, but every step compounds. It’s about working smarter, not harder.

Chapter 8: Mindset Shifts for Long-Term Writing Success

The hardest part of this journey wasn’t learning to write. It was shifting my mindset from “this is just a hobby” to “this is my business.” Writing for fun and writing for income are two very different things. Here are the mindset shifts that helped me the most:

Think long-term: Writing isn’t a quick fix for wealth. It takes time and effort, but the rewards are worth it.

Embrace failure: Early on, I faced a lot of rejection. But each failure was a steppingstone to success.

Treat it like a business: Time management, consistency, and discipline were crucial in turning my passion into profit.

Conclusion: Your Path to $10,000 a Month Starts Today

My journey from broke to making $10,000 a month wasn’t fast or easy. But it was worth every moment. With the right strategy, mindset, and platforms, anyone can replicate this process. Remember, consistency and persistence are your biggest assets. Start today, and your $10,000/month writing journey is closer than you think.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Do you do poly ships? :0 if not feel free to do these two characters separately lol May I get some hcs of Zhongli and Venti on a picnic date with the reader? Just a quiet day in the sun where the Archons can relax for a moment and watch the world go by :D (if you wanna insert some angst maybe they suddenly realize this moment is fleeting bc reader is mortal and won't be with them forever?? Up to you lol 👀) thank you in advance!!!

I actually don't :D kidding ahahah

What I meant to say was that I haven't wrote anything related to poly relationship before so this a cool, first experience for me! And like the dumbass that I am, I took on this request and butchered the heck outta it. Welcome to "A Day In The Life Loving Two Broke Gods"-

Rendezvous with the Gods

Picnic Scenario with Poly!Venti, Zhongli, and You

Background!

It's pretty WACK how you got two of the seven archons to be interested in you in a romantic level.

But I can imagine that the thing that attracted them the most to you is your sense of humanity. As ex-archons, what they needed now is a sense of normalcy and a grasp on reality, and with your knowledge and presence they've come to realize the ways of the mortals fairly easily.

But like, you got the two oldest archons in existence. Even the Traveler is in disbelief at this turn of events.

I think you somehow ended up in this situation when the two of them had a reunion after their retirement, and the conversation went like this: "Have you heard of the fair maiden, (Y/N)? Their existence greatly reminds me of Celestia!" "I had the honor of meeting them yes, how tantalizing they are, even the slightest sight of them invigorates me through the whole day."

They'd shower you with praises among one another, and you're forced to sneeze for an hour straight somewhere in Teyvat.

Preparation!

*wheeze*

First thing I thought was "How probable is it that Venti drinks Dandelion Wine at 4 in the afternoon?"

The answer is yes.

You three have planned this picnic days ahead, maybe even a week. As all of you have your own work and errands to deal with, probably not Venti tho, a gathering of this magnitude that requires you three to be present for hours are not as common as you'd think.

First order of business: location! The most obvious answer would have been Starsnatch Cliff, Windrise or even Dihua Marsh.

While thinking, Venti and Zhongli ended up sharing a look, and suddenly the location was settled.

No, you don't know where it is, and they tell you that they'll handle it.

You don't have to worry.

You are very worried.

Next, the food! Being in a relationship with two broke Gods made you the alpha in terms of Mora, and on this occasion, you're once again forced to put your foot down and provide.

With that in mind, both of them could only offer a guilty smile and a nervous laugh.

The outcome of your meal depends on your cooking skills really: if you're good or decent, what a heart-warming picnic that would be.

They must have tasted your cooking before so they would ask for requests on your delicious home cooking —

something light that goes with tea, said Zhongli.

something meaty and heavy to pair with wine, said Venti.

It's a wonder how you deal with these two together.

If you're absolutely terrible at cooking, like Suspicious Dish™ rating, you're gonna have to rely on your Mora to get takeout for this date.

Everything else you've pretty much wrapped up quickly, all you have to do now is wait.

Picnic Time!

Venti was the one to pick you up from your housing to guide you to the location, greeting you with a chaste kiss on the cheek before aiming for the picnic basket hanging by your elbow.

You don't let him; he might eat it on the way there honestly

Cute boy is practically shaking with excitement as he hauls you up over a cliff face and carefully nyoom! over the sea

Where is he taking you?

You didn't dwell much longer when you saw a small island in the distance, a rock formation by the edge and most notably, you're tall lover standing next to an elegant patterned brown and gold blanket placed over the sea of flora.

Welcome to Heart Island!

Very cheesy

The Geo archon greets you with a kiss on the hand before being tackled to the ground by a buzzing Venti.

How that was physically possible was beyond you-

You set up and laid down all the food you got for today's picnic: Fresh apples, 'Breakfast' Sandwich, Chicken and Mushroom Skewers!

You've also noticed a picnic basket to the side that wasn't yours. Noticing your stare, Zhongli pulled out his contributions: Mora Meat, a pitcher of Iced Tea, and a bowl of Mushroom Stew.

Out of nowhere, Venti manifests his own offerings to the table: Apples, Dandelion Wine and Mondstadt Hash Browns.

You have no idea how these two managed to prepare or afford such meals but you appreciate it nonetheless.

They had the whole week to save up Mora just for this picnic, how cute aww

The first to take a bite is Venti, defo. You and Zhongli would be prepping the utensils while the Anemo boy sneaks some food into his mouth, even if you smack his hand multiple times, he's not gonna relent.

A lot of catching up happens in this picnic: your wild commissions, Venti's recent performances, Zhongli's uh consultant stuff.

These are the rare moments where Zhongli isn't the one filling up the conversation more, satisfied with hearing the voices of his lovers and listening to their joys or woes.

The whole picnic is accompanied by Venti's lyre, strumming softly, unrelenting, to make sure all of you are enjoying the serenity of the island.

You and Zhongli take turns spoon feeding him cuz he just won't stop PLAYING

Zhongli made the Iced Tea

Zhongli made the Iced Tea

Very refreshing, right amount of sweet, would honestly be a good alternative for Venti's alcoholism

Speaking of, he's tipsy now

He's on a full-blown performance now, serenading and urging you two into a dance after eating "to digest the food faster"

Not really believable but you danced anyways.

Zhongli would decline first as he starts cleaning up

But give him a little more nudge, pull on his hand, he'll crave eventually

Rex Lapis is actually a pretty decent dancer

HAVE YOU SEEN HOW GRACEFUL HE DROP KICKS HIS SPEAR

Such a relaxing day off the three of you deserve

By the time the sun already dipped the horizon and you guys still had time to spare, you and Venti would be dozing off on the blanket while leaving the few remaining clean up to Zhongli. It was a tiring yet enjoyable day that's deserving of a nice and dreamy nap.

"Morax..." He'd hear an uncharacteristically somber voice as he makes his way over to where you both lay. Your back resting on the Anemo archon's chest as he spoons you. His teal eyes stare unmoving at your open palm of which the Geo archon takes into his as he sits down.

Little cuts litter your rough hands, from your adventures, some fresh from today to prepare your dishes. How frail and sensitive mortal hands are.

"I'll miss them, so so much." Venti confessed as his grip around you tightens, free-flowing tears erupt from his eyes that are unfocused, as if he was years away with that thousand yards stare that the other God had familiarized himself with.

For the second time in his whole lifetime, Rex Lapis found himself at a loss for words.

------

"Ohhh, a luxurious chest! What's it doing so far out here?" The Traveler lets the floating companion ramble as they pull the chest open, excited for the new artifacts they'll come by.

A teal goblet with gold accents worn out through the years from disuse as parts of its paint are chipped off as gray splotches, laid perfectly in the middle of a brown wool blanket with intricate gold and silver geometric patterns. On each side lays an Anemoculus and Geoculus, softly glowing yet dimming in pulses.

They pick it up with utmost care for safe-keeping, to ask for their archon friends in the future. Who knows, it might be the closure they needed.

This took some time and a lot of pondering wow! This is even more chaotic than the Albedo one ahahah I've made myself sad just thinking about this— anyways thank you so much for requesting and your lovely support! Please let our archon bbs be happy ywy

[petri808]

Quarantine memories fic hoarding craze for @thenaluarchive

— thank you to @phoenix-before-the-flame for helping jump start this fic 💜

It was Natsu Dragneel’s absolute favorite time of the day. 1 pm for him, and 8 am for Lucy, his… well, right now they were just online friends separated by distance and priorities. But judging by how he talked about her to friends, you’d never know it. They’d met three years ago on Twitch through a random chat stream about an anime series, and he continued following Lucy on her writing streams. Three years ago, she was a sophomore in college while he was in his senior year. Lucy later moved on to a graduate program, but they stayed in touch, growing close. To Natsu, she wasn’t just some girl online but a real friend he cared very much about. His friends called Lucy his online girlfriend. Pfft. He wished he could call her that.

Roughly two thousand miles away, Lucy Heartfilia was hating life. Her curtains were drawn, and a blanket was pulled over her head to drown out the light. The air conditioner was down to 60 degrees Fahrenheit, working against the low-grade fever and pounding migraine born yesterday. Migraines… the bane of her otherwise healthy existence. It was her fault after all, the temptation of a chocolate dessert knowing full well it was one of her triggers brought on said migraine and all she could do was bear it.

Why?

“Stupid hoarders!” Lucy groaned to herself.

As if dealing with a pandemic wasn’t bad enough, people’s selfish reactions to it were worse. A government agency had claimed that acetaminophen products could help with the virus’s symptoms, so what did people do? Panic buying anything and everything they could find containing that drug! The problem for people like Lucy, is the one over the counter medication that helped with her migraines was Excedrine… an acetaminophen product! And she’d just. run. out.

Lucy’s phone rang and she knew exactly who it could be based on the time. So, she clicked the answer button without opening her eyes.

“Hey, Natsu,” she groaned out.

“Morning Lucy! Oh geez, you sound like a frog.”

“Thanks,” she retorted sarcastically. “I’ve got a migraine.”

“Ouch.” Natsu genuinely flinched. He rarely got headaches, but this wasn’t the first time he’d talked to Lucy when she was going through one, so he knew what she was going through. “The meds aren’t helping?”

Lucy sighed. “I ran out. And did you see the news about all the hoarding? Every store here is bought out. It… sucks.”

“I could check around here and send you any I find,” he offered.

“Aww, that’s sweet of you Natsu, but I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“Pfft. Nonsense. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

“Thanks, Natsu. I appreciate it.” Lucy smiled through the pain. There’s a good reason her feelings for the man had grown over the years. His sweet and caring, yet fun and goofy, positive personality was an easy drug to get hooked to.

“Anyway, I gotta get back to work.” Natsu whined. “Good morning again, stay hydrated, and I’ll check on you again when I’m finished for the day, okay Lucy? Get some rest.”

“Have a good day at work Natsu.”

“Will now, after hearing your voice. Talk to you later Luce.”

She giggled softly. “Bye, Natsu.”

Lucy shifted under her blanket as she clicked off the phone to lie on her back. His sexy voice did wonders for her mood despite the pain still ravaging it. Now all she had to do was drag herself out of bed to eat something and drink water. She never had an appetite when she got these migraines, but it was a necessary fuel to fight it. All Lucy had left were extra strength Tylenol, so she could only hope it would at least take the edge off until the migraine ran its course.

Like so many others, this pandemic had really taken a toll on Lucy’s psyche. It’s not as if she went out a lot before it took hold, but just the fact it made going out dangerous brought different emotions to the situation. School had moved online which sucked all its own, she missed casually hanging out with friends on campus, and simply longed for the freedom of leaving her apartment as she pleased. But she understood the precautions of a quarantine. Frankly, she agreed with the city’s efforts to keep them as safe as possible no matter how many grumbled about it. Did it make it easier? No. But it was a necessary evil.

They weren’t completely trapped, could shop for necessities, visit family or friends, just encouraged to limit such gatherings as a safety precaution. If you went out, wear a mask, and just don’t stand too close to other people. Well, unless Lucy knew the person, why would she want strangers in her personal bubble anyway? And the mask thing? Have you ever been out shopping, and someone just sneezes without covering their mouth? Yeah— seriously, would it kill people to use one?! Why were people so selfish during times like this? Not everyone, but too many. Just like with all the hoarding frenzies that swept through cities, it was frustrating and— “Ugh…” being in a pain-driven bad mood was sure bringing her down today.

But despite all the external frustrations, the feelings of isolation from being in a quarantine for months were probably the most mentally exhausting part. It was lonely being so far away from home during a pandemic. Lucy’s been in college for five years and while she’s made friends in the new city, she was starting to crave comfort instead of an empty apartment. Her life online was one of the few things that made her happy, like Natsu’s daily calls, and kept her sane.

Natsu… her face heated up every time she thought about the man. They didn’t have a lot of hobbies in common, but he was always so supportive and made her laugh like no other could. Where they lacked in commonality, was made up in ease of conversation. It hadn’t taken very long for their online chats to feel more like an old friend and less like a faceless stranger. Over the years they’d talked about meeting in person one day after she finished school. It also helped that he was from a city not too far from where she came from, so if she chose to move back it would be convenient. But she also loved the new city she called home. Oh well, Lucy sighed. It was a decision still a couple of years away to make.

The next morning, Lucy woke up to find her migraine had finally given up. She could still feel the little bastard hiding, simmering somewhere ready to strike, but if it stayed mellow, it was something she could tolerate. Throughout the day, Lucy wasted no time in catching up on the homework she couldn’t finish the day before and making sure to stay hydrated with food in her stomach.

Lucy’s phone rang around 2pm.

“Hi Natsu, how was work?”

“Same ole, same ole,” he chuckled. “And how are you? Still feeling, okay?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t come back.”

“That’s great!”

Lucy could hear a lot of background noise, so she asked about it. “Oh, you’re not home yet?”

“Nah, and the commuters are being extra noisy today,” he responded benignly. “Anyway, tonight I won’t have time to talk cause I got a project due for work I need to finish.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Yeah, I’m still catching up from yesterday too and Levy’s dropping by for dinner.”

They chat for a few minutes about their day as Natsu waited for transportation. Lucy knew he used the subway to and from work, but today it sounded a little different, noisier and she swore there were engines instead of the normal train sounds. Maybe it was static. Finally, Lucy caught the muffled words now boarding.

“Shucks, time for me to go,” Natsu cut through. “Sweet dreams Lucy! I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Natsu!”

Lucy spent the afternoon relaxing online, chatting with friends and gaming. Her friend Levy McGarden later dropped by with take-out food for dinner and the two women caught up on random topics while movies droned on the television. They were both in grad school, so during the semester there wasn’t a lot of time to hang out, but they made do. Lucy was also doing a paid internship at a local magazine 4 days out of the week as part of her master’s program. She really enjoyed working there under one of the senior editors. He made it a fun learning experience.

Life was almost perfect except for the background isolation of the pandemic. Lucy was glad she wasn’t one of the individuals affected by jobs cuts, but it still got under her skin to feel trapped in a way. It was nice with her friend over... ‘Maybe I should see if Levy wants to become roommates?’ She wondered as she drifted off to sleep. The apartment would sure feel a lot less empty.

A knock at the door roused Lucy from her sleep. She blinked and yawned, looking at the alarm clock and that said 9 am the next morning. ‘Natsu didn’t call,’ she thought how odd. Maybe he slept in after working late.

Lucy dragged herself out of bed, throwing on a robe to answer the front door. “Gimme a sec,” she called out as she neared it.

“UPS delivery, ma’am.” The male voice responded.

‘UPS?’ Lucy grew confused. She didn’t remember ordering anything through them, but maybe she’d forgotten?

She peaked out of the peep hole, but all she could see was the box being held up. Okay a little weird, but some of the delivery people did that to show they were legitimate service people. Lucy slowly opened the door but kept the chain lock on while peering through the gap. But what she saw next brought on instant tears.

“H-How?” Her voice stammered out as her fingers quickly undid the lock and opened the door wide.

There Natsu stood holding a small brown box, dressed in a uniform of sorts, with a mask hanging under his chin, and wearing a goofy grin.

Lucy snorted a laugh as her eyes crinkled in happiness. “Is that a Halloween costume?”

“Yeah,” his smile widened, and hand scratched his head. “Surprise delivery,” Natsu held out the box, “for Lucy Heartfilia.”

“What is it?” She asked as she took it from him.

“Oh, I um found you Excedrine.”

Lucy opened the box to find 4 bottles. “You certainly did,” she laughed. “But why’d you bring it yourself?”

“It was quicker than the mail and… I hoped…” Natsu’s mannerism grew sheepish and tentative, “it was about time we finally met in person?”

Her face softened with a smile. “It truly is.” Lucy gestured into the apartment. “Please, make yourself at home.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[americasmarauders]

Hey Luiza!! Ok so I don’t know if this is too big of an ask BUT would you maybe consider, if you’re comfortable with it, writing up (from prompt list 1) #24 that leads into #11 with Tim Drake?

author's note: has this been sitting in my ask box for, what, 4 months? yes it has. I'm deeply sorry for that, love, but suddenly life got in that way, and I found myself unmotivated and uninspired. But now, hopefully, I'll have a couple of weeks of peace and I managed to complete this request. I hope you don't mind, but I put my own spin on the prompts, slightly altering them. Hopefuly it's up to par with what you expected. I re-worked an old draft of mine, one that was supposed to be a royal!au based on Love Story by Taylor Swift, to fit the prompts. It's still a royal!au and it still has some colors of Taylor Swift, nevertheless I hope you like it.

prompts: #24: banter in which one of them’s like… “i love you” and the other person’s like “ok” and the first one’s like “say it back” and the other one’s just like “no 😝” and the first one gets frustrated because “why wouldn’t you say it back we always say i love you before we leave”

#11: when one of them is hurt by the antagonist… and their lover goes… absolutely ballistic and does everything in their power to get to the person they love, to the point in which the antagonist and it’s crew have to physically restrain them… and it still doesn’t stop them… they just keep kicking… doesn’t matter what happens to them… doesn’t matter if they get beaten in the process… as long as their lover is safe… words: 3,982

masterlist

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#

#

She leaned to the railing of the balcony, summer air gently brushing on her skirt and her skin, a small smile playing at her lips. Her hands fidgeted nervously as she waited for her love to encounter her in that abandoned corner of her family’s palace.

A sigh escaped her lips as she attentively listened to the noises around her. The rumble of the party could still be heard, even if faintly. There were barely any rounds in that part of the castle, especially with the big ball her father had decided to throw. She had millimetrically chosen that balcony: something far enough from the ballroom, so they wouldn’t be bothered, but not too far in case they got caught. She could see the moon clearly from where she stood, its light illuminating the fountain down below beautifully. She thought about how his eyes would be beautiful under the Moon’s light and her heart fluttered.

She had been warned about the Waynes, mostly by her adoptive Father, who wasn’t exactly a fan of Bruce Wayne, King of Gotham. Their relationship was civil, but it wasn’t safe from animosities, many that had happened in their past, when both were still young princes trying to get their bearings of their upcoming roles. A war was brewing back then, a war that had not ended as of yet, and she remembered her Father telling her how palpable the tension in the air was, how exasperated his mentor was that he was as prepared to be a king both militarily and educationally. She only imagined King Bruce’s mentor felt the same.

Unfortunately, the antipathy extended to the plethora of adopted children King Bruce had. Her father always spoke of them with a corner of disdain, his lips twisting into a frown. He had to have contact with them, the trades of their kingdom depended on Gotham a whole lot, but he had shielded his children from the Wayne kids. When she was smaller, when she had just arrived in the castle fresh from the streets, she had believed every word from her Father. She had stayed away from them, actively avoiding them when she saw a pair of raven hair and bright eyes looking in her direction. When she grew up, she stopped thinking about dodging their attention so attentively, but still stayed out of their way, not wanting to get on her Father’s bad side.

The way she saw it, she didn’t exactly mess with the Waynes, in fact it was the other way around. Tim had stumbled onto her life, and he had been quite persistent, in spite of her trying to be cold towards him. He knew she really couldn’t resist him somehow, he always knew more than he ever let on, he saw the way she smiled when he’d pass through her on a stupid ball his Father threw for whatever reason. She pretended to not see him, to not feel his smile etched into her brain forever.

Tim managed to crawl his way to her heart and now she couldn’t imagine a life without his clever remarks and easy going smile. She remembered vividly when they danced for the first time. He had asked her, the first time he’d even whispered anything to her. It was like every eye was on her while she was hesitating to grab his hand. Her eyes flickered to his face, his smile faltered for a second. She remembered feeling her heart tightening at his deflation, and grabbed his hand immediately after.

His grip tightened on her hand, his smile firm and reassuring. She felt herself tense when they finally arrived on the dance floor, his other hand respectfully laying on her back. He whispered to her gently, begging to not let her eyes drift away from his. She listened to him, her heart beating fast, a mix of anxiety and something else, something better and new. He made snide comments about the people present at the Wayne ball, making laughter bubble underneath her skin. He had vanquished her nerves with a smile and bright eyes.

Hands slipped on her middle, hugging from behind. Tim’s scent flooded her, a smile blooming on her face. She moved to turn in his arms to face him, his hands allowing her movement. He was classically handsome, his blue eyes accentuated by the moonlight, sending butterflies to her entire being. His smile floored her, her hands finding his face, caressing lightly his cheeks.

“No one saw you?” she whispered, her forehead leaning on his, her breath mingling with his.

“No,” he shook his head, his forehead grazing on hers. His hands cradled her face, his eyes closed. “You look breathtaking tonight,” his voice was steady and precise.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she smirked, her hands falling to his shoulders delicately. Her eyes were filled with an inexplicable love, something that consumed her wholly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” his lips ghosted over hers, tempting her to close the tiny gap between them. She chased the smile growing on her lips, closing the space between them and interlocking their lips. Tim had promptly responded to her kiss with a gentleness only he was capable of, kindness that made something inside her explode.

She rested her forehead on his, looking deep into his moonlit eyes with an adoration that couldn’t be contained by the vessel of her body anymore. Her heart felt calm again, next to him it was like every cell of her body was finally settling into some level of tranquility. The sinking hole she felt when he was miles away back in his kingdom was rapidly filled when he smiled at her and rested his hand on her cheek. The world was filled with screaming colors once again.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” he confessed, his voice barely over a whisper, his hands cradling her face carefully.

“I know, Tim,” the whisper fled from her lips, “I feel the same, but we have to, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” a sigh escaped his lips, defeated and resigned. He took a step back, putting space between them. She immediately felt his absence, a coldness settling inside her. His elbows rested brutally on the railing of the balcony, his knuckles as tense as his jaw. She felt it in her bones that something was deeply wrong with him, something inside him had shifted. “We could run, you know?” he suggested, his eyes finding hers once again, full of hope. “I have a safe house far away, Kon helps me keep it. We could settle down there, live a calm life.”

“Where’s this coming from, Timmy?” she whispered, her eyes closed imagining the life Tim had laid out for her.

“I’m so tired, love,” his head shook from side to side, “I'm so tired of fighting, of briefing meetings and seeing innocents die. I don’t know if I can’t take it anymore.”

“I know,” her hands rested on top of his, “but, Tim, we can’t. We can’t leave everyone behind, this is bigger than us.”

“Why not?” his voice grew with a strong tone of anger. “I just want one thing, Y/N, one thing. I want to be able to love you, without all this weight on my back that I’ve been carrying ever since my parents handed me to Bruce when I was 12. I’m exhausted all the time, I miss you like I’m missing my own heart all the time. I can’t take this anymore.”

“Tim...” she started, her voice soft and understanding, but he quickly interrupted her.

“Marry me,” he turned to her abruptly, grabbing her hands tightly. Her mouth was agape, her heart beating out of her chest. “We can get married quietly at dawn, and then we’ll live at my safe house, we’ll make it a home.”

Her eyes flew crazily over his face, looking for any hint that he was playing a prank on her, pulling purposefully on the strings of her heart. His face didn’t betray any signs of any lies, her mouth got dry and her hands started to sweat. Her brain ran a thousand different scenarios, trying to grasp onto some hope that maybe what Tim had suggested to her might work. She found none.

She shook her head, her throat tightening up. “We can’t,” she whispered, her hands slipping from his. “It wouldn’t work, Timmy. We would be hunted down, we wouldn’t have peace at all. We’d have to live a life constantly running from our past.”

“So we’d do it,” he went to grab her hands again, but she didn’t let him, his hands grasping into summer air. “I can find other houses across the continent, I can make sure we are not found.”

Tears escaped her eyes, betraying her feelings to Tim. She shook her head, her arms crossing over her stomach. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t.”

“Hey,” his fingers lifted her chin, making her look at him, “penny for your thoughts?”

She couldn’t handle being touched by Tim, his touch poisoned her thoughts. If he touched her, she’d make a decision she’d regret, and she wouldn’t have that. “I can’t do it, Tim, I can’t leave everything behind.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” he started, “but we’ll make it.”

“You’re not understanding,” her voice showed the bubbling anger and fear inside her, “I can’t abandon everything like you’re suggesting, Tim. I can’t leave all those people who depend on me, all those families that expect me to show up and give them some comfort,” she sniffed, brushing off a couple of tears running on her cheeks. “If I leave, Tim, I’d be miserable.”

He took a step back at the brutality of her words. “You’d have me,” he whispered, “I’ll love you until the end of my days, I’d never let you be miserable.”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” she replied, her knuckles tight. “I love you, Tim, with everything in me, more than the number of stars in the Universe, but it wouldn’t be enough to cover the guilt I’d feel.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, his hands gripping the railings angrily. “I’m leaving to battle tomorrow,” he stated, his voice steady and impassive.

“I know,” a mutter left her lips.

“This is your last chance before I go,” he turned to her briskly, “please, run away with me.”

“No,” she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

Tim huffed and left, his footsteps heavy and angry. But it wasn’t that that had broken her heart. They always said ‘I love you’ when they had to say goodbye.

Tim hadn’t said ‘I love you’.

#

#

Out of everything Tim was expecting from his day -- to dying on the battlefield, to ending a war, the list was practically endless -- he hadn’t expected receiving the letter that was in his hands.

He didn’t even know Roy knew about them. He must have guessed, though, she told everything to Roy, she loved him deeply, a love he sometimes wished resembled the love he shared with his own brothers. But things in the Wayne household were different, more secretive and cold. Sometimes, Tim thought back on how different his life would have turned out if his parents hadn’t dropped him off at Wayne Manor to run. Maybe, he would have followed in his father’s footsteps and became a fine swordsmith, maybe worthy enough to work for the Wayne family like his father before him. Maybe, it would have happened what his parents feared the most: they would have run out of business, losing every penny they owned and living in poverty for the rest of their existence.

Tim was ultimately glad his parents had made that tough decision, he wouldn’t be a Prince if they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met his soulmate if they hadn’t.

Her. He had royally screwed up with her, he shouldn’t have pushed her too far, he knew where she stood on the subject. But he felt his impatience grow inside of him, his frustrations got the better of him and soon he was blinded only by his undying love for her and the anger he felt at the world for failing him once again.

Tim hadn’t said ‘I love you’ to her when he left. It was that realisation that pained in his chest even now, as Jason handed him a foreign letter from Roy, her brother. It was that regret that flooded him when he read the rushed words scratched on paper, his heart picking up a beat as his eyes processed the fatalistic words presented to him.

He stood up briskly from his seat, ignoring Dick rambling about the strategy they were supposed to adopt to overturn their enemy. He heard some complaints, Bruce calling after him asking where he was going. Tim ignored, only capable of focusing on the letter and his last conversation with her, the things he did not say to her and the regret he felt on the things that had been said.

Tim didn’t have anything on him other than his sword and that cursed piece of paper, but he still made his way to the stables, overlooking the weird stares he received on the way. His horse was softly munching on some hay, unaware of the ride she was about to be put on. The letter found its way to Tim’s pocket hastily, as he put on his saddle on his mare, his jaw tight with emotion.

“So that’s it?” Tim heard, closing his eyes at the voice. “You’re just gonna march to Star City, because Roy sent you a letter?”

“It’s not that, Jason,” Tim muttered, hyper-focused on securing the saddle on his horse.

“I wish I could make you do shit that easily, I would’ve made you do my field notes ages ago,” Jason liked teasing his brother, Tim guessed it was because it was easy to get a reaction out of him.

“It’s not that,” he gritted through his clenched teeth, aggressively releasing the lock of the saddle. His mare complained at the gesture. Even her found a way to scold Tim.

“Then what is it? What’s more important in Star City than here, with your army, fighting for our people?” Jason cleared, watching the anger rise in Tim’s expression quickly and overwhelmingly.

Tim shook his head, not allowing his brother to have the satisfaction of gaining a reaction out of him. He promptly got up on his horse, gently guiding her towards the exit. Jason got in front of his horse, stopping the motion completely. “Get out of the way, Jason,” Tim’s voice was low and menacingly, “I won’t warn you a second time.”

“You don’t scare me, Timothy,” Jason scoffed at his brother’s attempt of intimidation. “Get over yourself, baby bird, you can’t scare me. Now, tell me, why such a rush?”

Tim’s eyes hovered on his brother’s face, looking down at him. The letter was fished out of his pocket and tossed to Jason. His brother caught it, and hastily read its contents. “So? If they needed help containing these rebels they wouldn’t have sent you a letter,” Jason argued, his hands motioning to his brother.

“Jason,” Tim softly said, “read it again.”

His brother looked at him weirdly and did as he said. His eyes moved more slowly now, taking in the words that had ripped Tim’s heart out of his chest. “Oh,” Jason muttered, looking up at his brother once again, “oh.”

“Get out of the way, please,” Tim begged, his voice breaking.

“What are you gonna do when you get there?” Jason asked, confused at his brother’s reaction. “It’s not like you have any medical expertise, Tim, you’re not going to be able to help her.”

“I don’t know, Jason, I just have to be there,” he responded, briskly. His voice was full of contained emotion, like if Tim mad one false step everything would overflow and he would inevitably break. “I can’t lose her, I just can’t.”

Jason sighed, one of his hands resting on the holster of his sword the other on his waist. It was like he was thinking everything through, analysing thousands of scenarios Tim couldn’t even fathom. Jason was the brother everyone underestimated. He was exceptionally strong and big, he had a knack for violence no other Wayne boy had, but he was an incredible strategist, maybe the best out of all of them.

He stepped out of the way not before saying “I’ll cover for you, but I can’t promise they won’t find out.”

With that Tim ran off, the wind whipping angrily at his hair, reflective of the storm inside himself.

#

#

Tim dismounted from his horse just outside the gates of her family’s castle. The guards looked at him suspiciously, as he strode proudly toward the gate that separated him and her. He eyed the guards with an austerity he reserved for a few occasions, he never liked making people feel inferior, but his morals were askew in light of the news weighing down his chest.

“I demand to be let in,” he ordered, his voice stern and tight.

The guard in front of him raised an eyebrow, appalled by Tim’s audacity. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Prince Tim, of Gotham, and I will get in the castle, so please move,” he gathered all the authority he could muster inside him, and spoke as if he was the monarch of that kingdom.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you do not have authority here,” the guard shook his head, his hand sliding to his sword slowly. Tim took that as a sign of hostility, trying in a peacock kind of way to show he was the one with the upper hand in the situation.

Tim scoffed at the pathetic demonstration, jumping at the throat of the guard and slamming him to the wall behind him. “Listen here, I have been riding for the past 5 hours, I have not stopped once and, at this point, I’m fuelled by spite and anger,” his voice was low and threatening, and he could see fear rise in the guard’s eyes. He couldn’t scare Jason, but he could scare other people. “I’m not going to be stopped by some mid-level pathetic guard,” it was weird saying insulting things to other people. Tim rarely bad-mouthed, but at that moment it felt liberating.

“Tim,” he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, “release the guard.”

Tim looked over his shoulder, Roy standing there with a calm expression, something that contradicted the feeling in his eyes. Tim shoved the guard out of his hands, dropping them violently to his sides. Roy ordered a guard to take care of Tim’s mare, gently leading Tim inside the castle’s grounds.

“She’s been asking for you,” Roy stated, his voice elusive and calm. “No one understands why, but I do.”

“How is she?” the words that Tim was afraid of saying slipped past his lips. Asking how she was made everything that had happened to her, something he had just found out, incredibly real.

“Considering that she spent the past few days being held hostage, considerably well,” Roy conceded, rubbing his hands behind his back. “A bit bruised and shaken up. But, as far as I know, well.”

“Good,” Tim swallowed the lump inside his throat, relieved to hear what Roy had said. They walked down a straight hallway, something he guessed took them from the main gates to near where she was staying.

“She told me what happened between you,” Roy manifested, filling the awkward silence growing. “She’s been beating herself up for it.”

“It’s my fault,” Tim shook his head, “I shouldn’t have said anything, I already knew her answer, it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t, trust me, if I was in the same position as you, I would’ve probably done the same,” he shrugged, turning a sharp left, “probably worse.”

Tim laughed, humourlessly, at Roy’s comment. “Listen, kid, I get it, truly. But with this,” Roy waved his hands around, “sometimes, you gotta play the long game.”

“I hate the long game,” Tim muttered, like a little kid.

“No one said it was going to be easy,” Roy scolded him, like his brother would have done. “But if you truly love her, like you say you do, then play your cards right.”

They stopped, in front of a dirty pink door, Roy’s hands gripped the handle, a small smirk on his face. Tim straightened his posture, shedding the young brother façade he unwillingly slipped on and reverting to the young Prince ways. He took a deep breath, shuffling to organize his emotions inside his brain. Roy opened the door and pushed Tim inside the room, rapidly closing the door back up.

He had never been to her room, even of all those years of courting secretly, sneaking into dark hallways, and kissing under the moonlight. Her room had always felt off bounds to him, even if it had never been expressed as such. He slowly walked into the room further, watching how every corner had her imprint in it.

She was sitting by the window, the curtains opened, a soft summer breeze gently moving her hair out of her eyes. She only wore a simple gown, almost a nightgown, making Tim feel incredibly overdressed. There were bruises littered over her arms and neck, and he felt a mixture of anger and guilt bubble underneath his skin. He struggled to contain it, hoping the people that had done that to her were already six feet underneath the ground.

Her gaze flipped to him, and his stomach somersaulted inside him. She opened a shy smile, waving timidly for him to approach her. He walked calmly towards her, his hands behind his back fidgeting nervously. She got up from her seat, and stood waiting patiently for him.

“Hi,” he whispered, in front of her. His hands itched to touch her, bring her closer and cradle her as if she was the most precious and delicate thing in the world. To him, she was.

“Hi,” she looked down at the ground, her feet bare. “I’m so--”

“No,” he interrupted her, “don’t. I’m the one who should be sorry, I’m the one to blame.”

“Tim, you didn’t do anything.”

“I did everything,” he admitted, “I didn’t say ‘I love you’,” tears sprung to his eyes, ones that he had been trying to keep at bay for a long time. “I left and suddenly you were in danger and I wasn’t there to help you. All because I was stupidly proud and bitter and I--”

“Stop,” her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing carefully on his cheekbones. “It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known. I certainly didn’t.”

“I should have…”

“No, Timmy, you’re just a man,” she took a step closer, her body hovering next to him warmly. It was like the ice that had settled on him instantly melted when she stepped next to him, “one that I love very much. But I made mistakes that night, and so did you. And it’s okay.”

He breathed right for the first time in days. The guilt he had been carrying like a cross on his back felt lighter, almost nonexistent. A smile made way to his face, albeit a timid one, and he grabbed her hands, the warmth she irradiated seeping into him. “I missed you.”

She smiled at him, a smile no longer free of hurt, but full of more meaning than before. “There was a question you asked that night,” she whispered, her breath mingling with his, “one I didn’t answer.”

“There was?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her nose brushing on his delicately. “Ask it again.”

“Are you sure?” Tim looked into her eyes, looking for a sign of uncertainty or regret.

“Just ask it.”

“Will you marry me?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers.

“Yes.”

#

#

[subbing-for-clones]

The Alpha and The Omega Part 4

Alpha Maul x Omega Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Cursing, Mentions of death (bounty hunting), mentions of drinking to be done in the next chapter, reluctant pining

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        Maul had stayed in the cockpit much longer than it was necessary, allowing autopilot to guide the Wolf through hyperspace. He was silently obsessing why you had felt the need to call another hunter; another Alpha. He couldn’t explain to himself or anyone else who would be stupid enough to ask why this upset him so much. He remembered what Zeni and Coth had said; Bane got you into the guild and the both of you had traveled around together for a bit over a year, long after your membership had been established with the house. He had been told that you were unmated but he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering if a close comradery was all you had shared with the Duro. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

    He eventually left the cockpit when he smelled something in your pheromones change, not being able to place it exactly, he ventured out. When he found you, he almost smirked at the sight before him. One he hadn’t ever seen before. The mighty lone Omega had buried herself completely in his sofa bed under the blanket she had lent him. Every few seconds her hand would dart out to snatch a piece of jerky from a plate on the nearby table and pull it under the blanket.  

    He slowly approached; mind set on taking some of the food for himself but he stopped in his tracks when a low growl rumbled out from the mess of fabric. He took a step back until it subsided. Warily he took another step forward and outstretched his hand earning a second growl that he was sure humans wouldn’t normally be able to make.

    He had become familiar with some of the cultural dynamics of the cross subspecies but as for the specific habits and instincts, he was uneducated to say the least. Equally confused as he was humored, he took another step back, gauging the perimeter around you that you suddenly required. He finally decided what the smell you were giving off was; aggression. But not outwardly so, a defensive aggression. One that said back the fuck up, so he did; not without poking the proverbial bear though.

“I understand that this is your ship, and everything in it belongs to you. However,” he watched as you peered out from your wrap, “we have six hours before we reach Hoth and I would like to rest.” He didn’t really need to. He had and could again go, days without sleep. However, he was not one to avoid getting under someone’s skin when the opportunity presented itself.

    You eyed him carefully with your eyes narrowed. Finally, ‘the bitch’ gave up for a moment so that you could understand his reasoning. With a huff, you stood with his blanket still wrapped around you and grumbled nonsense under your breath until you reached the door to your room. You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to catch his confused gaze before you turned and entered your sanctuary. Ignoring how he sniffed the air in the path you had just walked. You locked your door and turned on the incredibly dim colorful lights and pressed a remote that played soft music. You continued to grumble about stupid inconsistent cycles. It wasn’t a full-on heat like you normally experienced, more like a nagging annoyance in the back of your mind, dulled needles underneath your skin.

    After trying several different placements for the blanket saturated in his scent you finally found one that ‘the bitch’ was satisfied with. Clamoring into your vast array of blankets, pillows and other various soft things you settled in its center and closed your eyes; preparing for the tremors that you were convinced would come. Just as you got comfortable, your vambrace started beeping and an obscenely offensive red light blinked in time with the wretched noise. Growling audibly, you reached for your table and strapped it on to your wrist, violently pressing the answer button.

“Fucking. What?” your teeth clenched so hard they could crack.

“Last I recall you’re the one who wanted to talk. Had a question or something,” the Duro’s head lit up in that blue only holo-comms could emanate. You pinched the bridge of your nose and scrunched your eyes shut apologetically.

“Sorry. Yeah, yeah I do,” you opened your eyes slowly and looked at him, almost hoping he could just pry the information out of your head so you wouldn’t have to say it out loud.

“Well, you gonna ask or what ‘Meg?” he folded his arms across his chest already tired.

“So, I’m sponsoring an Alpha who didn’t know what he was until a few months ago…” you started, hoping that either Zeni or Coth had filled him in in the few days that you’d been gone.

“Heard something about that. I know the guy, did a job with him back before I picked you up. Something about a captured Jedi he wanted to hunt. Didn’t talk much.” Your eyes widened at the new information. “You haven’t told anyone about that bit, have you?”

“The fuck do I look like kid?” he was almost offended at the implication that his lips even held the ability to flap. Even if they could they wouldn’t. The sigh that escaped you was exasperated in your relief.

“So, what about him. Is he fucking with you?” his eyes narrowed further and the last word came out as a protective growl.

“No, no he’s fine but I’m not.”

“’Meg if you don’t start speaking plainly, I swear to Maker I’ll find and kill you both.”

“He smells…. Different. Intense. More so than any other Alpha I’ve ever come into contact with,” you chuckled, “even more than Fett.” His eyes widened and he thought for a moment before responding.

“When was your last cycle? Has he triggered another one?”

“I mean maybe a week or so ago? I wouldn’t call it a new one, feels different. Lighter? ‘The Bitch’ is talking more in my ear and I’m starving. Like, fucking famished.” He nodded with his fingers on his chin looking off to the side.

“Where are you right now and where is he?”

“On the way to Hoth.”

“No, I mean on the ship. Where are the both of you?”

“Oh, I’m in my room; doors locked. He’s in the common,” you glanced at the door like it was possible he could’ve manifested on your side of the durasteel door. The force could do some crazy shit but teleportation wasn’t on the list as far as you knew. Even for a Sith.

“Good. You’re not gonna like the answer ‘Meg. Don’t shoot the messenger,” your eyes snapped back to his projection, waiting for him to continue.

“Someone always smells best, stronger. Mine did, Coth and Zeni got that. Not everyone gets it or waits long enough to find it but I’d put five quarries’ credits worth on the fact that that guys’ your Alpha.”

“W-what? No, that story’s bullshit. That’s not real, is it?” He growled slightly angrily in his response.

“I said.. I fucking had it. It’s why I can’t ever have another. Don’t doubt anything cause you’ve never known it before. Like me saying your Jedi force shits fake. Ignorance I can handle ‘Meg; arrogance I won’t put up with.”

    You couldn’t respond. This is not what was supposed to happen. You were going to live your life as the lone Omega, ‘Meg the hunter. Live your life in solitude only occasionally coming to the surface to socialize with your pack members to stave off the inevitable loneliness.

“Sorry, no you’re right. I just, don’t want that? I guess, you just shocked me was all. I didn’t mean to offend you or your Omega.”

He visibly relaxed and sighed as he rubbed his head under his hat.

“Do what you gotta do. Whether that means scenting him, mating, kicking him out now, or waiting till you finish what you started with him. You don’t need to explain yourself. But that’s my best guess to your question kid.” You nodded and stared off for a moment away from the door. You thanked your old friend for his time and his insight before hanging up and rolling over and failing to find rest as the tremors started.

      Maul truly had no clue what had crawled into your skin and possessed you. He wondered for a moment if some cousin to Dathomirian magick had made its way into the ship before shaking his head. That would be ridiculous. He had grabbed another of the no less than what guessed were a thousand blankets from the shelf and laid back. He didn’t really try to eavesdrop but when he recognized the voice that was speaking to you, he bristled. He only caught a few words while he passed, faking a trip to the fresher should you be able to feel him through the force. On his way there he realized that you were in fact as affected by his scent as he was yours and that it wasn’t necessarily normal.  On his way back he couldn’t hear your words but it sounded like you had received some information that you really didn’t want to hear.

    The pheromones that you gave off were those of fear mixed with frustration and anger. He wondered how long you would’ve lasted as a Jedi if they hadn’t thrown you out. Despite his bitterness the overwhelming urge to comfort you assaulted his every sense. He pushed it down with a snarl at himself before stalking back to the cockpit trying to put some distance between the heady smells.

    He must have watched you eat at least three pounds of the dried meat hastily while gearing up to venture out onto the frozen wasteland. A small part of him wanted to ask what all this was about with you but the larger part of him knew it wasn’t his business unless you made it his business. He settled for simply asking if you were alright. You threw a sarcastic ‘perfect’ over your shoulder before throwing yourself out into the blizzard.

    You had yet again, not permitted him to bring his saber. Jabba usually wanted a head over a warm body but bodies couldn’t pay their debts, and this particular Talz owed him big. He had thought it worth the expense to make an example himself out of this smuggler. Maul was just as frustrated as he had been last time but was silent about it, much to your personal relief. You were in no mood for argument and he no doubt could sense it.

    He had landed the ship just outside a large cavern, the tracking fob blinked rapidly, signaling that the one you sought was close by. As you entered the cave you had expected to run into a Wampa or two. Bones of different creatures varying in size had alluded to it being home to one of the creatures. What you had not expected was to walk right into an onslaught of blaster fire.

    Maul had force pushed you roughly to the ground a couple meters away from your position; landing you behind a large enough boulder for you to take cover behind. Cautiously, you looked to the side through the bolts to find him taking refuge along the wall behind stone that jut out from the wall with his blaster pointing to the circling, looking to you for approval.

    You took a flash grenade out of your utility belt, hit the countdown button and tossed it; taking cover before the blinding light filled the cavern. It must have been cheaper to hire guns than pay Jabba, six humans doubled over covering their faces allowing you to take a few shots. After putting down three yourself fairly quickly you looked over at your companion again. He was firing alright but not hitting a damn thing.

“I thought you said you were ‘quite familiar with other forms of weaponry!’” you shouted over the returned fire in a slightly mocking tone.

    His response was only to look at you with wild, angry eyes that made you double over laughing in the thick of the standoff. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. You raised your blaster and took out two more, leaving one man and your quarry. You turned to face Maul and crossed your arms in your seated position behind the boulder smiling toothily at him, nodding your head to the last man.

    It took him a few shots but he managed to hit the hired gun square in his chest. You missed the glint in his eye but felt his pride through the force before he covered it again and chuckled to yourself once more. You could see the Talz shaking as he raised his blaster in his trembling hand as he slowly backed up. You pulled out your blow gun and loaded one of your tranquilizer darts. The long needle glinted ominously in the low light of the cavern, Maul watched as you took a deep breath and bring the long tube up to your mouth and wrap your lips around it. The dart flew with a short huff of breath as the Talz turned to run; striking him directly in his spine.

    The toxin took hold before the quarry could take another step, dropping to the floor with a thud and a grunt. You stood from your position and made your way over to the first of the dead body guards. Maul went to bind and secure the smuggler while you scoffed at the small number of credits you pulled from the dead’s pockets. They really didn’t get paid shit, and they died for it. You almost felt bad for them; now wasn’t the time to get soft though. They took the job and they paid the price for it, just like you risked each and every job you took. No different from the rest of the pack.

    You handed Maul half of the measly amount and one of the better blasters that one of the men carried. He hoisted the Talz onto his back and raised his brow at you before taking what you had offered.

“I told you half of what we make is yours. This falls under that category despite the fact that it’s not technically a bounty prize, I don’t go back on my word once I give it.”

    He nodded his head in thanks and followed you back to the ship. Once the smuggler was frozen in the carbonate, you led him back to the cave. He watched as you dragged the bodies of the fallen gunmen to various positions and distances. You made your way back to him and when he opened his mouth to speak you raised your hand to cut him off.

“That was a fucking atrocious display if I’m being honest. Mildly disappointing if I’m being kind,” he snapped his mouth shut with a quiet clink of his teeth. “You can’t bring your saber to the higher paying jobs, as I’ve said, too many witnesses. Do you want to pick off the bottom of the barrel, cheap thieves for your career?” he crossed his arms and glowered at you.

“No, but what would it matter if I only go after those who are wanted dead?” you jut out your hip and rested your hand on it while rolling your eyes.

“You allow yourself to wield a crutch. What if you’re attacked in public? The longer you play the game the more likely it is to happen. You going to flash your pretty red blade and take out an entire town to maintain secrecy or are you going to be smart about it?”

    He growled at your logic and took out the blaster you had plucked off of the corpse. You watched him take a few rushed shots before snarling to himself at all of his misses. You silently walked over to him and kicked the insides of his ankles lightly to widen his stance and kicked one of his heels to push it forward a few inches. He allowed you to but not without a glare. You pulled out your own blaster and demonstrated how with your dominant hand you gripped it tightly, pointer finger lined up with the barrel. With your other hand you held your palm to the bottom of the grip and wrapped your fingers around both it, and your other hand to stabilize it; bending your elbows slightly and raising the sights to your eyes.

    He followed your movements with the accuracy of a mirror. You didn’t speak until you saw him close one eye to aim, “both eyes open, its more accurate,” you demonstrated again and fired your blaster a single time, hitting the furthest target square between his eyes.

    In only three shots, Maul had hit two targets square in the chest, knocking them over. You backed up and watched him practice. It was slow going but after resituating the corpses he knocked over multiple times he had started to get consistent hits on them. When you were satisfied with his progress you lifted a head sized rock with the force and moved it side to side a decent distance in front of him. Moving targets were always a different game compared to stationary ones and the victorious glint in his eyes when he landed a single shot took you back a few years to when Bane was teaching you to shoot.

    The twin suns were beating down on you harshly in the desert that stretched out as far as you could see in any direction. The sand here was what water is to the ocean, swallowing up everything in its path. The durasteel of the ship was growing hotter and hotter by the minute under your belly and you could hear Bane curse under his breath. You didn’t have to see him on the ground below you to know his eyes were pointed in the same direction as yours, the massive skeleton of a creature you couldn’t name even if you tried. Hopefully they were extinct or at least, nowhere in the area. It lay against the horizon three hundred meters away, unscathed by your attempted blasts.

“Bane, it’s really hot up here. Can’t I come down and try again tonight?”

“Hell no, next job ‘m gonna need you to cover me from ‘nother building ‘Meg. Either you’ll hit the target or melt onto my ship tryin. Focus, the scope is doin all the hard work for you. Breath like those Jedi taught you over so many years. Take the shot when you let your breath out. Closest thing I ever come to meditation is behind the scope and you’ll do the same now until you make your mark.”

    You had taken his suggestion to heart and waited before your next shot, breathing deeply and slowly. Sweat pooled on your forehead before gathering enough to drip down your face and streaming between your breasts as the minutes ticked by. Bane was silent as you focused your shot. With one last deep breath you slowly let the air out of your lungs and squeezed the trigger. You looked through the scope again and saw that you had indeed scorched the beast just below its eye socket like you had been instructed to do. You leapt to your feet and whooped unceremoniously in your gleeful victory. You cast a prideful look down at Bane who never turned to look at you.

“You can come down after you do it five more times.”

    Your shoulders sagged and you audibly groaned, the skin on your belly getting ready to blister from the hot hull of the ship. You could have sworn at the time you had heard your literal and figurative cold blooded companion chuckle.

      You smiled at the memory as you now spoke the words of your mentor to an all too full of himself Zabrak after he hit the floating rock a single time. “We can warm up in the ship after you hit it five more times handsome.” Just as yours had, his shoulders visibly dropped but he said nothing and carried on his target practice.

    When he had accomplished the goal you laid out for him you had reached your limit in the frigid environment. When you left the cavern, the air whipped around you violently while a vicious flurry burned the exposed skin of your face. Snow had piled up even deeper around you and a thick white blanket shielded your view. You hit a button on your vambrace to open the hatch that both you and the Zabrak scurried inside. You shivered wildly as you stripped out of your already soaked outer layers. Blizzards always caught you off guard on Hoth, you hated the planet for a plethora of reasons and would take a planet like Tatooine over this frozen wasteland any day if you had the choice.

    By Maul’s body language you assessed that he would as well. His jaw was clenched yet his body still shook of its own accord from the cold. You set a pot on your stove, readying it to brew life-saving hot caf. While the water boiled you had taken first dibs in the sanistream. Under the hot water you thanked whatever gods were responsible for staving off whatever kind of ‘light heat’ you had experienced. Maul barley waited for you to fully exit the fresher before he was stripping off his tunic an indulging himself in the shower just as you had. You bit back a chuckle while you made your way to the cock pit with steaming caf in hand. You watched the blizzard from the safety and heat provided by the combination of durasteel and trans-durasteel walls of the Wolf, allowing your mind to wander.

    You had never really been a caf drinker when you were a Jedi. Your master couldn’t drink it and most of the others you surrounded yourself with looked down on the drink despite filling themselves with various teas like your old friend. You had always teased Obi Wan for loving the sugary flowery varieties over any else. Like with many other things it was Bane who introduced you to the dark ‘life sustainer’ as he called it. He laughed at how you scrunched your face up the first few times you drank it but after thirty-three hours awake steaking out a quarry you needed the boost to function.

    Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you downed the last of your cup and you sighed at the chore of walking the six meters to the kitchen to pour yourself another cup. Like he could read your mind, and he probably could, Maul’s hand extended from behind you and took your mug. He returned a few minutes later, two steaming cups in hand, and took his seat in the co-pilot’s chair. The two of you continued to watch the snow storm in a comfortable silence.

    The quiet was broken by an incoming holo-comm. You always found the beeping to be unnecessarily jarring when the air was still. Maul simply leaned back in his seat while you answered it, the top half of your favorite Mandalorian appearing in the familiar blue hue, you grinned cheekily at the man who had half-heartedly tried to court you on multiple occasions.

“Mando Fett,” you teased, “What’s up?” His helmeted head lowered slightly in a silent sigh but your companion quickly caught his attention and he straightened his back again.

“Heard you were rolling around with another Alpha.”

“Mmm, yeah, some of what Zeni spills is the truth. Or at least half true. Heard you were the one who gave him the card.”

Maul nodded his head once in greeting to Jango who returned the gesture.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So what’s going on? Need a hand getting out of a sticky spot or do you come with holo-roses this time?” you leaned back and put your feet up on the dash, taking another gulp of caf while waggling your eyebrows at your fellow bounty hunter.

“Neither actually,” he chuckled, “I know how you love a good hunt and I’ve caught word that the Jawas on some back water planet are offering an unusually high price for Mud Horn eggs. Plus their horns always fetch a nice price, someone’s always ready to buy the hides. I figured I’d extend the invitation to you and your cold-blooded outlaw friend. New guy can come along too of course. What do you say, wanna go have some from away from the office?”

“Hmm,” you animatedly tapped a finger to your chin, “the promise of a good hunt, decent credits and you bring the beer, what’s the catch?” you smiled coyly.

“First off, bring your own booze. Secondly,” he unsheathed a large viroblade, “I say we make it interesting.”

“No blasters?”

“No blasters.”

“You’ll have to pry Bane’s from his cold dead hands.” Jango laughed loudly, “please, he’s not just a gunman, he’s an alpha. All I have to do is poke at his pride a bit and he’d take a few down with his bare hands and his teeth just to put all us younglings in our place.”

You laughed this time and turned to your tattooed companion, “what do you say? Wanna take a break from chasing quarries and go on a hunt for a day or two? It’ll still get you credits.”

    Maul took a second to glance around the cock-pit and looked at all the pictures that had been taken from various hunting parties and for the first time in his life he actually had the want to experience something like that. Yes, he had battled and defeated an array of fearsome monsters but it had always been a solo operation and for only the benefits of getting stronger and proving his worth to his master. It seemed like his new peers viewed such acts as a time to be enjoyed and remembered, the promise of credits was an added bonus as well.  

“Alright, a day or two wouldn’t put us behind schedule, would it?” his velvety yet raspy voice that you hadn’t heard in hours cut through you like a lightsaber and you caught your whimper in your throat but not without creasing your brows in annoyance.

“No it wouldn’t. you’ll just be stuck with me a little longer.” He shrugged his shoulders in response so you turned your attention back to the image of the other hunter.

“Alright, we’ll be there. Send me the coordinates. We’re on Hoth at the moment so we’ll be there in however long it takes to meet you leaving from here.”

“I’ll wait just for the sake of missing your complaints of taking a head start.” You couldn’t see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice. You pointed a finger gun in his direction, “head start or not I’ll still bag more eggs and more horns than you.”

The both of you laughed as you hung up the call right before the transmitted coordinates synced in your nav computer. Three Alphas, one Omega, and a promising hunt. This is going to be really fun or go horribly wrong. Either way, you’d get some good pictures out of it.

Taglist:

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Good Help - chapter 4 - ao3 link

-

The day Wen Ruohan returned, Meng Yao felt ready for just about anything short of an immediate order of execution. He had survived an increasingly frantic set of attempts to murder him – in many instances, his survival was entirely courtesy of A-Jue – and had a list of achievements as long as his arm, each one backed with public recognition and an explanation as to how they fit into Wen Ruohan’s pre-existing orders.

He'd disposed of any dissenters, too.

The return ceremony was no time for someone to blurt out something awkward.

It was intricately planned: first the multitude out in the Nightless City, cheering their Emperor’s return, then the procession through the court with all its ministers and representatives of all the other Great Sects, and finally the entrance to the throne room, which would contain only those most important to the Emperor: his closest deputies, his wives and concubines, and of course the Empress far above them all in her sedate chair.

And Meng Yao, of course.

The innermost hall would be guarded by those guards assigned to it, an honor that they all lusted for, and Meng Yao had abrogated the right of the guard captain to select each of them himself, claiming that all of the disasters in the past few weeks had shown him the need to take especial care of their beloved Emperor’s life.

He didn’t select A-Jue.

He hadn’t even looked for his name in the list. He'd rather deliberately planned on A-Jue not attending, in fact, and A-Jue hadn’t questioned it, only saluted with a bow deeper than any of the (usually ironic and highly irreverent) ones that had come before. Their eyes had met briefly – a glance full of regret, regret and understanding – and they had said no more about it, each going their own way that evening as if everything were the same.

And then, in the morning…

A-Jue had not come.

Meng Yao had not permitted himself to be disappointed.

He’d turned his mind to other things, to preparations, to making sure everything was perfect, and it was. He’d worried briefly about the Empress, that she might refuse to leave seclusion, but she was there before he was, seated and waiting in her place, a larger than life statue in her thousand veiled layers as always. He’d stressed over the placement of the guards, but they were there, shining and immaculate as always, each one carefully selected for their talent at discretion. He’d checked over his multiple plans designed to let him survive.

He was as ready as he could ever be.

Wen Ruohan’s procession took an age, the concubines in the inner hall yawning and shifting from leg to leg, the veiled Empress as unmoving as stone. Meng Yao took her as his model and remained still, refusing to show weakness.

And then –

The Emperor walked in through the doors, a swirl of robes, and no matter how much Meng Yao had prepared himself, he still involuntarily drew a breath when he felt the sheer power radiating off the man. There were those that accused Wen Ruohan of doing dark and dirty things to get his power, those whisperers all dissatisfied and envious, and they were probably right, too. But those that entered his presence, that were subject to his might directly, knew that it didn’t matter how he’d gotten his power.

Power was power.

Strength was strength.

Wen Ruohan had the face of a young man and the aura of a vicious beast, the temperament of an emperor and the emotional stability of a madman – and he had enough power to crush all the rest of them with a snap of his fingers.

He swept into the room like a storm.

Following in his wake were those he had taken with him on his travels: his highest-ranked guards, his most favorite servants, and Imperial Consort A-Sang, veiled and hidden but for his clever eyes, characteristic scholar’s fan held loosely in his hands.

Walking freely, as if he feared nothing.

As if he owned the hall.

Meng Yao was not the only one who tensed at the sight of the Imperial Consort and his blithe unconcern, thinking that the last thing that they needed right now at this moment was the bitter internecine conflict of the harem breaking out.

And then, of course, it turned out that their concern, all those rumors and suspicions and speculations and schemes, were all for nothing.

Wen Ruohan didn’t so much as look at the rest of them – not the concubines he had obtained, unmatchable in their beauty; not the guards he had nurtured, each one as ferocious as a tiger and as precious as pearl held in his palm; not the deputies he valued so highly; not even Meng Yao to who he had entrusted his city, his sect, his empire.

He had eyes only for his Empress.

“My beloved,” he said with a smile and hands extended as he climbed the stairs, Imperial Consort A-Sang left forgotten behind him to quietly retake his proper place among the other concubines. “Have you missed me?”

The Empress ignored him, silent and unmoving as always.

Wen Ruohan did not take offense the way he might have with someone else – the way he would have, with anyone else.

Meng Yao had heard people say that Wen Ruohan was mad over his unspeaking statute of an Empress, but his time in the Fire Palace had made it difficult for him to believe it. Wen Ruohan enjoyed rape, among the multitude of torments inflicted there, and he took sadistic pleasure in snatching would-be brides or daughters, sometimes even sons, from people he disliked and forcing them to become concubines; the more he disliked them, the more time he spent in the beds of their loved ones.

He was a man who enjoyed violence and humiliation above all else. How could such a man fall in love?

Much less with the Empress, of all people. The frigid, silent Empress, who had no political backing to prove her worth, who had been there by his side for years and years – long enough for any man to grow bored, much less an Emperor who commanded the wind and storm, who could have anyone he pleased?

Meng Yao couldn’t believe it.

And yet, it appeared – he was wrong.

Wen Ruohan’s gaze as he walked up to his wife went beyond passion and into obsession. The miraculous treasure he had obtained in the south, a powerful spiritual weapon in the shape of a lamp that was said to increase the speed of the bearer’s cultivation a dozen times over, was placed in front of her.

“Do you like what I got for you?” Wen Ruohan asked, and the Empress turned her veiled head aside, a clear gesture of rejection. “So picky, so picky. I could pluck the moon out of the sky for you, my beloved, and you wouldn’t care…”

Any normal woman would yield to such persuasion.

Any woman who knew fear, knew Wen Ruohan’s fickle moods, would seek to at least temporize, distract.

The Empress ignored him.

“Same as always,” Wen Ruohan sighed exaggeratedly, and put his hand upon her cheek, turning her face back to him. “You never do change, do you, A-Jue?”

A cold sharp shock spread at the base of Meng Yao’s spine.

The Empress permitted her head to be turned, to be raised to regard her imperial husband.

“Fuck off,” A-Jue said, his voice painfully familiar, and attacked.

-

“Would you like some more tea?” A-Sang – Huaisang, apparently, Nie Huaisang, just as A-Jue was apparently the long-thought-dead heir of the Nie sect, Nie Mingjue, and obviously had never even once been a guard of any hall whatsoever – asked Meng Yao, patting his shoulder sympathetically yet again. “You’ve had a hard day.”

“No, thank you,” Meng Yao said, both because he didn’t know where he’d put the needles he used to check tea for poison after the last cup and also because he wanted to keep some room in his belly for the barrel of liquor he intended to find and down at some point later on.

He rather thought he deserved it.

A hard day. He scarcely had words to explain how much Nie Huaisang was understating things. A hard day!

Meng Yao still had blood splattered on his face from standing too close to the throne when A-Jue – Nie Mingjue, he needed to remember that – when Nie Mingjue decapitated the Emperor right in front of all his deputies and concubines, which was immediately followed by half of said concubines pulling out knives or swords or other weapons and moving at once to hold the other half hostage. The shrieks of those concubines that had not been in the know acted as a signal to those outside the hall, the roar of fighting breaking out at once, and Meng Yao didn’t even want to think about the gigantic mess they’d undoubtedly turned the Sun Palace into.

(But that was still better than thinking over and over, with no little amount of hysteria, I’m so glad I never ordered him to serve me in bed!)

Nie Mingjue had stalked out to the door, the frankly gigantic saber he’d always carried around everywhere finally drawn – it felt almost alive to Meng Yao’s admittedly inferior senses, alive and vicious and cruel and bloodthirsty, and he remembered how he’d once laughed off A-Jue’s claim that death would inevitably follow if he drew his blade – and he’d been greeted by shouts of acclaim and admiration from his followers, cries of dismay and despair from his enemies. He’d still been dressed in an Empress’ robes, which he’d torn apart for more mobility, but no one had cared one bit.

I guess the problems really did start in the harem, Meng Yao thought to himself, and thought he might still be a little hysterical.

Jiang Cheng had shown up at some point, wielding some sort of lighting-whip; he’d only stopped long enough to pull Nie Huaisang into a brief embrace before continuing onwards, his voice snapping out orders as sharp and vicious as his weapon, his orders obeyed by what might or might not have been a secretly resurrected Jiang sect. And he was the least disturbing of their visitors – the Lan sect apparently had been hiding a demonic cultivator away in their placid and boring little mountain retreat, just waiting to bring his unique brand of necromancy to cause havoc in the Nightless City – !

“How did I miss all this?” Meng Yao found himself asking Nie Huaisang, who smiled at him.

“Scale,” he said. “You were so close to everything, and your ascension so abrupt, that you had no chance to catch us – by the time you were put in charge, everything was already in the works. You would have only been able to see the patterns as they were, not as Wen Ruohan would have had them be.”

That made sense.

“You came pretty close a few times, though,” Nie Huaisang added thoughtfully. “I had to deal with more than a few frantic messages from my brother – thanks for spilling that, by the way.”

Meng Yao could not, for the life of him, tell if Nie Huaisang was being sarcastic.

He did feel marginally appeased that he’d come close.

“Was it always supposed to happen now?” he asked, curious. “The lamp he retrieved – was it –”

“Oh, no, no, we’re three months early! The lamp wasn’t important at all; it was just something I dug up a reference to because I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist going after it and we needed him out of the way to set up the last few things we needed. And then da-ge got into a fight with him so that he’d get the idea to drag me with him – he’s vindictive like that, but also predictable – and that gave me the opportunity to keep on poisoning him. The whole thing was actually supposed to be at his birthday banquet, after he’d gotten drunk…it’s all your fault, you know.”

“Me?”

“He was going to execute you, as you’d suspected,” Nie Huaisang said. “Your methods would have forced his hand – he couldn’t have done it publicly, not and keep his self-image of the merit-rewarding Emperor intact. But he promised your father that you’d be dead before the month is out, even if he had to cause an ‘accident’ himself.”

Meng Yao shuddered. That’d been the one weakness of his plan: his weak cultivation, which Wen Ruohan could have used to excuse a death from a supposedly ‘friendly’ interaction.

Still, that wasn’t the key part of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“You sped up your plans – for me?” he asked, confused, and Nie Huaisang nodded. “Why?”

“My brother likes you! He doesn’t like just about anybody, really,” Nie Huaisang said, voice blithe and merry as it had always been, something that raised Meng Yao’s hackles more than relaxed him. Clearly Nie Huaisang wasn’t anywhere near as useless and head-in the-sky, dreamy and idealistic, as he’d appeared for years. “Especially when it turned out that you were easy enough to convince into not continuing to commit atrocities as long as another route was offered – you don’t know how hard some people find that, and of course you did come out of the Fire Palace, very suspicious, but all in all you passed your trial period with flying colors. So obviously we couldn’t let you just die, could we?”

“…this humble one thanks you,” Meng Yao forced himself to say.

Nie Huaisang waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, you’re a good administrator,” he said. “And there’s still the Nightless City and all the Empire left to manage. You don’t mind, do you? There should be fewer assassination attempts now.”

Meng Yao frowned. “Those attempts…?”

“We spread word that Wen Ruohan was planning on keeping you,” Nie Huaisang said, and he didn’t even sound apologetic. “Obviously Wen Ruohan had already encouraged all those he thought were his enemies to attack you, but we tried to lure out the rest of them: his most faithful servants, the greedy and the vile – that part of the plan was before we got to know you. Or, well, before my brother did. He felt so bad after a while…I don’t see why. He protected you, and together you got rid of any number of the people who would have been our fiercest enemies! So what if you had to endure a little stress?”

No, Nie Huaisang was definitely not useless and dreamy and idealistic.

“Now there’s really only one problem,” Nie Huisang mused. “It’d be strange if you went from being Wen Ruohan’s viceroy to being ours, so we need to give you a new position. But what would suit…?”

“Huaisang! Meng Yao!”

They both turned.

A-Jue – Nie Mingjue, why couldn’t he remember – strode towards them. He’d changed into proper robes at some point, dark ones that could handle bloodstains, and he looked like a war-god, shining with power as bright as sunlight. He was every bit as powerful as Wen Ruohan was, in his own way – the blazing sun to Wen Ruohan’s dark and ominous hurricane – but that wasn’t so much of a surprise, given as he was such a ridiculous cultivation maniac…and, oh, they’d made jokes about the Empress right in front of him. They’d joked about her dual cultivating with the Emperor in front of him – !

No wonder he was so powerful. Wen Ruohan literally shared his spiritual energy with Nie Mingjue, presumably for years, the cultivation making them both grow more powerful and creating a connection between them, a connection that Nie Mingjue had used to drain all that power away from a weakened Wen Ruohan – Nie Huaisang’s unspecified poison, presumably – and then to sever the bond between them when he severed the erstwhile Emperor’s head.

A-Jue smiled at them both, just as free and easy and straightforward as he’d ever been.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally met!” he said, beaming. “You’re very similar, in some ways; I think you’ll get along excellently. Which is good, because I’ll need all the help I can get –”

And then he started talking about a publicity campaign, rearranging the army, and tax reform, about implementing Meng Yao’s system of random audits for more than just wheat and expanding the Watchtowers concept across the entire Empire, and Meng Yao stupidly felt a little like someone had given him flowers and romantic poetry written just for him.

At his side, Nie Huaisang started giggling.

“Oh,” he said. “Well there’s always that, I suppose. It’ll work quite well. I think you’ll make a very nice Empress, Meng Yao – perhaps a bit more sociable than our last, wouldn’t you say?”

The pinnacle of power, Meng Yao thought to himself, and shrugged, accepting his likely fate with a smile that he thought was even genuine. And why not? He could have everything he’d had under Wen Ruohan, except with a leader that would actually listen to him – that he had already trained to listen to him – and it would good for them, too. They’d keep him around, he was sure of it.

After all – good help was so very hard to find.

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 5]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, use of toys(sybian), squirting, the long awaited chapter 5 😳💕 do they finally meet?!?!?!?! hehehehehehe also sorry for not being able to post this yesterday, had a busy week and when I tell ya I woke up at 3pm today 😗 💕💕💕💕 as always, thank you so much for your continued interest!! I'm already writing ch 6 and im SOOOO EXCITEDDDD hHEHEHEHEEHEH 💕💕💕💕💕 HAVE A GREAT REST OF YOUR WEEKENDS! 🍒 

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ? 

“You guys! I--you have to see this!”

You can’t wipe the smile off of your face when you shimmy to the side, excitedly showing off the new gift that Seungcheol had sent in the mail.

sleepy_wonu: holy hell

universe_WZ: that mustve costed hella

alphagyu97: nothin like feelin extra poor amirite lads

angelhan: it was only a matter of time before dom.cheol was untouchable lol 

You giggle slightly as you adjust the camera so that you and your new sybian are in frame. “Hey~ Don’t say that!! Y’know it’s not the amount of money you spend on me… I’m glad you guys are always here with me~” The sound of coins clinking goes off in the back as you read a few more comments.

dom.cheol: well princess, don’t u wanna show them how you use your new toy? ;)

tangerine_kwan: fuck i bet it can get u to cum so fuckin fast

hoshi_tiger_xx: yessss

dom.cheol has donated $100

hoshi_tiger_xx has donated $50

“Hmm~ How many times do you think I can cum with this? Oh! Why don’t we do this~” You pause, sliding your wet panties down your legs before tossing the material to the side. You grin, swinging a leg over the toy until you’re straddling it. “Rapid fire question! Whoever guesses the right amount of orgasms I can take before I call quits… Wins a special unreleased photoset of me! Go!”

dom.cheol: 5

universe_WZ: 4

sleepy_wonu: 6

angelhan: 3 artist8hao: 5

alphagyu97: everyone took all the good numbers already!!! 7!!!!!

gentleman_josh95: DMAN IT 3

tangerine_kwan: 8, fuck

kitty_junjun: ugh i was gonna say 4!!!!

xcaliburDK: i was gonna say 5!!!!

therealchan99: 2? thats so low tho….

chwenon: as if anyone is gonna say 1, lmao. Uh 6…. If sleepy_wonu happens to disappear

hoshi_tiger_xx: im gonna say 10, but… seems… risky

Reaching for the remote, you situate yourself until the raised part of the toy sits directly on your clit. A shiver runs up your spine at the feeling; already excited for what’s in store. “Um, to be fair I haven’t tried it myself yet so I’m not sure either... Hehe, but I guess we’ll find out together, huh?”

Gulping, you set the sybian to its lowest setting, the air getting knocked out of your lungs immediately as your body lurches forward. “H--holy shit!” The vibrations are already harsh on the lowest setting; your fingers gripping the remote tightly as you try to adjust to the feeling. “O--oh my g-god, I--”

dom.cheol: aww can ur cute lil clit take it?

xcaliburDK: maybe one of the lower numbers was right lol…

The moans spill freely from your lips, garbled noises getting lost in the mix when you start to grind against the vibration. “Fuck, it--it feels suh--so good, hah, already feel like ‘m gonna cum…” You whine, already getting lost in the pleasure. For a second, you’re tempted to raise the vibration intensity but you hold back, letting your wetness coat the toy as you continue to grind down onto it. The sound of donations and comments sound fuzzy to your ears; only the sound of the sybian buzzing reminding you that the camera was still even on.

“Ngh, g-god, I’m--I’m gonna cum!”

tangerine_kwan has donated $75

xcaliburDK has donated $50

dom.cheol has donated $200

dom.cheol: cmon, lets see that pretty pussy cum

Your legs shake as you cum, only a squeak coming out of your mouth as you lurch forward atop the toy. The grip you have on the remote loosens while simultaneously trying to turn it off in the midst of your orgasm.

dom.cheol: awww cumming so hard on the first setting? Cute

therealchan99: lol baby is in trouble now

angelhan: maybe 3 was right lmao

“I--a-ah, fu--fuck!” You cry, shaky fingers finally managing to shut the toy off. Your body immediately untenses; chest heaving with how sensitive you already were and it had only been your first orgasm and the lowest setting of the toy. “O-oh my g-god, I--I didn’t know i-it was that s-strong…” You mumble, body buzzing with the remnants of your orgasm.

sleepy_wonu: well mr dom.cheol did pay top dollar

gentleman_josh95: imagine if u had this for yesterdays show lol

“Oh god, if--if I had this for yesterday’s show, I would’ve been too boneless to do today’s show!” You laugh airily, slowly grinding against the toy already. “It feels really nice though… I’m already super curious about how strong the other settings are…” Trailing off, you reach for the remote again, throat dry as you fiddle with the knob.

kitty_junjun: what if u set it to the max setting

chwenon: idk if her cute lil body could take it

dom.cheol: its okay baby, take ur time. I wanna see how sensitive that pussy of yours can get

“But ‘m already so sensitive~ I dunno how much more I can take~” You tease, biting your lip when all the comments flooding the chat are words of encouragement.

You knew when you started camming that it’d be no easy job. Building up your fanbase and subscriber count had taken you months upon months to even get within the thousands and camming was physically exhausting. Some days your viewer counts were low and some days they were above average and sometimes you didn’t make as much in one show than another.

tangerine_kwan: was therealchan99 right with 2 then? Heh

therealchan99: finally FINALLY ITS MY TIME TO SHINE

Giggling, you slowly start turning the knob; body twitching when the vibrations kick in at full force.

Seungcheol watches in amazement at the way your body jerks atop the machine.

He can see the way your legs twitch unbearably when you cum for the third time; your brows furrowed at the intensity of the vibrations and your taut body when you can barely manage to turn the machine off.

Licking his lips, he slowly thrusts up into his closed palm, spreading the precum down his shaft as he watches you catch your breath.

“I--ngh, fuh--fuck, I---I don’t--don’t know if I--I can cum a-again…”

Seungcheol moans at your breathy whimpers; the arousal in his body pooling up quickly when he sees the fucked out expression in your eyes. His eyes flit to the wetness that coats the silicone portion of the toy, smirking when he realizes how much you really seemed to enjoy the gift he’d gotten you.

Mentally patting himself on the back, he praises himself for making the right decision.

angelhan: please tlel me im the winner im begging

universe_WZ: NO

dom.cheol: is the princess tired already? ;)

You catch your breath, not wanting to give up despite how fuzzy your head was getting and how much your body was buzzing. “I dunno… We still haven’t tried the last setting, you guys… And I’m just so curious...” You whisper, hazy eyes staring into the camera.

hoshi_tiger_xx: god u look so pretty like this, all fucked out

artis8hao: right? fuck, id kill to be that guy who can get u off like this

xcaliburDK: goddamn same

The sound of coins clinking mixes with the ringing in your ears; fingertips already on the knob of the remote.

You take a deep breath, letting the adrenaline kick in as you quickly set the knob to the highest setting, a high pitched cry spilling from your lips when you let go of the remote in favor of holding onto the machine instead. Grinding down onto it, you meet the toy's harsh vibrations as it quickly forces another orgasm out of you in the matter of seconds.

Choked cries spill from your lips as your entire body tenses up; body twitching uncontrollably as you cum for the fourth time. You lean back with whatever energy you have left, bracing yourself on the back of the toy as you relieve your swollen clit of the buzzing machine. Your orgasm refuses to stop and you can already tell how obscenely wet everything’s gotten when your head starts to clear.

alphagyu97: fuck you squirted all over the toy baby

universe_WZ: fuck fucki fuck

universe_WZ: wait did i winf kjfhdsjk

You shakily slide off of the machine, resting on your side as the machine still buzzes with life next to you. Your entire body won’t stop shaking, head muddled as you fight the urge to shut your eyes and sleep for the next 5 days. “I’m--I--” You whimper, still feeling the phantom vibrations between your legs.

“I--ho--holy fuck, I, w-wow, I--I don’t--that--I’m, I’m just… wow.”

dom.cheol has donated $400

dom.cheol: knew you’d like it ;)

universe_WZ: THAT MEANS I WON

universe_WZ has donated $150

angelhan has donated $150

therealchan99: well, at least some of us got close

hoshi_tiger_xx: fuckin speak for urself man i said /10/

You end the show after letting ‘universe_WZ’ know you’ll contact him soon, shutting your eyes as you lay on your soiled sheets.

You can still feel your fingertips twitching when your eyes slide shut, chest heaving in deep breaths as you try to relax yourself, momentarily cursing yourself for pushing your body too far for tonight’s show. 

Groaning, you reach for your phone, the screen lighting up with a text from Seungcheol, a simple ‘don’t forget to drink water ;)’ in your notifications and you can’t help but pout.

Seungcheol was nice, almost too nice. Definitely not in a murderer kinda way though, you think. 

He bought you expensive gifts and never asked for anything in return which made you feel bad sometimes. And while the donations and tips you’d made through your camshows was enough to get by with, Seungcheol’s generous donations helped you always make your rent and bills on time without worrying if you’d have enough or not.

You quickly text him back with a smile on your face; hoping that he’ll like what you had to offer.

Seungcheol feels the exact same way he did when you first contacted him offering him a free show, except maybe ten times worse. At first, he’d been a little sad that he hadn’t won your quick little game but this made up for it 20-fold.

The six simple words read ‘want to meet up next friday?’, a small heart emoji next to the question and he’d almost thrown his phone when he read it, hands shakily responding with a simple ‘I’d love to.’ to make it seem like he was calm when he was most definitely not.

His immediate next order of business after replying was to text Namjoon despite how late into the night it already was, begging for the day off and offering to take any shifts or pay cuts in exchange for it. 

All he needed was one day and he swore he’d never miss a day of work ever again.

Namjoon responds with a quick ‘sure, why not’, momentarily confusing him as to why his boss was awake while simultaneously sending Seungcheol into complete panic when he realizes he finally gets to meet you.

The week goes by extremely quickly to Seungcheol; his mood on a completely different level when he offers to pick up Yoongi’s Sunday shift without a complaint. He cleans up all the messes around the roller rink and even offers to do jobs that aren’t his which have Jeongguk raising a brow at the older male.

In the days that lead up to your meeting, Seungcheol looks up a few cafes that you might be interested in and even goes to get an STD exam, not that he’s expecting anything. Safety first, he says.

Your Wednesday show comes and goes, Seungcheol too excited to even get off when he watches you and he even donates an extra $600 at the end of the show; travel spending money, he offers.

And Thursday comes without a hitch and he all but skips to the employee backroom once his shift is over, humming a tune while he changes out of his uniform.

“Hey hyung, no offense, but are you okay?” Jeongguk rests against the locker next to Seungcheol’s open one, brow raised at the blue haired male that beams back at him. “I’m scared, why are you so… giddy. You even offered to take Yoongi-hyung’s weekend shift? What the hell was that about? I’ve never seen him that giddy either.  Man, this place is getting weird, maybe I should quit...”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh, patting Jeongguk on the shoulder before shutting his locker.

“I have an important meeting tomorrow, that’s all. And don’t quit, ‘cause who else is gonna give me free food.”

While the excitement had him since Saturday, now that it was finally Friday, he was downright nervous.

The two of you had agreed to meet at 2PM in front of the cafe that Seungcheol had picked out and you’d gotten a hotel in town to make it easier on yourself instead of trying to get back to your place too late. Seungcheol had offered to come pick you up, but you had politely declined; instead opting to meet him first before letting him do anything else for you.

And by nature, Seungcheol gets to the cafe 15 minutes early, fidgeting and continuously running his fingers through his hair as he patiently waits. He can feel his palms getting sweaty when he rubs them against his jeans, mentally trying to keep calm and his head floods with all sorts of thoughts; mainly, how he even got into this position with you in the first place. And he gets so distracted that he doesn’t realize you’d be standing watching him zone out for the last 5 minutes.

“Wow, not sure what’s got you so focused but you’re standing so still!”

Seungcheol hears your cute airy laugh that follows, a cherry blush on his cheeks when his eyes meet your smiling face. “I--oh my god…” He whispers, taking in your appearance.

He feels his face buzzing, fingers twitching when he sees you in a cute simple  sundress. “W-wow, you--you’re just… so beautiful. I mean, you’re beautiful on cam too but just, wow, in person? Incredible.” The blush reaches his ears when he realizes he’s rambling, a nervous laugh spilling out of his lips.

“S--sorry, I, uh, usually I’m more chill than this but y’know…” He trails off, to which you nod. You step closer to Seungcheol and he gets a hint of your sweet smelling perfume, mentally groaning when your cute eyes peer up into his.

“That’s okay! I totally understand~ I’m kinda nervous myself too, to be honest…” You pause, a pink blush coating your own cheeks. “But let’s talk over some food, huh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t want to pry, but he’s not sure if he should address you as ‘Cherry’ in person, or if he should avoid calling you by anything at all.

He watches as you go through the cafe’s menu, biting the inside of his cheek as he itches to ask.

“‘Cheol… I can feel you staring, y’know.. Penny for your thoughts?” You ask, concerned eyes meeting his nervous ones.

“I just-- Sorry, I didn’t mean to be awkward, I just was wondering how I should address you in person? I don’t want to overstep my bounds, I know you don’t put your real name out there so…”

You place your menu down, closing it before leaning on your palms atop the small table. Seungcheol is cute, too cute, you think. You knew this would be a question when the two of you eventually met and you had given yourself the time to get used to the idea that he’d know your real name.

He eyes hyperfocus on your glossy lips, watching as you say your name for him for the first time.

Seungcheol’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest when he hears it; repeating it over and over in his head before he says it out loud.

“Wow, it sounds nice when it’s you saying it~” You tease, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t mind if you call me by my name, by the way! The pet names are cute but maybe we should keep that to the bedroom~” You end in a whisper, winking at the male.

Fuck, he thinks, just as his cock throbs at your comment. He really wishes you wouldn’t say things like that because he’s weak and he knows it, especially when it comes to you. “Okay, cool! Yeah, sorry, I just---I didn’t want to overstep, I know you don’t really let that be public information.”

“Of course! And thank you, I really can’t tell you how much you’ve done for me. I really… really wouldn’t be able to do all the things that I do if it weren’t for your constant support.”

You want to say more, but the waiter comes to take your orders, cutting you off until he leaves again.

“By the way…” Seungcheol looks at you with curious eyes, lips puckered around his drink straw. “Tell me about yourself, ‘Cheollie! I feel like we didn’t really get to talk that one time!”

He swallows the water in his mouth, licking his dry lips. Here goes nothing, he thinks.

“I swear, and please don’t think I’m a loser, but I--I work at a roller rink. It’s really not cool, I’m not some high paid CEO or whatever, I--I just, I work hard?” Seungcheol chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he waits for your reply.

“Wait, that’s so cool! Oh my gosh, I kinda wanna go!”

The surprise washes over Seungcheol, eyes wide as saucers when he hears you saying you’d want to visit his workplace. “Wuh---wait, seriously!?”

“Yeah! It’s kinda, like, retro! I haven’t been to one since I was a kid!” He quickly offers to bring you to the roller rink on Sunday so you could have somewhere to hang out while you were in town.

“And sadly, I took a shift on Sunday so you can hang with me while I work.” 

Seungcheol grins, watching as you jokingly roll your eyes at him. “So you did it on purpose, huh…” The two of you share a laugh, glad that your first meeting seemed to be going okay so far.

“Well, I mean, if it makes you feel any better, my best friend works the concession stand so I’ll make sure to get you a free pair of skates and food whenever you want?”

“It’s a deal!”

The two of you continue to talk over your late lunch, Seungcheol telling you of the various work hijinks he’d gone through at his time working at the roller rink.

“Which, by the way, that morning show you did… Hope you know I holed up in the restroom for an entire hour for that ‘lil stunt.”

You can’t help the tears that fall from your eyes when you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for the blue haired male. “But I told you! Sometimes it’s just like that, y’know~” You tease back, heart blooming at the way you and Seungcheol got along.

In all honesty, there’d been something on your mind since you first sat down and you didn’t know when the right time to ask was, or if it was even appropriate.

The smile slips from your face as you bite the inside of your cheek in thought.

Seungcheol takes the bill from the waiter, slipping his card into the holder before you can even offer. But he notices the way your expression falls, noting the hesitance in your eyes when he looks at you from across the table.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice is gentle, soft and caring when he leans over the table to make sure you’re alright.

“Yeah! Just---Can I ask you for a favor?”

[amphtaminedreams]

Well it’s Far too Late to Call This “Winter Fits”: Lookbook No.19

Hellooo to anyone reading!

Happy end of seasonal depression hours! Supposedly! It’s only now that we’ve entered August that I’m finally no longer freezing my tits off but alas! It’s summer now, right?! Well into it! I’m trying for 5 minutes not to think about the role that climate change plays in the heat we’re experiencing right now to avoid the ever proliferating sense of impending doom and I’m about to (probably very poorly) help myself do that by throwing it back to winter, the end of which was supposed to be my personal deadline for this post. At this point, this is less a winter outfit diary and more Outfits of the Year Part 1. But let’s not call it that officially; it feels a little too close to the format of my fashion week recap posts and I don’t want to end up giving off the impression that I too am out here showcasing head to toe Balenciaga or something. Unfortunately, *manifesting* that I have the kind of money to afford that only goes so far. Oh, to be a nepotism baby and be free of the shackles of a life spent in retail until I get myself tens of thousands of grand in debt funding a degree which *may* then grant me access to a job where I can finally afford a can of chickpeas because the year is 2030 and they’ve now gone up to £5 per pea. No one has truly stared into the soul of the cost of living crisis like a retail worker who’s taken a 49p label off a shelf edge during an SEL audit to replace it with a 94p one. Let me say, they weren’t even good chickpeas. Took an hour to soften, FFS. Oh, the trials and tribulations of vegetarian cooking.

Back to the point before this turns into a chickpea brand tier ranking though-this year I have been making an EFFORT with my day to day outfits. I unintentionally played myself when I turned up with a full face of makeup and a cute outfit to my first seminar of the year because since then I’ve felt this self-imposed pressure to keep it up. This is even though actual term time finished back in March; it’s wild given I still associate breaking up for “summer” with sweaty classrooms and walking home in my secondary school blazer with a big time SULA giving off big Rihanna “shine bright like my forehead” meme energy. Don’t get me wrong I’ve loved the content of my course but a 5 month break is like…ahhh, chef’s kiss. Uni is so INTENSE. You can dedicate 90% of your free time to studying and still be ridiculously behind, and I genuinely wonder on the daily whether I have genuinely lost a significant number of brain cells over the last few years because to be real, I properly coasted through that year of history undergraduate and A-levels were probably the last time before this year I totally threw myself into something. Yeah, first year ended in weeks of all nighters but ya know, probs wouldn’t have found myself in that situation if I’d paid attention to the course or done any of the reading for the entirety of the rest of the year. 

-23/01/22-

(blazer from Primark*, beret from Topshop*, argyle mesh socks from ASOS, turtleneck from charity shop, shirt from charity shop, boots from ASOS)

It is really daunting doing a degree you genuinely enjoy because when you flop, the imposter syndrome is veryyyy real. I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t lack understanding or ideas, I’m just not used to writing in a formal, unbiased style which psychology as a discipline is utterly obsessed with given the whole inferiority complex surrounding its status as a “proper science”. PLEASEEE, not a statistics module making up a solid 50% of my course for the entire 3 years. STATISTICS. In the wise words of Katya Zamolodchikova:

I almost did a maths degree because as a subject it was pleasantly straightforward to me until I remembered oh my god, do you really want to spend 4 years learning about distributions and probability and yet…here I am, doing exactly that. Here’s to me spending a significant proportion of my summer doing an SPSS basics course in the face of the realisation that I cannot, in fact, get through this degree just trying random buttons. Maybe, possibly, my decision to see the tutorial workbook as optional in spite of all evidence saying otherwise was a mistake, tehe. I have many regrets xoxo

-14/01/22-

(blazer dress from Topshop, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear, body chain from _chain_mail on Depop)

So why is it that I’m out here posting this months after teaching finished? Well I have work work (the do it til you die literally just to survive type, love that for us) and until a few days ago had a piece of coursework due, originally with a MARCH deadline, that I requested enough extensions for that they ended up just deferring it to the end of the academic year. And then I missed that too-yesterday morning I finished up the coursework, and it took me half an hour to write what it had taken me 3 days to write in the 72 hours preceding that deadline. Stress really hinders your ability to string a sentence together so take that as my way of justifying my messy posts. Case in point: back to this post’s purpose. I wore some cracking stuff this year. Despite this self-imposed pressure, putting together an outfit and allowing myself a couple of hours to do my makeup to go onto campus has been so therapeutic for me, like genuinely one of the small pleasures in life. People look at me like I’m insane when I tell them I’m voluntarily getting up at 7 for a 9:30am so I have time to get ready, and yeah, I naturally only tend to sleep for a couple of hours anyway but I would likely still get an early start regardless as it truly is such a confidence boost and motivation to properly throw yourself into the experience when you make an effort and feel good about yourself, even if that is a bit superficial of me to say. Romanticise the fuck out of your life and all that, do what you need to do to motivate yourself! So based on that, I’ve been able to put together a little outfit diary of some of the the outfits I’ve been really feelin myself in over the past few months. As is tradition, there is of course the few outfits I planned in my head which never materialised because I am theoretically a lot more social than the reality which is to say that I cancel plans like nobody’s business. My social battery drains like my iPhone post introduction to a Primark portable charger . I think I convinced myself during the pandemic that I was much more of an ambivert than I actually am, lol.

Also, I know. Given I was blasting the heating in Valencia in April, that I would really be wearing any top with that much exposed flesh at any point before this July heatwave is sounding a lot like fiction. But that’s because once I knew the outfits these started as were never leaving my room, I spiced them up a little bit, okay!!! We’re in the realm of experimentation now anyway. It’s a sentiment that I’ve seen a lot of people echo lately but I’ve become so hyper aware lately of what is “on trend” and how quickly that passes because of this whole phenomena of micro trends which definitely isn’t caused by but has also def been exacerbated by TikTok and the need to brand fucking everythingggg as some kind of aesthetic. So, whilst it had the unintended consequence of me becoming some what of a clothes hoarder, I’ve definitely been trying to plan outfits over the last year that make use of clothes that I bought when they were in every high street store and trying to incorporate them into outfits differently.

Look 1

Making this Vanessa Mooney mini playsuit appropriate for colder weather was a little tricky and obviously I went too extra with it to actually wear it out but it has defo forced me to be more creative and made me think more creatively. Yes, that’s me framing outfit planning as some kind of brain workout, I said what I said. But it’s the closest thing I do to using actual brain cells lately so allow it. I have to really big up Steal the Spotlight for inspiring me to do this because she really makes the only YouTube fashion videos I still watch and I am constantly wowed by how creative her outfits are. I truly miss the days when I’d get excited to watch unsponsored lookbooks and fashion content wasn’t primarily accessible via the medium of a less than 30 second clip where a teenager talks about how ugly something everyone was wearing a couple of weeks ago now is. I feel like I am super out of the loop not having TikTok because people really do reference them like they’re common knowledge and I do want it SO BAD but I am determined to wear what the fuck I want and feel like I am serving without knowing that its apparently been done to death or is a “trend” we should forget from a few years ago. Steal the spotlight and Vogue Runway with a little fast fashion browse for styling ideas are really all the fashion content I’m consuming these days but you know what? Playing a little game of Cher’s closet from clueless in my head is a fun one.

-06/01/22-

(t-shirt from Topshop, jeans from YesStyle*, faux leather blazer from Nasty Gal*, corduroy jacket from freyax19 on Depop, beanie from Primark*, with Doc Marten Jadon platforms)

I’m not going to make up some story about where I planned on wearing this outfit but it took me a long ass time to work out how TF I could wear a turtleneck under this playsuit. In steps the Minga Venus top which I once made the mistake of wearing to a concert. It was November but concert venues seem to truly have their own microclimate and I was boiling hot. That taught me two things-one, that humans packed into a venue like excitable sardines in a tin definitely smell exactly like what a can of sardines if you left them in the sun for long enough would smell like, and two, that velvet turtlenecks do a marvellous job at conserving body heat. I loveee any piece of clothing that strays from your typical print, especially anything that incorporates art. I recently found another Alphonse Mucha print mesh piece from UO on Depop and my hand has never hit that add to basket button so hard. This one is in COLOUR!!  But anyway, a white silk bodysuit with a velvet Venus print top felt like a very decadent combo so I took it all the way with the celestial print Koi boots that are still probs my fave piece of footwear of all time. The whole outfit suddenly became very 70s bohemian mystic and did I fulfil my brief of tilting the aesthetic balance more towards Mick than Bianca Jagger with the fur trim House of Sunny coat? Perhaps not. I wanted some darker, grungier details but somewhere between low-rent glam rock and Studio 64 inspired seems to be where the needle landed and you know what, I’ll take it. A rock and roll take on fairy core I hope (that’s a thing now too apparently, to what exactly it applies idk but if we’re talking TikTok aesthetics, it’s better than “clean girl”).

-02/01/22-

(argyle top from Urban Outfitters*, denim flares from sallllll on Depop, trench coat from charity shop, leather blazer as before, heels shown from Koi Vegan Footwear, with Docs as before)

Ngl, I’m still kinda on the fence about the vinyl jacket. It precluded the UO green fur trim jacket and it was from Depop, back when I was scouting it under the illusion the multiple fur trimmed jackets I already had were not enough. To give myself some credit here, I was deep into my end of year deadline crisis, or what I thought was my final deadline-related crisis, and given these jackets were all at home, I’d kinda forgotten they all existed in my temporary insanity. The issue with Depop is that you can’t see the quality, and when it turns up and it isn’t what you hoped, there’s not much you can do about it. The vinyl isn’t the best quality and though it’s probably fair for the £30 the seller charged me, I found it still retailing for £60 on H&M. Moral of the story is that if you’re looking for something quality, as I was with one of those decadent vintage looking fur trim coats, maybe go directly to one of the vintage Depop stores or go somewhere you can see the piece in person. When I put it with the Vanessa Mooney playsuit and the Venus print top it worked out okay but I rarely know what to wear it with on a day to day basis.

-01/01/21-

(dress from Topshop*, leather blazer as before, beanie as before, turtleneck as before)

-01/02/22-

(two piece from miajohnson26 on Depop, boots as before)

-20/01/22-

(blazer from Nasty Gal*, shirt from charity shop, coat from Collusion, argyle mesh socks as before, choker from Regal Rose, with Docs as before)

Look 2

I wish I could say I held out longer on buying this Ragged Priest cardi than I did. My friend messaged me they had a sale and I can’t lie..I ended up browsing. She is truly the main culprit in 75% of my shopping addiction relapses. Never use a new ragged priest drop to test your willpower-you will come away feeling like a giant, broke idiot. I know, I know, you can get granny cardigans second hand anywhere. Believe me, I scoured Depop. But it’s true what they say we always want what we can’t have. I thought I was getting what I couldn’t have, ya know, getting my cake and eating it, but joke was on me because turns out the thing that I actually wanted and can’t have is a decent balance in my savings account after also deciding to buy the jeans I told my friend I also liked and definitely WOULDN’T be buying. Such is life. Anyways, this is an outfit I DID genuinely plan to wear out during one of the by all other accounts “spring” months which are actually, in my mind, winter months. Idc, April is still winter to me.

The jeans are from Depop, previously Weekday, and I fucking loveee them. Plus, the seller was such a sweetheart they included the dark wash pair they were also selling in for me. Absolute babe behaviour. They’re absolutely hated by my parents and my sister, confusing to put on when drunk, and get me scowled at by old people. But hey, they’re cheaper than the similar pair I almost also brought from the ragged priest, so I count that as a personal win.

In terms of accessorising, I didn’t know whether to lean fully into the grungy element of things or to channel that 2013 Joanna Kutcha vibe. I think that’s the last time I had my finger on the pulse of anything culturally relevant and it’s clearly stuck. Technically though, I guess I did both by including the Fila Disruptors though I will always see them as the kind of shoes boys in my year at secondary school would call “gothy” on the same grounds they applied that label to wearing dark red lipstick. The shock. The horror. Basically, they make me feel like I can stomp on shit n that’s all in the nature of the rebellious spirit that drove a 90s girl band, right? Pls, I wish I could sing or play some kind of instrument so I could take part in a revival of that era because god knows we need it more than fucking ever.

-23/02/22-

(flares from Collusion, bucket hat from babbiebp on Depop, coat from charity shop with patches from PatchShopLtd, fairycakes & pastelriotshop on Etsy, red leather blazer from beawilson on Depop, Fila top from phoebemckk, and shirt worn underneath from Zara*, with Docs as before) 

-06/03/22-

(coat from Urban Outfitters, top from Ebay, bodysuit from Gilly Hicks*, skirt from immysurridge on Depop, hairband from zenacowen, with Docs as before)

Look 3

For this look, we have another fur trim green coat. And yes, it’s under the leather blazer that I wear to death. I would call it my grinch era since I can’t seem to resist anything green and fluffy RN but I don’t think it’s so much an era as a frightening kindredness of spirit with that guy that runs kind of in reverse where Christmas is one of the few days of the year I’m actually in a BETTER mood. Now I can’t lie, these were a couple of my fast fashion purchases of the year-the coat was retailing for about £90 in UO when I first saw it and this, my friends, is where browsing is dangerous bc when I saw it reduced down to £40 like…my heart jumped out of my chest. I sound like a broke record at this point but completely ethical purchasing or just even LIVING in this world is a fucking task and a half. I consider myself someone who tries my best (god do I miss Milkybar and god does it hurt walking past a white chocolate and salted caramel Extreme cone on Clubcard offer, god damn you Nestle you morally corrupt evil incarnate company) but you don’t work in a shitty job just to wallow in self-loathing every time you buy yourself a new coat. I’ve never regretted spending money on outerwear and me and this baby were a love at first sight kinda pairing. The slip was a Topshop piece I got through ASOS (can we please talk about how much of an UPGRADE Topshop has been on the receiving end of since it went online? I hadn’t seen anything I liked in there for years beforehand, everything was bland af, I can only imagine cutting the costs of renting out premises has allowed them to become a little more experimental again) and the others are old pieces I know have been included in a few past look books. I’ve also worn the celestial print mesh top (originally UO), boots (Koi Vegan Footwear) and the velvet baker boy (from the Oxford St. Topshop, one of the few irl stores I still used to find gems in right up until the end, RIP my friend) to absolute death but I will never fall out of love with anything remotely 70s Bohemian luxe.

-31/01/22-

(dress from Urban Outfitters, beanie from ASOS, coat as before, top worn underneath from Urban Outfitters*, with Docs as before)

-15/03/22-

(coat as before, sweater vest from Daisy Street, cargo trousers from debbiec101 on Depop, bag from Urban Outfitters, with Fila Disruptor Ii Platform Wedge trainers in white*)

-27/03/22-

(coat from Topshop, shirt underneath as before, sweater vest from YesStyle*, bag as before, trousers from rachelgriffihs12 on Depop, sunglasses from Ebay, Docs as before)

Look 4

Honest answer? Of the following 3, is this jumper more Jennie from Gossip Girl, Effy Stonem in season 3 of skins, or Eugenia Cooney? I don’t know how I feel about any of these things. I cringe a little at the possibility any of those 3 may be perceived as my intention. But I think I watched the entirety of Gossip Girl too recently (don’t bother) to completely erase it from my brain and if my reaction to seeing Ollie Barbieri on the tube the other day is anything to go by, clearly the Skins influence remains strong despite the shivers of embarrassment my 2013 Tumblr presence still sends down my spine. It was definitely NOT supposed to be a “fuck u mum n dad U DON’T UNDERSTAND ME!!!” moment. I’m not familiar with my k-pop references before but I’ve definitely subconsciously picked up on that punky, early 2000s Avril lavigne but make it spicy vibe and that, my friends, was the intention. Trust me, they’ll refer to this period of fashion as early 2020s does y2k MySpace girl and early 2020s does y2k bimbo like they do “y2k does 70s boho” in a few years time. And then give it a few more years and it’ll be “early 2020s does y2k does 70s boho and has a baby with 2020s does y2k bimbo too”. The more I make these predictions the more I am coming to the conclusion that the best way to sum up fast fashion trends atm is that they mutate and breed like viruses. 

-09/02/22-

(dress from Motel Rocks*, top from kk0103 on Depop)

Anyways, the jumper is a lil Ebay number and true to trend mutating form, I brought the old y2k Avril style boyfriend jeans in too, which I had long lusted after since the whole Cargo trousers thang begun; pockets, flexibility and comfort are rarities when it comes to women’s clothing so these were a worthy investment. Following true early 2000s chick flick logic, you can’t go Goth and skater, right? Wrong. Is it just me or were they one and the same at secondary school? There was always a sickly looking quiet boy who you would’ve forgot was even in your year if it were not for the daily sighting of him sloping away from his group of Pierce the Vail groupie girlfriends with his skateboard at the end of the school day. Again, the filas are out n as if I didn’t need to draw from any other style, I bought a bucket hat in. IDK, I feel like they’re cuter than they are a street style staple when they’re fluffy lol. Fluffy makes anything cute (okay Rubeus Hagrid, I hear u say).

-10/02/22-

(leather blazer as before, argyle mesh socks as before, Doc Martens as before, bag from Primark*, corset from madeyoulooks on Depop, white shirt underneath as before, plaid skirt from YesStyle*)

-13/03/22-

(slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, corset from hanpiercey, white shirt and turtleneck as before, boots as before, with Crikey BB Poppy Lissiman bag )

-27/01/22-

(dress from glorres on Depop [altered], leather blazer as before, beret from ASOS, Docs as before, sherpa coat from Topshop*)

Look 5

I go through stages of being obsessed with this Fila top and the varsity thing when you toughen it up a little with the rest of your pieces. I don’t know if a trench coat fits the brief but I thought it worked as a whole with the platform FILAs to give a boarding school but like…make it a bit teenage angst kinda vibe. Kinda like Poppy Moore’s (if you weren’t obsessed with Wild Child in your adolescent years, what were you doing with your life?) L.A girl take on her boarding school’s uniform but less a necessary evil because I was sent there for a giant rager in a Malibu beach house and more because I like…set fire to the staff room at my private school or something. Anyways, a tennis skirt will never not be a staple for me. Their reach extends far beyond the gilded American Apparel obsession era. So j just went full school girl with it. If St.Trinidad’s didn’t further add to the overwhelming body of evidence that a collegiate influenced look didn’t slap with consistency I don’t know what will do it for you.

-14/02/22-

(coat from Out of the Ordinary Clothing, leather blazer as before, velvet bakerboy from Topshop*, flares from seren_richards on Depop, bodysuit from sashabill, Docs as before)

-16/02/22-

(mesh flares from Urban Outfitters, pleather waistcoat from ASOS, top underneath from Urban Outfitters, red leather blazer as before, Afghan coat from louisemarcella on Depop, beret from Ebay, Docs as before)

-18/01/22-

(beret from New Girl Order, skirt from Urban Outfitters, leather blazer as before, shirt from Ebay, Docs as before)

-20/02/22-

(beret as before, sweater vest from Juicy Couture, plaid skirt as before, shirt as before, coat as before, with Fila Disruptor Ii Platform Wedge trainers in black*)

So! That’s it for now! I doubt I will be doing a summer outfits post; we’re already well into the summer now and if British weather follows it’s usual pattern, I’m sure we’ll be back to the usual August school holiday showers soon enough. I do have a plan to make a sort-of outfit post from the holiday my sister and I went on to Disneyworld. Because yes, I literally took a ridiculous amount of photos, want to give my unsolicited opinion on every bit of food I ate (because being obsessive about food is one of my few remaining personalities traits at this point) and justify to myself why spending all that fuckin money was worth it, tehe! I’m already deluding myself into thinking I am capable of saving the 3 grand it’d take to go again this summer because I know it may be the capitalist Mecca of America but given all the childhood nostalgia it brings me I’m willing to overlook it. I would also love to do a proper lookbook again soon kinda along the lines of the Euphoria/Sitting Front Row at..etc. but I am stumped for ideas and I only treat myself to new clothes a few times a year now so I lack the materials. Creativity will strike at some point, I hope!

Anyways, thank you as always for reading if you did so! I’ll get back into it with another fashion week recap soon and am currently deciding whether to do a Haute Couture Week post after my F/W22 posts or just kinda do a brief interlude with it, mostly on the basis it could probably fit in one more compact post. I also do wanna get that Disney content in there bc…like I said, we’re all allowed just a *little* dip in the ocean of extreme capitalism now and again right? I got my karmic punishment when I paid $8 for a “Cheshire Cat” twist on my last day in Magic Kingdom and found that it tasted like an underwhelming version of the Costa Coffee one. I dropped this thing on the floor and ate it anyway because I will be DAMNED if I let that thing go to waste after realising only half way through the holiday that I could actually just fill up my water bottle at the water fountain near our hotel room and store it in the fridge to chill it overnight rather than spending $5 on ridiculously fucking tiny bottle of Dasani water every morning. If my delusional hope of a trip there next summer (doubtful based on my awful money management skills) comes to fruition I will most definitely be going with a much thriftier mindset and the staunch resolution NOT to feel morally obligated to tip. That moment when the girl at one of the EPCOT kiosks turned the card machine around after handing me a single bottle of overpriced water, which they took their sweet time retrieving anyway because there was a small bee in front of the fridge, should’ve been a turning point; you live in ALLIGATOR country, ffs. And I just paid you an extra $2 because I couldn’t look you in the eyes if I didn’t. I have cleaned up a person’s literal shit from the shopfloor at work and been threatened ad naseuam by every local crackhouse resident when I politely ask them not to steal 8 bottles of wine for the third time that day and yet  half our customers don’t even say thank you when I step out the way to let them pass whilst trying to carry a 3 pack of 5 litre bottles of water one handed. So on that happy note, wishing ya all the best and again, thank you so much for reading if you got to this point! I’ll be back soon!

Lauren x

*old pieces (last stocked over a year ago) marked by asterisk

[aliwritesfic]

Rainy Morning (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Second part to this which I posted last night. I really hope you all enjoy it, and I might add more to this story is inspiration strikes but for now I kind of like where I left it

Summary: It’s the morning after your first date with Frankie

Tags/Content warning: fluff, morning sex, breakfast

Word Count: 1.7k

You awoke to the sound of rain slamming heavily on the roof. The room around you was unfamiliar, even in the soft pre-dawn light, but after a few groggy moments you remembered. Last night. Frankie. Your body flushed with the memory of his touch, the barely-there ache between your legs a gentle reminder of him.

Rolling over, you saw he was still asleep, his lips parted slightly and his eyes moving rapidly under his lids. You smiled slightly and moved yourself closer, the warmth of his body and the sheets around you creating a perfect cocoon to listen to the rain in.

As if sensing you near, Frankie reached an arm out and draped it across your waist, drawing you closer. You allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, breathing in his scent of soap and sweat intermingled with something else . . . mint, maybe? Whatever it was, you liked it.

You and Frankie had spent a few extra hours talking last night, about everything and nothing. You told him about the people you met while travelling, laughing about the trouble you and your best friend Adri got up to when you were finally able to meet up after months of separation, pointing out a small scar you had on your ass from when you decided it was a fantastic idea to ride down a steep hill on a child size scooter. When Frankie asked how much alcohol was involved, you cringed and told him you’d stopped counting after the sixth shot of vodka. You avoided the topic of your ex and how emotionally scarred he had left you. Frankie told you a little about his army days, about the men he called his brothers, his face lighting up especially when he mentioned that the closest of them, Santiago, had convinced him to download the app you met on.

You made a mental note to thank Santiago for that if you ever met him.

A few hours passed, you slipped in and out of sleep, annoyed that when you finally had a day off to sleep past 6am, it was nearly impossible. Eventually, Frankie began to stir, the first signs of waking showing on his face. His thick lashes fluttered, and his breathing lost the quality that only deep slumber brought on. He felt you next to him, his fingers traced along your spine raising goosebumps along your arms.

“Good morning,” his voice was thick with sleep, which you found incredibly sexy.

“Hey sleepy head,” you whispered, kissing his jaw. He smiled and opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on you. Your stomach fluttered, and you could feel your desire for him dampen between your legs. The rain started coming down harder, drowning out all other noise from outside.

“How’d you sleep?” Frankie moved a strand of hair away from your face as he spoke.

“Really good, this bed is ridiculously comfortable,” you said, moving your leg so it hooked over his hips, hoping he would get the message.

Frankie made a noise of agreement and pressed a kiss against your forehead, then another on your cheek, and a third on your lips. You felt his cock stir and twitch against your leg, sending a new wave of lust through your body.

Frankie deepened the kiss and rolled you both, so you were on top of him. You moved so you could feel the tip of his cock lined up with your entrance. You kissed him once more before slowly, teasingly lowering yourself onto him until his full length was inside you. Frankie moaned your name as you moved your hips, relishing at the feeling of him inside of you.

You set the pace, slowing, and quickening at your will, enjoying the feeling of him. Frankie held your hips, his deep brown eyes never leaving your own until he sat up and moved his face to your breasts. He caught a nipple between his teeth, biting down with gentle playfulness. You let out a quivering breath as his tongue worked at the tender nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. God, would he make you cum again? You were so close, and Frankie seemed to sense this, taking over so he set the pace moving in a quick rhythm beneath you.

You cried out as the orgasm moved through your body, leaving your mind blissfully blank of all thoughts except one: Frankie.

His own release followed quickly after yours, like he was holding off until he knew you were satisfied. His breathing became laboured, his eyes squeezed shut and his grip on you became tight as his hips buckled slightly. You slumped over him, taking deep steadying breaths.

“Ah shit,” Frankie muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” You asked, confused. You hadn’t said the word ‘yes’, but surely, he knew you were a very willing participant.

“I didn’t put a condom on,” he explained, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you almost laughed, relieved that that was what he was worried about. “I’m on birth control and I got tested last month. I appreciate the apology, though.”

Frankie nodded, looking a little more relaxed. “I’ve still made a mess though. Here, roll over and don’t move til I get back.” You did as he instructed as he sprung up from the bed and pulled on a pair of boxers and left to the bathroom.

Sex with Frankie that morning was different than the night before, more sensual, and gentler than the night before. Maybe it was the throws of sleep still on you both, or maybe it was the sound of the rain outside, or maybe it was the feeling of already knowing each other’s bodies better than you did the night before. Whatever the reason, you found yourself craving more of him.

Frankie returned with a damp cloth and set to work, cleaning your area with a care you didn’t realise was possible from a lover. When he was finished, he looked up at you from between your legs with a shy grin.

“You hungry?”

Your stomach gurgled in response, making Frankie laugh. “Have you got eggs?”

“How’d you like them?”

“Scrambled,” you said, knowing that it was nearly impossible to mess up scrambled eggs.

“Perfect,” Frankie stood up and handed you some clothes. “You don’t have to wear them, but I thought they might be a bit more comfortable than the dress.”

You thanked him and he left to cook for you, giving you privacy to dress. You took this as an opportunity to get a better look at his room, taking in everything from the photos on the dresser of Frankie in his army days with his brothers around him, to the half folded pile of clothes in the corner. You picked up the photo on the dresser and squinted at it, wishing for the millionth time you’d had the sense to bring your glasses with you when you’d failed miserably at putting your contacts in.

In the photo Frankie stood with four other men in what you presumed was the Afghan desert, all in their army fatigues. Frankie was younger here by a few years, his face unlined by time and stress, his hair cropped shorter. You tried to pick out his friends in the picture, the brothers Benny and Will were obvious, you guessed Tom was the slightly more serious looking one, and Santiago the one next to Frankie. You set the photo back in its spot and ventured out into the kitchen, Frankie smiling as he gestured for you to sit at the counter stool.

“I haven’t had to cook for anyone but myself in a while,” he admitted sheepishly, “so I hope this is up to standard.” He handed a plate of eggs and toast to you and started on his own. You took a bite and nodded at him.

“It’s really good,” you said taking another bite. You didn’t tell him that anyone had cooked for you had been about a year and a half before your ex, Jonas, left, not wanting to dampen the mood, but the fact that Frankie seemingly cared enough to make you breakfast after one night made you almost giddy.

You and Frankie ate in companionable silence, stealing glances at each other. You hadn’t imagined when you agreed to meet him for a date that it would go this well. Hell, you hadn’t imagined ever agreeing to a date again after the shit Jonas put you through, but something about Frankie seemed . . . trustworthy was the best way to put it. You were going to ask him on a date, agonising over FaceTime with Adri on how best to ask, when he had asked you. Adri, who believed in fate, told you it was meant to be.

You didn’t know if you believed in fate, or soulmates, or anything like that, but even you had to admit the coincidence had been freakish. After Frankie’s message came in, you instantly set to work clearing your schedule, sending a message to your Friday night study group that you’d suddenly come down with a stomach bug and wouldn’t be able to make it. Adri had stayed on a little while longer, giving you advice as you tried on what felt like a thousand different outfits, discarding each one in a slowly growing pile. You wondered if that’s what the pile of clothes in the corner of Frankie’s room was – a mess out discarded outfits.

“I wanna do this again,” you said looking at Frankie in the eyes. “I don’t know if you’re feeling it too, but I uh, I feel something with you.” It was the most direct you’d been with almost anyone, but you needed to say it, to at least put it to him so that if he wasn’t feeling that connection, then he could shoot you down quickly and painlessly.

“I was thinking the same, actually.” At his words, you felt tension you didn’t even know you had been holding roll out of your shoulders. “When are you free next?”

“The only time I’ve got free for the next week is when I take Lola for her walk,” you grimaced. School was kicking your ass with all the assignments and working in a bar didn’t exactly afford much free time.

“What time and where?”

“Usually around 4, along the dog beach.”

“I’ll see you there on Wednesday, then?”

You felt yourself grin, “it’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” Frankie repeated, his dark eyes lighting up.