#before people say 'travel' okay thank you privileged people. i can save up for a trip once every 15 years and i had mine last year

[ashes-in-a-jar]

Artistic renditions of the solar eclipse are mesmerizing and dramatic but every photograph I've seen looks like someone gently poked a small hole in the sun

[thetravelerwrites]

Bashir (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Troll (World of Warcraft Design) Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Fake Dating, Hired Boyfriend, Fake Boyfriend Content Warnings: Stalker Ex-Boyfriend, Stalking, Mention of Guns, Brief Violence Series: OkCryptid Words: 6365

A commission for @floral-and-fine​​! A woman getting out of a bad relationship has moved across her home state to get away from her controlling ex-boyfriend, only for him to show up at her job. Scared, she goes on OkCryptid to recruit a "boyfriend" in hopes of frightening him off. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

>Hi. I know we don’t know each other and this is pretty sudden, but I have a proposition for you, and it isn’t what you think.

Vague, yes, but it would catch his attention quickly enough, you thought. You were desperate and didn’t know what else to do.

>Oh, He messaged not long after. >What would that be?

>I want to pay you to go out with me for a while.

>I’m not a prostitute. Lol

>That’s not what I mean, You replied, rolling your eyes. >I know this sounds weird, and if I had more money I’d probably just hire a bodyguard, but I don’t.

>Why would you need a bodyguard?

You sighed. >I have a stalker ex-boyfriend. I dated him for about five months, but he was really possessive and crazy so I broke it off, and now he won’t leave me alone. I moved here last month from across the state and he followed me. He showed up at my work today.

>Ah, I see. So you want me to rip his arms off?

>No, I just want him to see me with someone who is big enough to rip his arms off. Maybe it’ll scare him away. You’re the biggest guy I could find on here. Well, I did find a cyclops that was pretty big, but she wasn’t interested.

>Have you gone to the police about this?

>Yeah, but they said unless I get proof he has intent to do harm, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even get a restraining order unless he hurts me or causes property damage. It’s like he has to beat me up before they’ll do anything, and I’d rather not let it get that far.

>Gotcha. Why don’t we don’t meet for coffee tomorrow and talk it over?

>That sounds great. I’m free at lunch.

>Me too. I’ll meet you at Leo’s Diner, you know that one?

>No, but I can Google it. See you tomorrow at 11.

Bashir arrived right on time at eleven the next morning. He was a large troll, dark blue in color, with large, off-white tusks jutting out from the sides of his mouth and his long red hair braided in several placed and pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was muscular, thick in the waist, and around nine feet tall. He wore a suit, which was finely tailored to his body. You raised your eyebrows: his profile was sparse, so you didn’t know what kind of job he did; you’d only chosen him because of his picture. But dressed like that, you were surprised he even agreed to take this “job.”

“Hi, you’re the one I’m supposed to meet today, right?” He said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” You replied, standing and shaking his hand. Your hand was dwarfed in his. “Thanks for agreeing.”

“It’s no trouble,” He said, gesturing for you to sit back down as he took a seat opposite you. “So tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” You said. “His name is Jake. I met him at work; we worked in the same department. He seemed nice, so when he asked me out, I didn’t think anything of saying yes. The first two months was fine, and were got along really well. As soon as we decided to be exclusive, he got really clingy really quickly. Every time I’d try to pull away, he’d clutch at me tighter. He started pressuring me to put distance between me and my friends, he wanted to know where I was all the time, he was constantly texting and calling and got mad when I didn’t respond right away. I got sick of it and broke up with him.”

“When did the stalking start?”

“Almost immediately. It didn’t help that we still worked in the same department, so I had to see him every day. He’d show up at my house after work and on the weekend. He’d either be super angry and demand that I let him in, or he’d be there with flowers and candy and cry and tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, that he was sorry and he’d do better. He kicked my door in a couple of times and I had to call the police. I finally managed to get a restraining order against him, but it didn’t really help. He couldn’t come within five hundred feet, so he would stand on the curb exactly five hundred feet from my house and just watch the house. I was scared for my life. So I quit my job and moved across the state with just my savings. I found a job and I started last week. And yesterday, they said I had a new client, and it was him.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked out and called security, telling them I had a restraining order against him. He mistakenly thinks the restraining order is void because I moved, but I called and that’s not the case at all.” You sighed in aggravation. “I really hope this asshole doesn’t get me fired.”

“Hmm,” He said. “So what’s your offer?”

“Hmm?” You asked.

“You said you’d pay. What’s your offer?”

“Oh,” You said, surprised. “Uh, fifty bucks per date, plus the date expenses. I can’t really afford more than that.”

“That sounds fair. Okay,” He said. “I’ll do it. You just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

“Really?” You replied. “You’ll take the job?”

“Sure,” He said. “I’ve got some free time, and the extra money will be nice. I could buy a new suit in a month.” He grinned and plucked at his own, no doubt worth several months of dates.

“That’s great, thank you,” You said, sighing in relief. “So, Friday night? Around six o’clock? Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” He said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your phone number. I’ll add it to my contacts. That way, if you see him, you can call or text and I can head over and do the arm ripping thing.”

You laughed and took out your phone.

After exchanging information, the two of you had lunch and discussed the finer points of the job. PDAs were acceptable, but you’d prefer if he didn’t kiss you. He had a nine-to-five job, just like you, but his position was flexible and let him leave the office for errands, as long as he didn’t abuse the privilege. You left the lunch feeling a little safer.

Friday night, you met him at a nice Greek restaurant, and he wore another nice bespoke suit. He offered to pick you up at your home, but you didn’t really want him to know where you lived. You were still pretty paranoid about Jake finding out.

“I’m surprised you chose this place, considering you’re footing the bill and everything,” Bashir said, looking around. “It’s pretty fancy.”

“It has to look believable,” You reasoned. “And I do like Greek food. If you like, you can pick the place next time.”

He chuckled. “Have you ever had Mediterranean troll food?”

“No, I haven’t,” You said, interested. “What’s it like?”

“It’s very similar, except there’s no bread of any kind.”

“So what do you eat the hummus on?”

“You drink it like sauce.”

“You’re not supposed to drink sauce!” You protested.

He snickered.

“I feel like you’re making this up.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never met any Mediterranean trolls, so you don’t know.”

“Are you a Mediterranean troll?”

“I am, actually,” He said. “My parents came over from Morocco when I was a tot. I don’t remember much about Morocco, but I’ve always dreamed of going on a trip there, I’ve just never had the chance.” He gave a cursory look over the menu. “Maybe that’s what I’ll use this money for.”

“Sounds nice to me,” You said. “If we both get something good out of this, then that’s a plus.”

“What do you get out of this, other than getting rid of a bothersome ex?”

“Security and peace of mind,” You said, picking up your own menu. “That’s worth the price.”

He looked at you seriously. “This guy really shook you up, didn’t he?”

You set the menu back down and sighed. “He’s never hit me or threatened me verbally. The most he’s ever done is break my door, but…” You looked out of the window. “I feel like… it wouldn’t be hard, you know? It wouldn’t be that much of a leap from breaking my door in to doing something worse. If he gets mad enough, if he gets obsessed enough, who knows what he could do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.”

“I understand,” He said. “I’ve never had to deal with something like that, because… well, look at me…” He gestured at his massive body. “But I do know people who have, and it sounds terrifying. I’m glad I can help, even if I am getting paid to do it.”

You smiled. “Well, it helps that you’re good company.”

“You don’t have to flirt with me, you know,” He teased. “That’s not part of the deal.”

“I will throat-punch you,” You said with a grin, and he laughed.

The next date was the following Saturday, and he chose to go to a concert. He wore a black v-neck shirt and a pair of black slacks, which was as dressed down as you’d seen him, but still very business-casual. It was a showcase of up-and-coming local bands, and they were all pretty good. You didn’t know that he liked Djent and progressive metal, too, but you were happy to have a common interest.

In truth, Bashir was pleasant to be around, and you were relieved that this entire thing wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. It definitely helped make this “dating” business look real from an outsider perspective. He held up his end of the bargain really well over the next dozen dates, holding your hand and putting an arm around you as if it was perfectly normal to do so. Thankfully, it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable when he did it, as he was very warm and the height difference meant he couldn’t be too cuddly naturally. You hoped that if Jake was watching, he believed you’d moved on and had no thoughts for him.

Unfortunately, if he was watching, he didn’t take the hint.

One night, as you were turning off lights and getting ready for bed, you looked out of your bedroom window and there he was, standing on the curb across the street, Jake stood in the shadow of a tree, vaping, and looking toward your house.

Panicked, you didn’t your best to stay calm while you were at the window, not wanting him to know you had seen him, but as soon as you walked away, you turned off the bedroom lights, snatched up your phone, dashed downstairs, and frantically checked the windows and doors, making sure they were all locked.

You meant to call the police, but instead, you dialed Bashir’s number. He answered immediately.

“What’s up?” He asked, sounding caught off guard. You weren’t surprised, you never called or texted him unless it was about the next “date.”

“Jake’s outside,” You whispered. “He’s across the street, I’m looking at him right now from my living room window.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’d recognize that stupid snakeskin vape box anywhere,” You said.

“Okay,” He said. “I’m heading over. Stay on the phone with me until I get there. Do you have a landline?”

“Yeah,” You replied.

“Get it and call the police. Don’t tell them he’s stalking you because, well frankly, they won’t care. Say you’re a concerned member of the neighborhood and there’s a suspicious man hanging around outside and you’re worried about a break in.”

It wouldn’t have been a lie. “Okay,” You said, picking up your cordless phone.

After calling the police, you waited with your heart in your throat, listening to Bashir get into his car and drive. He’d heard you tell the operator your address. He arrived before the police did, his vehicle a nondescript SUV, and he got out wearing sweat pants and a tank top and pulled a duffel bag from his passenger seat. He didn’t acknowledge Jake at all, simply walked up to your door and knocked. You went to open the door for him.

“Hug me and kiss my cheek,” He said in a low undertone. Gulping, you did as he said with him turning so that your display of affection was clearly visible to anyone watching from the street. You let him in and closed the door behind him, locking it.

“What now?”

“Let’s turn on the lights and make some coffee while we wait for the police,” He said.

“Okay,” You said, your voice shaking. You went to go into the kitchen but he stopped you by taking your hand.

“Hey,” He said gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here, and the police are coming. You’re safe.”

Tears came to your eyes and you nodded, wiping them. He released you and you went to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on.

The police arrived. You and Bashir watched covertly from the breakfast nook. Eventually, Jake walked to a car and got in it, driving away. The police followed him.

“They let him go?” You asked, worried.

“Well, they may not have know he has a restraining order, and even if they did, he looked plenty far away enough to not have violated it. He wasn’t breaking any laws other than loitering, so they couldn’t arrest him. At least they made sure he left.”

You held your head in your hands. “God, I don’t want to have to do all this over again.”

“It’s okay,” He said. “I’ll stay the night to make sure he doesn’t come back tonight.”

“What about tomorrow? Or the next day? You can’t be here all the time,” You said, your voice shaking.

He sighed heavily. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

You scoffed in disgust. “I don’t want a fucking gun.”

“Okay,” He said. “Then, I’ll put up a security system. I brought one with me; it’s in my bag. I’ll set it up tonight while he’s not here.”

“It’s late,” You said weakly.

“Do you want to sleep or do you want peace of mind?” He asked you levelly.

You scrubbed your face, took a deep breath, drained your coffee cup, and stood up. “Okay. Let’s do it, then.”

It took a few hours, but he managed to get several security cameras fixed to the building, focused on entryways and the front and back yards. You helped him by holding the equipment and tools for him as he worked, handing up what he needed as he needed it. By the time the two of you were done, it was three a.m. and you both had to be at work in mere hours.

The two of you fell into an exhausted sleep on your bed. You didn’t even have the energy to be affronted by the fact that you were sharing a bed with him. The next morning, before he left to go home and get ready for work, he downloaded the security camera app onto your phone and showed you how to use it.

You went to work, checking your phone surreptitiously to see if Jake was outside of your house. So far, he hadn’t reappeared.

>Today’s Friday, You texted him. >I know you’re probably tired after last night, but do you want to have a date today?

>What about a home date at my house? He replied. >I’ll cook dinner and everything. I don’t want you to be at your house at the moment.

>I can’t argue with that, You said in return. >Sounds good to me. What are you cooking?

>I was thinking a kefta meatball tagine with couscous on the side, and a snake pastry for dessert.

>That sounds amazing. Thanks for putting me up. I know this all is a huge inconvenience, and I really appreciate it.

>It’s no problem,” He said. >It’s what I’m getting paid for, right?

You sighed. Well, this wasn’t exactly what he was getting paid for. How much would an overnight stay cost you?

He sent you a message with his address and you went home after work to shower and pack a small overnight bag. You snickered, pulling out your pretty underwear and a sexy negligee, wondering if you should pack this, too, before putting it away and just throwing some pajamas in your bag.

Checking the cameras before stepping outside, you left the house and hurried to your car, heading to Bashir’s house. His place was a two-story, bungalow style house with a dark brown cliffstone brick pattern and a detached garage. It was charming, and a lot cuter than your tiny yellow ranch-style house. The yard was well kept and three were full flowerbeds next to the wide porch. You wouldn’t have imagined he lived in a place like this.

You knocked on the door and he answered it quickly, wearing a comfortable t-shirt and pair of tight jeans. You tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His clothes left very little to the imagination. His hair was also down and cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“Come in, come in,” He said, taking your bag for you.

“Thanks,” You said. “Your house is really pretty.”

“Oh, thanks!” He said. “It was actually condemned when I bought it. I basically had to rebuild it from the ground up. I’m not quite finished with it yet, but I’m happy with the progress.”

“You should be, it’s amazing,” You said. “I’d never have guessed it was a fixer-upper.”

He grinned at you, showing off his sharp teeth. “Come on, dinner will be ready soon.”

“It smells great,” You said, inhaling the savory smell of lamb and vegetables.

“All my mom’s recipes,” He replied, heading into the kitchen. “She owns a restaurant three towns over.”

“I’ll have to go and visit it sometime,” You said.

“Maybe I’ll take you myself one day,” He said, smiling as he stirred the couscous. Your heart fluttered a little.

How long were you going to have to keep this up? “Dating” Bashir was fun, but it wasn’t going to last forever. Either Jake would give up or get arrested, so either way, it would be over. Maybe you could stay friends. He was nice enough, and you enjoyed hanging out with him. But still… why was he talking about things that might happen in the future if there was no future for the two of you?

Dinner was delicious, and so was dessert, and afterward the two of you went to the living room to watch a movie. He even put his arm around you, since the window was uncovered and anyone could look in, he said, and you felt comfortable enough to relax into his side. It almost did feel like a real home date.

After the movie, though, you both decided to sleep, since you were still tired from the night before. You decided that you were both adults and could share a bed without it being awkward, and besides, his bed was huge and could fit five of you easily. You both fell asleep almost immediately.

Sometime during the night, you got a ping from the motion detector on your phone, but when you checked the security system, it was just a raccoon in your trashcan. You sighed and put your phone down, rolling over.

Bashir was on his back, asleep, with his face turned toward you. He was breathing deeply and relaxed with one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach.

You couldn’t help but stare. He really was an attractive guy, and if circumstances had been different, you might have dated him for real. But… until Jake left you alone, you didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. Bashir didn’t have any emotional connection to you, so Jake couldn’t affect whatever “relationship” you had.

But maybe things could be different after? You weren’t sure. He hadn’t expressed any interest in you other than what he had to to make the job believable. He hadn’t been flirty or more affectionate than he needed to be. You couldn’t afford to develop feelings for Bashir, not right now.

Even still, you brushed your fingers gently against the skin of his arm, feeling the hairs that covered it, and followed the curve up to his hand, allowing yours to rest on top of his for a moment or two before retracting it and trying to fall asleep again, sighing heavily.

The next morning, Bashir recommended that the two of you spend the day together, to keep up the weekend stay appearance.

“How much is this ‘weekend getaway’ going to cost me?” You asked dubiously.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, today’s a freebie, since I suggested it. You still have to pay for last night, though. The normal fifty bucks is fine.”

“Mm-hmm,” You hummed flatly, fishing the money out of your wallet and handing it to him. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“Ah, it’s a freebie day, right? You get to choose this time.”

You smiled. “Well, let’s start with breakfast. I’ll cook it. I can cook breakfast blindfolded.”

“If you like,” He said, sitting at the bar in the kitchen and watching you putter around, looking for cooking tools.

After breakfast, you decided you wanted to go to the local botanical garden, which you hadn’t been to in some time.

“Your flowerbeds outside reminded me of this place,” You told him, walking slowly through the rows of Japanese maples. There was a beautiful and an extremely rare Chinese Red Maple behind a gate at the end of the row, the centerpiece of the garden. “Did you plant them yourself?”

“Yep,” He said with a smile. “I helped my dad do a lot of gardening when he was still alive. He had a landscaping business, but he was really passionate about it. I actually inherited the business. Gardening helps me keep his memory alive.”

“That’s really sweet,” You said, smiling softly. “Is that what you do for a living, the landscaping job? I’ve never actually asked what you do for work.”

“No, actually. I mean, I own the company, but I don’t work for it. My actual job is something else entirely.”

“What is it?”

He laughed. “Honestly, I don’t think you’d believe me.” Before you could ask, he took you by the hand and said, “Let’s take a break and get a coffee. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” You said, letting the subject drop. For now.

You got to the food court outside of the botanical gardens and sat down at the outdoor cafe.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” He said, putting some money down on the table. “Can you order me a large black coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” You said. He smiled and headed off. You got up and put in your order, then sat back down at the table and opened the security app, looking through the cameras and checked to see if anything was out of place.

The chair opposite to you was pulled out and he sat back down while you were still looking at your phone.

“The coffee should be out soon,” You said.

“I didn’t order coffee,” A voice said. It wasn’t Bashir.

You jerked your head up and saw Jake sitting across from you. You stood up so fast that you knocked the chair over.

“Get away from me, Jake,” You said.

“Look, just talk to me,” He said, standing up and advancing on you. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Get away from me!” You shouted. “Bashir!”

“Are you calling for that monster?” He sneered. “You could do so much better than him. Besides, you’re not even really dating him, you’re just paying him to keep you company, you slut. You think I wouldn’t figure that out?”

“Fuck you!” You back up. “Bashir!”

Jake was snatched back and slammed down onto the cafe table. Bashir had him pinned down with a single hand. It wasn’t hard to do: Bashir was almost twice the size of Jake in height and weight.

“Let me go!” Jake said, struggling against Bashir’s iron grip. “I’ll have you arrested! My brother’s a cop!”

“Ah, that explains how you got her address so quick,” Bashir said. “I don’t really care if your brother’s a cop. Actually, I think I do, I think an internal affairs investigation is warranted. Regardless, you’ve just violated a restraining order.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Bashir snorted. “I’m FBI, dickless.”

You gaped at him.

“Bullshit!” Jake said. “I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll ruin your fucking life!”

“Whatever you want, you’re still under arrest,” Bashir said, pulling out a set of handcuffs from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“You’re kidding,” You said slowly, staring at Bashir.

“I told you you probably wouldn’t believe me,” He said, grinning at you sheepishly. He jerked his head at his jacket. “My ID is in my pocket.”

You reached in and fished it out, opening the leather fold to reveal a… rather official looking ID and badge.

You laughed in disbelief. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have.”

The police arrived to detain Jake and took him to the station. Bashir drove you to the station, as well, so that you could make a statement.

Later, Bashir drove you back to your house.

“I’ll bring your bag over later,” He said. “He’ll probably get ninety days in jail for violating the restraining order, and hopefully you won’t have to deal with him anymore. Although, if you hear from him again once he gets out, let me know, and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” You said. “Really, thank you for everything.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” He said, handing it to you. Inside was all the money you had given him for the dates, plus some. There had to have been almost two thousand dollars in there.

“But this is…”

He laughed. “I’m a federal official, you know. I can’t take bribes. I’d get fired.”

“This wasn’t…” You started, but stopped yourself. This could absolutely be seen as a bribe. “What do I do with all this?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. Go on a trip. Buy something nice. It’s your money, after all.”

You sighed a little sadly. “I guess this is it, then.”

He sighed, too. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned forward, bent down, and kissed you on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Jake did end up getting three months in jail, which made you feel a lot better. You were worried that he would come after you, but the three months passed and when he was released, he moved clear across the country and you never heard from him again.

Finally free of him, you thought you might try actually dating again, but you could only think of Bashir. You and he had only spoken a few times, mostly him checking on you, but you hadn’t seen each other since Jake’s arrest. You missed him, but you couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t have any feelings for you, anyway. If he did, wouldn’t he have asked you out after Jake was out of the picture?

Even still, you wanted to see him again. So once Jake was gone, you texted Bashir.

>I have something for you, You told him.

>Oh? What’s that?

>I want to give it to you in person. Would it be okay to come over this weekend?

>I’m free now. Why don’t you stop by?

>Okay. I’ll be there soon.

Before leaving, you hesitated and decided to throw on your best, sexiest underwear. Just in case.

You arrived at his house to find him out in the front yard. He was digging a hole in the yard with a sapling sitting in a bucket, ready for planting. There were also stones and gravel he was going to use for a decorative barrier. He stood up and waved as you drove up into the driveway.

“Hey!” He said, pulling you into a hug. Well, as well as he could, being so tall. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too!” You said. “What kind of tree is that?”

“A Chinese Maple,” He said. “I got inspired when we went to the botanical gardens that time. It cost a pretty penny and I had to wait for the cutting to grow, but it’s finally ready to plant.”

“That’s so cool,” You said. “Can I help?”

“Really?” He said, grinning. “Yeah, sure! There’s a pair of gloves over there on the porch. They might be a little big, but it’s better than blisters.”

You ran to retrieve them, and picked up a trowel. “Why did you decide on the maple?”

“Cause it reminds me of you,” He said, digging. “When I look out my window every day and see it, I’ll think of you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you couldn’t look at him.

It only took about an hour to dig out the hole, plant the sapling, fill the hole with soil, lay the stones, and spread the gravel. Thankfully it was a cool day and you didn’t sweat too much. The two of you caught up on what had happened in the three months since you’d seen each other. You wanted to ask if he had started dating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“It looks great,” He said, standing back and grinning. “Thanks for your help! We got it done in record time. Let’s get cleaned up and have a drink.”

“Okay,” You said. “Let me grab my purse from the car.”

“Oh, right, you had something to give me, right?”

“Yep,” You told him, grabbing your bag.

He laughed. “Sorry I side-tracked you.”

“It’s fine, I had a good time,” You said. He opened the door for you and let you go into the house before him.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up and when you looked down, you realized your toothbrush was in the holder, the one you had forgotten when you’d stayed over. You had bought a new one and figured he’d just throw it away when he found it. Why had he kept it? Why was it in the holder with his?

You went back out into the kitchen and found him shirtless, water beading down the muscles of his back, and you stopped in the doorway, staring.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, laughing and throwing on a clean shirt. “Needed a quick wash. I felt a little grimy after the yardwork.”

“It’s okay,” You said, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Iced tea?”

“Yeah, sure,” You replied, sitting at the bar. He poured you a drink and sat at the bar opposite you.

“So, what was the thing you had for me.”

You swallowed your tea a bit too hard and reached into your purse, handing him an envelope.

“This isn’t the money, is it?” He asked, smiling.

“No, it’s not money,” You said. “Open it.”

He grinned playfully at you, but it slipped from his face when he looked inside the envelope, pulling out two plane tickets.

“Morocco?” He asked, looking up at you in surprise.

You nodded. “Those are good for a year, so make sure you get some vacation time soon,” You said, anxious.

He stared at them. “There are two.”

“Yes,” You replied. “In case you wanted to take your mom. Or maybe a girlfriend or boyfriend or something.”

You kept your face as neutral as possible, but he was staring at you.

“The extra ticket is for you, isn’t it?” He asked softly.

You looked down and away. “If you don’t want me to go, that’s okay. You can take whoever you like. I just wanted you to have the trip you always dreamed of.”

He got up out of his chair, came around, and got down on his knees, so that he was face to face with you. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was firm and testing, and you responded, throwing your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you as well.

“I missed you,” He murmured against your lips.

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” You asked him, pulling back to look at his face.

“I thought you weren’t interested in a real relationship,” He said, pulling you against him. “If I had any inclination you did, I would have asked you out on the spot.”

“I thought the same thing,” You said. “I never expected you’d actually like me.”

“I do,” He said, kissing you again and standing up. “I like you very, very much.”

He walked you into his room and lay you down on his bed, stripping your clothes off your body.

“Pretty,” He said with a grin as he came across your lacy black underwear. “Did you wear this for me?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Well, it would be a shame to take it off so soon, then, wouldn’t it?” He said, palming your breasts over the fabric of your bra. He touched your slit over your underwear, and you gasped. You lifted your leg and rubbed him through his pants, and he grunted. You felt him harden under your touch. He was… uh… large.

You pulled off his shirt and ran your nails down his chest. He moved his hand away and pressed himself against you, still clothed, grinding himself into your clit, and you moaned. You reached for his belt and unbuckled it, unbuttoning it, and pushed his pants down with your toes. Because of his long tusks, he couldn’t bend down to kiss you in this position, so he picked you up as if you were a doll, kissing your body. You were always a little self conscious about your weight, being a big girl, but he seemed not to notice.

He lifted you all the way up to his face, kneeling down so that you weren’t so high up, and licked the cloth covering your slit, putting your legs over his shoulders and his tusks under your body. Using just his tongue, he moved your underwear out of the way and teased your clit. His tongue was long and thick. You whimpered and rocked your hips against his tongue. He pushed it in side of you and thrust it back and forth, and you writhed in his grip.

Carefully, he pulled you down and eased you into his lap, pressing himself against your entrance. You pressed your hands against his stomach and watched him disappear slowly inside you. He couldn’t go all the way in, but once he reached the back and knew where the limit was, he pulled back out slowly and thrust in again slowly, easing you into it. He must have had a similar size problem in the past and had learned how to overcome it in these situations. You were glad for it.

He lay you on the edge of the bed and pressed your knees back, thrusting a little faster, and you reached down and touched yourself, rubbing quickly as he sped up. He pulled the cups of your bra down so that he could grasp your breasts, squeezing gently, and grunted. You held his hand there with your own, pulling up your head and sucking on his pointer finger, looking up at him through your lashes. His breathing was erratic and he watched you hungrily, his sharp teeth biting into his lower lip and pricking the skin.

“I’m so close,” You moaned. “I’m going to cum.”

He nodded as if in agreement, squeezing his eyes shut. He grimaced as if in pain, but then shouted, roaring, and released inside of you. It was a torrent, spraying out of you. Another few hip thrusts and circles around your clit, you came too, your head thrown back against the bed, crying out.

He pulled out and turned his head, resting it against your stomach as his arms gripped your sides, breathing hard. After a moment, you both sat up, and you realized that his legs were covered with his own release.

“Wanna get cleaned up?” You asked him.

“Yeah,” He said dreamily, standing up and leading you into the bathroom. You took a shower together, helping him clean himself. He did the same for you, kneeling down and washing your body. The way he knelt in front of you combine with the way he looked at you, it almost felt like he was worshiping you. Honestly, you didn’t mind that at all.

Your underwear would have to be washed, but he said you could borrow one of his shirts, if you wanted to. Honestly, you were happy to lounge in his bed naked. He seemed happy with that, too.

“When would you like to go?” You asked him, laying on his chest and playing with his chest hair. “To Morocco, I mean?”

“Soon,” He said, entwining his fingers in your hair. “I’ll put in for vacation time as soon as I get back to the office. I don’t really take vacations, so I’m sure my colleagues will be surprised.”

You smiled and kissed his skin. “I’ll have to put in for time off, too,” You said. “Although, I only just started working there six months ago, so they may not approve it.”

“Let me know when they do and I’ll schedule for the same time,” He said.

“Sounds good to me,” He said, sitting up and crossing his legs, looking down at you. You posed a little for him and he grinned, running his hands up and down the soft skin of your torso and belly. “You know what I’d like to do right now, though?”

“What’s that?” You asked.

“I want to take you on a date,” He said, smiling softly. “A real one. I'll pay and everything. And I want to be able to kiss you.”

You smiled back at him. “Deal.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[itsevanffs]

Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 17 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves, just a reminder that I am still on vacation so the queue is posting this! Will respond to ur taglist requests and messages ASAP love u all :) 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of death, violence, drug use

wordcount: 2k

You and Aaron each read Jack a book of his choosing before tucking him into bed and heading towards Aaron’s bedroom together. Bringing your pajamas into the bathroom, you change and brush your teeth with the door closed, which feels silly, given everything, but you can’t help it.  Aaron slips into the bathroom as you step out, and you sit on top of the covers, hands folded in your lap, anxiously awaiting his return. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he asks, clocking your anxiety immediately. 

“Nothing, I just feel bad that I got us caught by Jack,” you confessed, looking down at the comforter. 

“I couldn’t be less upset about that,” he assures you, climbing into bed beside you and taking your hand in his. “I mean, he practically told us that he already knew, even if he was a little confused.” 

“That was the other thing-- sorry that marriage and all of that got brought up. I’m sure that was---”

“I’m not upset about that, either.” He interrupts you. “Did I do something to make you think I was upset?”

“No, no,” you assured him. “It’s just kind of early for that kind of stuff, I’m sure it was uncomfortable--”

“It wasn’t uncomfortable. Apparently I’ve done a bad job of expressing how strongly I care for you, and I’m sorry for that.” You go to interrupt, but he cuts you off. “I couldn’t be happier that Jack knows how much I love you. Sharing that with our people-- my son, and our team-- is not something you need to apologize for, or something I’m ashamed of. I’m thrilled to be able to love you openly. No more apologies, okay?” 

Your breath caught just a little, but you hold it together. “No more apologies,” you agreed. “Aaron, it’s such a privilege to be loved by you,” you whispered, needing him to know how much his words meant to you but scared to ruin the moment. Aaron just shook his head, leaning to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he whispers into your hair, and you close your eyes, letting the peace of his touch overwhelm you. 

“There’s one more thing,” you said, after a moment. 

“And it’s not an apology?” Aaron checks. 

“No, it’s not an apology,” you assure him. “I wanted to thank you for sharing those pictures with Jack and me tonight. I’m sure it was emotional, but I was glad to see them. You love Haley so much. Thank you for sharing her memory with me.” 

“She was the reason I got up in the morning, from the day I met her until the day she died.” Aaron tells you, and you squeeze his hand.

“Everyone knew how much you loved her, Aaron. Even after the divorce, there wasn’t a single person at the bureau who knew a man who loved his wife that much.” You assured him.

“But it wasn’t enough. I failed her, and I could fail you too.”

“No, Aaron, no you didn’t. You promised to love her for as long as you lived, and you didn’t break that promise. You didn’t promise her you’d never change, and she never promised you that she’d never change. You both changed, but you never stopped loving each other.” You told him.

“How did you know? How did you know that I never stopped loving her? Didn’t that scare you out of loving me?’ Aaron whispered. 

“Aaron, the way you love her shows in everything you do. You never took a picture of her down, even after the divorce, when I’m sure they were painful to look at. You always let her know you were safe at night, and when she left you, you helped her move and made sure she had everything you needed.” 

“And that doesn’t scare you? That even when she left me, I still loved her?” 

“No, Aaron, it doesn’t scare me. That’s how I feel about you, so I understand.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Aaron says immediately-- how could you mean that? When Haley was so refined, so beautiful, so compassionate, and he was just a man, a man with baggage and trauma and a dark past?

“Of course I do, Aaron. I never told you this, and I might be selfish in telling you now-- but in the weeks after Haley died, I went to bed at night praying that time would move backwards and that I could take her place. I’d do anything to get her back to you, even if it meant that you and I never made it here.” 

“It’s an incredible privilege to be loved by you,” Aaron echoes your earlier statement, and you smile.

When you wake up the next morning, you realize that you’re never going to get a good night’s sleep without Aaron beside you again, and you love him and hate him for it in equal measure. Your anger is quickly forgotten when he rolls over and starts planting kisses across your face. 

“We have to get Jack to school,” you reminded him with a smile between kisses.

“We’ve got time,” he brushes you off. 

“You’ve got time, maybe. My hair is a mess from napping on your couch and I have to do my makeup,” you reminded him, planting one final kiss on his lips before rolling out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

When you’ve gotten yourself ready for the day, you make your way out to the kitchen, were Jack is sitting in front of a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. 

“Morning, little man,” you said, ruffling his hair and smoothing it back down as you sat in the seat next to him. Aaron crosses the kitchen with two plates, putting a piece of toast with peanut butter and banana slices in front of you, and one on his own placemat. 

“Thanks, honey,” You smile, taking a bite of your breakfast as he sits.

“Dad? Can we go to the soccer field tonight after work?” Jack asks as his father settles in.

“I can’t promise tonight, but we can definitely go this week, okay bud?” 

“Okay.” 

“Finish your breakfast, kiddo, or you’re gonna be late,” you told him, taking your plate to the sink and prepping travel mugs of coffee for you and Aaron, who shepherds Jack through the last few steps of getting out the door. You follow them down to the car and Aaron drives down the road to Jack’s school. You sit in the carpool line for a minute, listening to Jack point out his friends as they walk into the building, before Aaron pulls up to the curb and it’s Jack’s turn to get out. Aaron rolls down the window as Jack collects his things. 

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Hotchner,” a peppy brunette woman who you’re pretty sure is Jack’s teacher ducks down to make eye contact with Aaron through the window.

“Good morning, Ms. Meadows.”

‘Oh, and who’s this?” Ms. Meadows says, taking note of you for the first time. Aaron introduces the two of you, and you notice her looking you up and down, almost sizing you up. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says perfunctorily, turning her attention back to Aaron almost in an instant. “Did Jack tell you about the volunteer sign ups for the kids’ talent show?” 

“He did, I think his Aunt Jess--”

“Oh, that’s right, Jess did mention to me that she’d be here!” Ms. Meadows interrupts. “I guess I was just hoping to get some strong FBI dads in the building to help set up the stage equipment,” she pouts, and you briefly entertain the thought of leaning over the center console and wiping the pleading look across her face. 

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” Aaron says, blissfully interrupted by Jack waiting to give him and you a kiss goodbye. The two of you kiss both of his cheeks, and he hops out of the backseat and takes off towards the main entrance. 

“She was pleasant,” you note sarcastically when Aaron pulls out of the parking lot.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, looking over at you briefly, his nose scrunched up in confusion. 

“She’s clearly into you, Aaron.” You said, knowing it was obvious and he was just being oblivious. 

“What? No she’s not,” Aaron shook his head. 

“Oh, Mr. Hotchner, please come save me from the Woodbridge Elementary School talent show. I need your big, strong muscles to move all this heavy equipment because I’m just a docile young lady,” you mimicked Jack’s teacher in an exaggerated tone. 

“Now, if she had said that, then maybe I would have thought she was into me,” Aaron laughs at your dramatics. 

“She gave me a nasty look. She doesn’t like that she has competition.” You argue. 

“She doesn’t have competition. I mean, there is no competition. There’s just you, and that’s how I like it,” he said, taking one hand off the steering wheel to grab yours and bring it to his lips. 

Garcia is waiting for you both in Aaron’s office when you arrive at work.

“Is everything okay?” You ask her immediately, feeling Aaron shift his body towards yours.

“I finished digging up everything I could on Josh, if you want to see it.” She tells you both, and you look at Aaron. Truth be told, you don’t really want to know, but being disgusted and informed is probably better than being uninformed and caught off guard. 

“Come on, we’ll go review it in your office.” Aaron said, stepping aside to let Garcia lead the way. Once she is a few paces ahead, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, and you just tell me if you need to take a break, okay?”

You nodded, and Aaron place a comforting hand on your back as the two of you made your way down to the batcave. 

“Okay, so, just going through the highlights,” Garcia starts, clicking at tabs and pulling them up on her assortment of monitors throughout the room.  “Starting a few weeks before you left, I noticed that Josh was calling and texting the same number a lot-- but only when you all were off fighting crime. Of course, I assumed that this absolute peach of a man had somehow conned not one but two women who had to be decidedly out of his league, but it turns out that wasn’t the case. He’s been doing coke, and the number leads to his dealer.” 

“Fuck, again?” You interrupted her.

“He was doing coke when the two of you were together?” Aaron asked, surprised. 

“Not for a while, or so I thought. The coke was what made him violent-- I told him it was the drugs or me, and when he told me that he’d picked me, I believed him.” You explained. “He must have been high when he showed up that night-- he was always an asshole but showing up like that was out of character.” 

“So, with you out of the picture, it seems like the coke usage has increased a lot. Like, from a weekly to a daily thing, a lot. He’s going out at night, racking massive credit card debt. He hasn’t purchased a firearm or anything that indicates that he might be planning something violent, but he’s definitely acting impulsive.” 

“Was he sober or high when he sent the flowers?” Aaron asks. 

“Sir, I don’t think he’s been sober since you took all of her stuff out of the apartment,” Garcia responds. 

“He’s only going to get more aggressive and out-of-touch with reality the longer this bender lasts,” you note, clinically, as if you were talking about a case halfway across the country and as if your future wasn’t hanging in the balance. 

“We’ll keep an eye on it, and we’ll be ready. Garcia, can you print out a full copy of this and get it on my desk?” 

“Are you sure? The full copy is really long, it’s got to be--” 

“I’m sure, Garcia. Thank you.”  

tagging:  @hotforhotchner11      @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @msmarvelsmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand. 

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?” 

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka. 

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.” 

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group. 

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways. 

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes. 

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings. 

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms. 

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.” 

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid. 

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.” 

“That’s not necessary.” 

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all. 

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities. 

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks. 

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.” 

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough. 

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?” 

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7. 

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing. 

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?” 

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl. 

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking. 

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold. 

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach. 

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands. 

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate. 

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs. 

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.” 

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars​, @greatcircle79​, @northernpunk​

[twinkleton]

at the end of the century - douxie x reader

Whew, this was a douzy to write! I'm so sorry about the wait, maybe it's length will make up for it! This is part two to my last fic, so be sure to give the first part a read if ya haven't! I wanted to include a familiar for the reader, but it just didn't make sense for the story. I'll happily write another fic that has a reader with one if anyone would like! Also, to avoid confusion, this takes place during the "first" battle at killahead. No time travel going on yet, obviously it's changed to where Douxie is involved in the fight. Hope you guys like it!

Tags: @purplesinnerw @clarencebells

As per usual for Camelot, its streets were bustling with its citizens up bright and early for morning shopping. Traders were bartering their newfound treasures, and parents were buying food and supply for their families. For Y/N however, she was neither a trader or a member of a family. She had nothing, except her magic. Of course she felt terrible tricking people into looking the other way while she grabbed onto a loaf of bread or an extra shirt she’d need, but in order to survive it’s what she had to do. After a while, the guilt can subside. She’d rather be doing this than have to rely on anyone ever again.

Still, as she leaned back against a wall, taking a bite out an apple she’d taken earlier, she couldn’t help but feel jealous at the sight of a little girl on top of her father’s shoulders, laughing along with her mother without a care in the world. She’d argued it was because of having to look at someone so privileged, but really it was because of having to look at someone so loved.

---------

Three years later,

Tensions had reached their peak between Morgana and King Arthur, and a war was about to begin against Gunmar and his army of Gumm-Gumms. Morgana had had enough of his mistreatment of magical creatures, therefore her loyalty to him was hanging by a thread. It didn’t seem enough that Arthur seeked help from the trolls of Dyoza, as she believed he only saw them as pawns. 

Back in Merlin’s study, him, Douxie, and Archie were discussing how to prepare for the upcoming battle, more specifically, what to do about Y/N. 

“No, we are not leaving her here!” Douxie shouts at Merlin. Archie gives him a concerned look.

“Douxie…” he says, trying to calm his friend.

“No, Y/N has never given us any reason to doubt her. How could you suggest such an idea as to lock her up until the battle is over? What has she ever done to deserve that?!”

“Hisirdoux, this is not about what she has done, but she potentially could do. We know how close she is to Morgana, and Morgana will say or do anything to persuade her to be on her side. With Y/N she has an advantage, an extra card in her deck. Keeping her here is only a precaution. It’s a way to keep Y/N safe and to keep Morgana from being stronger,” Merlin explains. 

Douxie isn’t convinced by that. He knows Y/N. He knows that she would not want to be stuck here while the rest of them go off and risk their lives for Camelot. And if Morgana sees her on their side, maybe Y/N could be the one to convince her to stop. 

“Clearly you’ve forgotten that she was the one that stopped me from bringing dark shadows into Camelot. Ever since she’s been here she’s done nothing except be the kindest and most understanding out of all of us. There’s nothing Morgana could say or do that would convince her to go against that.”

“I’m with Douxie,” Archie agrees. “Surely Merlin, you can have a little more faith in the girl. And with her training from Morgana, she could be our biggest asset against her and Gunmar.”

Douxie gives him a scratch behind the ear, silently thanking him. Archie beams at him. 

Merlin gives a sigh in defeat, not willing to argue anymore about the subject. “Alright, we won’t keep her here. However, should she side with Morgana, I fear her safety will be gravely-”

“What are the three of you up to?” As if summoned by them talking about her, Y/N walks in. 

All three of them stop in their tracks, faces blanched.

Douxie decides to sacrifice himself in explaining. “N-nothing Y/N! We were just uh..trying to calm down Archie! You know him, always been a scaredy-cat,” he nervously chuckles, picking up Archie and frantically petting him. Archie’s face screams unenthused.

“Ah yes, frightened I am.”

Y/N giggles at the absurdity going on. She walks over to Douxie, saving Archie from him. He relaxes in her arms, belly exposed for Y/N to give light scritches. 

“Aw, it’s alright, Arch. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you, okay?” she playfully reassures. Despite obviously not needing the comfort, Archie purrs at that. Much like everyone she’s come across since being here, Archie full-heartedly loved her.

Merlin takes the opportunity to leave the room. “I must go. There’s still much to be done before the battle.” He stops at the door, turning to look at Y/N. “We all trust you, Y/N. Please, don’t let that be a mistake.”

She understands what he meant by that, and stays silent. Merlin takes his leave.

Douxie glares at where Merlin was standing moments ago. “Don’t listen to him. We know you’d make the right call with Morgana.”

Y/N lets Archie out of her arms, the familiar jumping onto the table. “I don’t know what to do. Morgana is adamant that Arthur will never see through his hatred with magickind.”

“Don’t you see Y/N? This is the only way to stop my brother and his tyranny.” Morgana had been hiding away, deep in the forest. The only person she trusted with her location was Y/N, on the condition that she swore not to reveal it to anyone else, or else their lives would be the first one targeted in the upcoming war. Y/N agreed to the terms. 

“And you honestly believe Camelot or the world even would be safer with someone like Gunmar? Once he defeats Arthur, there would be nothing to stop him from conquering everyone, including you. The world would be in shambles,” Y/N insists. It pained her heart arguing against Morgana, the first person in the longest time she’d felt safe with. It wasn’t easy for Morgana either. 

“What have I been trying to tell you from the moment you set foot in that castle? Arthur fears us, he fears Gunmar, me, and you. Magic is nothing to be afraid of. You’ve seen the wondrous things magic can do.”

“And I’ve also witnessed the horrible things it’s capable of. I know magic can be good, but people like Gunmar have to be stopped. Please Morgana, you can still do the right thing,” Y/N pleads.

Morgana turns her back on her apprentice, beginning to walk away. “The same could be said for you, my dear.” 

Despite her best efforts, Y/N can’t stop a tear from falling out of her eye. Douxie immediately walks over to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her. 

“I’m afraid, Doux,” she admits, grabbing onto the front of his tunic. “I spent years not trusting anyone, fending for myself, and the whole time I was so lonely.” Soft whimpers could be heard coming from her.

Douxie begins softly petting the back of her head, patiently waiting for her to continue. 

“Morgana was the one who saved me from that life, who gave me hope. She felt like the mother I never had.”

She slightly pulls away from Douxie, wanting to look at him. Looking into her grief-stricken eyes made Douxie almost want to agree to Merlin’s plan of keeping her here, just so she wouldn’t have to face Morgana. He knows she wouldn’t want to do that however.

“What if she’s gone after this? Will I be left all alone again?” Deep down she knows she wouldn’t be alone, but her paranoia was telling her other things.

“Never,” Douxie assures. He pushes her hair away from her face, pressing his hands against her cheeks. “I promise, darling. You will never feel alone ever again,” he swears. Y/N’s fears melt away with his words, her eyes refusing to leave his. They didn’t notice how close they had gotten until Archie interrupted. He hops onto Douxie’s shoulders, causing him to let go of Y/N in order to regain his balance. He lets out a huff of annoyance, with Archie giving him a cheeky smile. 

“Don’t worry dear Y/N. No matter what happens, Doux and I will always be here for you.” She smiles at that, giving Archie a loving pat on his head. 

“Thank you, Archie,” she says, looking back at Douxie to grin at him, implying that their moment wasn’t finished. Douxie gets the hint.

--------

Deya slams her amulet into the bridge, opening up the portal to seal away Gunmar and his army. Y/N had stayed with the trolls of Dyoza to help them against the Gumm-Gumms, leaving Merlin, Douxie, and Archie to defeat Morgana. 

The fight had gone too long for Merlin who was injured, weakening his magic. Archie had been knocked out earlier by a strong blow from Morgana. Douxie was holding his own despite Morgana being far stronger than him, however it didn’t last long. 

Pushing her hands away from her, a huge burst of dark wind cascaded the arena they were in, leaving Douxie and Merlin blind. Morgana seized the opportunity to trap them, tying them up in rope created by her magic. They struggled against them, but there was no use. Morgana started cackling with glee, believing she bested them.

“You fools! You should’ve known better than to go against me. You wasted your lives trying to protect my cowardly brother, and now all your squabbling will be for nothing!” Morgana rises into the air and raises her hand, a strong light pulsing from it, no doubt from her charging her final blow against them. 

Douxie frantically looks around for any sign of help or weapon to use. Finding nothing, his last resort is to use words.

“Morgana! Think about Y/N! You know she doesn’t want this!” he shouts, desperation clear in his words.

“Don’t act as if you care about what she wants! You only see her as your puppet, another pawn for you to use! She and all magickind will finally be free once all of you are gone!” A final pulse comes from her hand, the light so bright it hurts to even glance at. All hope deferred, Douxie’s final wish was for the truth to be heard. 

“You’re wrong! Y/N was the reason I changed for the better! I used to be whiny and immature-”

“Hisirdoux! Now’s not the time for a heart to heart!” Merlin interrupts.

Douxie ignores him, “I used to be bitter about the hand I was given, but Y/N gave me a reason to be grateful for what I had! She’s the brightest out of all of us, and I’m so, so lucky to have met her, befriended her, and fallen in love with her!” A wave of peace fills Douxie, accepting his fate. 

His words have left Morgana speechless. Doubt floods her mind, for the first time since this battle began. However, she snaps back into her fury. 

“Very well, you can die with a peace of mind. I’ll tell Y/N all about your feelings for her while she grieves over your dead body,” she maliciously answers. She throws her hand down, an enormous beam of light launches from her hand.

Douxie closes his eyes, waiting for the feeling of burning skin to come, but it never does.

“There won’t be any need for that, Morgana!”

He recognizes that voice, and his eyes shoot open. The ground beneath them shakes, as Y/N throws up a shield so large, it sends Morgana’s magic flying all across the other side of the room, most of it hitting Morgana herself. She lets out a cry, falling to the floor. 

Y/N sprints over to Merlin and Douxie, freeing them from the ropes.

Douxie gleefully says, “Y/N! You made it! You’re okay- how much of that did you hear?”

Y/N giggles, “Just that last bit. You know, the important bit.”

Douxie lets out an embarrassed chuckle. Archie, having finally woken up, flies over to the couple. “I’d hate to interrupt this lovely reunion, but we do have a ninth-level sorceress to take care of.”

They all turn towards Morgana. “Right, let’s finish this,” Douxie commands.

Douxie and Archie team up, using magic and fire to seal Morgana in a ring of flames. Morgana growls in anger. Y/N puts up shields all around her friends, blocking any of Morgana’s attacks from hitting them. When Morgana shoots her magic at Y/N, Merlin defends her, the bolt ricocheting off his staff and back towards Morgana. Douxie jumps towards Morgana, armed with a sigil designed to freeze her. He successfully reaches her, and the both of them are frozen in the air, except she has no control.

“Hurry! I can’t hold her that long!” Douxie warns. 

“You’ve lost yourself Morgana! Bound to dark magic,” Merlin yells, slamming his staff to the ground, a large sigil of his own covering the floor. 

“I have no choice but to seal you away!” He begins the spell, balls of light rising from the floor. Morgana is able to swing her staff at Douxie, throwing him across the room. However, before she can move, Y/N replaces Douxie, freezing Morgana once more with an even stronger hold. 

“Do it! Finish the spell!” Y/N shouts. 

Morgana screams in frustration. “How dare you, Y/N! I am the reason your life has meaning, I’m the reason for everything you hold dear! You’d be nothing if it weren’t for me!”

“I never was nothing! The only thing I used to be was alone! You’ve given me a family, and for that I’m grateful, but now I have to protect that family! And the only way to do that is to get rid of you!” Y/N turns toward Merlin, “Any day now!”

Merlin chants the final line of the spell, and a beam of light expels from his staff, hitting Morgana at her feet, encasing them in stone. The light slowly works its way up her body.

“I will destroy you all! No matter what it takes, no matter where you go, I will not rest until I’ve ended you and all that you love!” Morgana vows, hitting Y/N with a bolt, knocking her down. Douxie sprints and catches her before she hits the floor. 

Most of Morgana’s body has been encased, leaving only her torso and head free. “I swear on your lives I shall rise again!” 

“And we’ll still be here to stop you once more, buttsnack!” Douxie promises, firmly holding onto Y/N. Once all of her has been frozen, Merlin crosses his arms, finishing the enchantment. Y/N opens up a portal to the Shadow Realm, and Merlin hurls Morgana into it. The last thing heard from Morgana is fearful screaming as Y/N closes the portal.

With the battle finally over, everyone gives a huge sigh of relief, falling to the floor. Archie marches over to Douxie and Y/N, jumping on top of them and licking their faces.

“Arch! That’s disgusting,” Douxie complains with a smile, clearly not meaning it. Y/N hugs Archie, giving him a kiss on the forehead. Douxie beams at the both of them, feeling so content in the moment. 

He puts a hand on her shoulder, “Are you alright, love?” Archie hops off of Y/N, deciding to give them a moment alone.

“I’m okay, more than okay really. She was too far gone, there was nothing more we could do,” Y/N answers. “Now, about your little declaration of love there.”

Douxie nervously giggles, “Yeaahhh, about that. Look desperate times call for desperate measures! Had I known you were just going to waltz in anyway, I would’ve waited for a more romantic evening to confess my undying love for you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“There would’ve been flowers, music, little sweet buns iced with our initials toget-”

Y/N cuts off his rambling by grabbing his tunic with one hand, resting the other on his cheek, and pulling his lips towards hers. Their first kiss is a soft one, with Douxie wrapping his arms around her, pulling her even closer. They let each other go, feeling the sudden urge to laugh at one another for their impeccable timing.

“I love you too, Douxie. More than anything,” Y/N confesses.

Douxie grabs her face and pulls her into another kiss, convinced this is the happiest moment of his life.

Eventually, they remember they’re not alone. They look around to see Merlin passed out on the floor. 

“Merlin!” they both shout, running over to him. Archie apparently had been trying to wake them up, waiting for their moment to be over in order to tell them.

“Why didn’t you tell us he’d passed out?!” Douxie scolds.

Archie waves his paws in defense. “Pardon me, you know I’m all for happy endings. I just didn’t want to be the one to tell you it’s not over yet.” Douxie lets out a groan, slamming his hand to his forehead.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” Y/N asks.

“Hopefully, soon,” Douxie answers, doubtfully.

--------

Nine centuries later, 

“FUZZBUCKETS!” Douxie screams in the air, being dragged along by a mephit he, Y/N, and Archie were trying to catch. 

“Don’t let go of it!” Y/N shouts, trying to sprint ahead of the creature.

“Ah yes dear, that was the plan all along! To free this poor tortured beast!” he yells sarcastically, before slamming into the ground for the fifth time that night.

“You know it was your sense of humor I fell in love with first!” she quips. She opens up a portal on the floor and jumps into it, opening up another one right in front of the mephit. She draws up a sigil that the mephit bounces off of, knocking him down.

“Ah well, luckily for you I’m quite the jester!” Douxie jokes. 

Archie swoops in and blows fire at the mephit, fatally wounding it. Douxie is then able to cast the creature away. They all let out shouts of victory, Y/N giving each of them a high five. 

“You know, one of these days you two will be the death of me. Maybe don’t start flirting with each other until you’re absolutely certain you’ve caught the shadow mephit,” Archie chides.

Y/N scratches behind Archie’s ear as a way of apology. “I’m so sorry dear husband over there insists on putting his hands on me at every available opportunity. He’s quite the scoundrel,” Y/N teases. 

Douxie scoffs at that remark, pretending to be offended. “Pardon me, dear wife. But if I recall correctly it was you who-” He doesn’t finish his sentence as he’s distracted by the lights suddenly flickering and then bursting. 

“Hisirdoux,” a voice calls out. 

“Is that…?” Y/N questions, looking around.

“I think it is…. Merlin!” Douxie grins in excitement, happy to know his master is finally awake. 

A green sigil lights up from underneath Douxie, making him jump back. Merlin rises up from it, except it’s only a projection of him. 

“Hisirdoux, my faithful apprentice-”

“You darn right I’ve been faithful. Who leaves a guy hanging for almost a millennium? You could’ve sent a raven, or a text! There’s texting you know!” Douxie whines. 

“It’s so good to see you, Merlin,” Y/N says with a smile, giving him a bow. 

Merlin smiles back, “Lovely to see you too, dear Y/N. I see Hisirdoux hasn’t tormented you enough to run to the hills yet.”

Y/N laughs, standing back up, “Actually, he’s done quite the opposite.” She raises her left hand, showing off the ring on her finger. Douxie wraps an arm around her shoulders, eyes staring lovingly at her. Merlin beams at the both of them, glad that they’ve had each other all the years. 

“Congratulations, you two,” Merlin proudly says. 

“Thanks, Master,” Douxie responds gratefully. The last nine hundred have been wonderful with her and Archie at his side.

Merlin clears his throat, “I’ve come here to task you all with a mission. You must bring the Guardians of Arcadia, with haste.” The projection of him fades away, leaving the three of them alone. 

“Errand boys once again, aren’t we?” Archie complains. Douxie lets out a sigh. 

“Don’t think of it as an errand, think of it as another adventure,” Y/N suggests, wrapping her left arm around Douxie and letting Archie climb on top of her shoulders. “It’ll be fun! You’ll see.”

Douxie chuckles, and brings his left hand to her head, pulling it closer to him to press a light kiss against her forehead. “With you, my love, anything’s an adventure.”

--------

Bonus, 

“Wait, so the two of you are wizards?! Not just baristas at the cafe?!” Toby questions. 

“Yup!” Y/N replies. 

“And you’ve been living for nine hundred years?!” 

“Yup!” 

Steve gives Y/N a quick up/down glance, “Well, you certainly don’t look it.”

Douxie glares at him, “Careful, she’s married.”

Steve raises his hands in defense, “I’m just saying! Wait, to you?”

“Yes!” Douxie barks at him. 

“Today’s actually our eight hundred and ninety-sixth anniversary,” Y/N informs them with a smile. 

“And you’re spending it here? Wow Doux, you suck at romance.” Toby criticizes.

Douxie scoffs, “Alright, you go celebrate eight hundred and ninety-five anniversaries and report back to me!”

Y/N lets out a giggle, “Maybe that’s enough questions for now.”

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch56: Worthy

Intro: A few weeks post the Time Heist the team are finally ready to reverse the snap. The only problem is, when you mess with time it tends to mess back…

Warnings: “Language!” 

Pairing:  Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Another huge thanks to @angrybirdcr​ for her edits…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 55

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

October 2023

Katie walked over to the dresser in Nat’s room and smiled at the photos that stood on the shiny, dark wood surface. There were a few shots that stood in frames, one of Nat with Clint, Laura and the Kids, one of her, Katie and Pepper at Tony’s wedding, but it was the biggest one that she reached out to pick up. It was a photo that Katie had taken in her and Steve’s back garden a few months before on Jamie’s third birthday. Nat had Jamie balanced on her hip and Emmy to her other side, arm round the teens shoulder. She was smiling, happily at the camera, almost like she had no care in the world.

“Hey.” A soft voice spoke behind her and she turned to look at Steve, already dressed in his Captain America suit. “I’m not even gonna ask how you got in here.” “I already had access.” Katie shrugged, replacing the photo back down. “She had access to ours as well, although she never used it much, especially not after that time she walked in on us on the couch and got an eyeful of your ass going ten to the-“ “Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Steve snorted, leaning on the doorframe, the pink tinge spreading up his neck to his cheeks as he recalled the incident. They’d been going at it pretty furiously when Nat had walked in. There had been a lot of yelling, shrieks, giggles and one strategically placed throw cushion as he had stood up and reversed hastily to the bedroom out of view. “She told me she needed four bottles of bleach for her eyeballs.”

Katie sniggered before she sighed. “I miss her, Steve.”

“I know.” He said gently, walking into the room and she melted into his arms. “I wish I could tell you it goes away but it doesn’t. You just learn to live with it. I promise it will get easier though.” Katie smiled at his words. She knew full well what living with grief was like, they’d done it enough over the past five years but he wasn’t trying to be patronising, merely trying to lend her some comfort and she loved him for that.

“Given that Halloween isn’t for another two weeks I take it you’re dressed in your Spangles for a reason?” She pulled back and Steve nodded.

“We’re ready.” He gave her a significant look.

Katie let out a breath. They’d been working on the gauntlet now for the past few weeks. Thor, Rocket, Tony and Banner all spending hours at a time in the lab. Given that the Time and Soul stones were the only ones they had in their true gem form the first challenge get the others into the same state. For the most, all that meant was smashing open the various items they were contained within- namely the Tesseract, Sceptre and Orb. But even that had to be done in a controlled way so no stone was damaged or disturbed. Then, a slightly trickier task, they’d had to figure out how to solidify the Aether. Thor had been extremely nervous about this given his history with it and how it was able to “consume” people it decided to use as hosts. After days of brainstorming and various ideas they dismissed, Tony had come up with the idea of using the 3D printer to create a vessel, using a scan of one of the other stones.

“So, err…it’s time?” Steve nodded. “Everyone’s meeting in the lab.” He nodded to the photos on the side. “Time to make her sacrifice worthwhile.”

Katie followed his eye line and nodded. “Yeah,” she turned back to him, “I’ll go grab my suit.” He bent down to give her a soft peck on the lips and watched her go before he cast a cursory glance around the room. It was a little untidy, but that had been Nat all over. ‘Organised chaos’ she had described her nature as.

“You weren’t wrong, Widow.” Steve smiled gently, before he turned and shut the door behind him, striding back to the lab.

He arrived just in time to see Tony stood by the glass case housing the Gauntlet, his hand carefully manipulating the machines to cautiously place all six stones in their respective places within the glove.

“Boom!” Rocket let out a yell and both Tony and Bruce jumped a little. Tony turned to glare at the raccoon who was sniggering at his joke.

Steve rolled his eyes, he still wasn’t sure about the animal but he couldn’t deny he’d been useful, his knowledge filling in a lot of gaps they had.

“Asshole.” Tony grumbled as Steve crossed the room to pick up his helmet which was lying on a desk. Tony looked up at him. “You find Kiddo?” “Exactly where I thought she’d be.” Steve nodded. “She’s gone to suit up.” It wasn’t long before she returned with Clint and Scott. Scott was already in his Ant-Man suit, Clint in his Hawkeye get up and Katie in her leathers, the bangle that contained her Supernova suit gleaming on her wrist. Steve’s eyes travelled over everyone as they checked their various bits of equipment, and he took a deep breath, nervous excitement coursing through his veins.

Everything they had been through over the past five years and, more recently, the sacrifice their best friend had made all came down to this. A literal snap of the fingers.

Eventually, a silence fell over the room as everyone crowded round the gauntlet. A quick headcount told Steve they were one short, and he didn’t mean Natasha either. Nebula was absent but he assumed she was elsewhere at the request of Tony for some reason, maybe doing some checks in other areas. He was about to ask when Rocket spoke up.

“All right. The glove’s ready.” His arms folded across his chest. “Question is, who’s gonna snap their freaking fingers?”

“I’ll do it.” Thor spoke immediately and they all turned to face him, Lang speaking the words at the forefront of Steve’s mind.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s okay.” Thor nodded, heading towards the gauntlet where he was immediately met with a barrage of protests from around the room.

“No, no, no, whoa.”

“Stop. Stop.”

“Wait a sec. Hey, hey!”

“Wait, wait, Thor, just wait.” Steve shook his head gently, his arm reaching out to stop the God before he put his arm in the glove. “We haven’t decided who’s gonna put that on yet.”

“I’m sorry. What, we’re just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?” Thor snapped back.

“We should at least discuss it.” Katie nodded, trying to appease him.

“No, no, sitting here staring at that thing is not gonna bring everybody back.” Thor looked at her, shaking his head. “I’m the strongest Avenger, okay? So this responsibility falls upon me. It’s my duty.”

“It’s not about–“

“It’s not that– Stop it! Just let me!” Thor pleaded as he started to get teary eyed. Katie took a breath as she could almost feel the guilt that was radiating off him in waves. “Just let me do it. Just let me do something good. Something right.”

“Look, it’s not just the fact that that glove is channelling enough energy to light up a continent, I’m telling you, you’re in no condition.” Tony shook his head.

“He’s right, Thor.” Katie looked at him. “Let’s just think about it, please?”

“What do you-“ Thor shook his head as he looked at Katie, his blue eyes then flicking to Tony “What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?”

Katie took a deep breath and crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking at Steve who mimicked her action subconsciously, shaking his head slightly.

“Cheez Whiz?” Rhodey supplied from the side of the room. Thor pointed at him, shooting him a glare but all Rhodey did was shrug.

“Lightning.” He stated simply.

“Lightning won’t help you, pal.” Banner spoke softly, as everyone turned to look at him “It’s gotta be me.”

Katie glanced at Steve who was frowning a little, his attention completely on the large hulk of a man who gave a small shrug.

“You saw what those stones did to Thanos. It almost killed him. None of you could survive.” Banner’s eyes were focussed on the red gauntlet as he walked towards it.

“How do we know you will?” Steve questioned as Banner passed him by.

“We don’t. But the radiation’s mostly gamma,” he stated, in a matter of fact way, his eyes still on the gauntlet, as he clearly contemplated. With a smile he turned to look at Katie, then Tony as he spoke again. “It’s like….uh…I was made for this.”

Katie’s head whipped round to look at Tony, before they both glanced back at Banner who smiled at them again, the siblings instantly understanding what he was referring to.

“You know, I’ve got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart.” Tony said, pointing at the Arc-Reactor in his chest as he walked towards Bruce “But this- this stops it. This little circle of light”

“Because that’s the same…” Katie said sarcastically rolling my eyes.

“The point is its part of me now, not just armor.” Tony ignored her as he stood opposite Banner, looking at him through you clear screen as lines of data swam across it. “It’s a… terrible privilege.

“But you can control it.” Bruce pointed out.

“Because I learned how”

“It’s different.” Bruce returned back to the computer screen but Tony slid the data aside with his fingers so the two could see face-to-face without interruption.

“Hey, I’ve read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you.”

“That’s true…” Katie said, watching the exchange.

“So you’re saying that the Hulk…” he paused, smiling sadly as he correcting himself whilst Tony raised his eyebrows “The other guy saved my life?”

Katie looked at Tony. His eyes were flashing bright as Bruce looked back at him. Tony gave him a significant look.

“That’s nice, it’s a nice sentiment.” Bruce said as Tony moved back to his computer. “Saved it for what?”

Tony hesitated and looked up, “I guess we’ll find out.

And it seemed they just had.

Unlike Steve, Katie did believe in fate and destiny, certainly to an extent anyway. After everything she had seen and experienced over the past twelve years or so she couldn’t help but consider there was an element of truth in the fact that they were all pawns in a bigger game.

She glanced at Steve who was studying Banner, but made no move to stop him. He couldn’t argue with the man’s logic. So, as no one else protested, Tony moved to remove the gauntlet from the casing before he handed it to the Doctor.

“Good to go, yeah?” Tony asked.

Bruce nodded. “Let’s do it,”

“You remember. Everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago and just bring them back to now.” Tony reminded Bruce. “Don’t change anything from the last five years,”

Bruce nodded again. “Got it.”

“Good luck.” Katie encouraged before she twisted the star on her bangle causing her suit to flow over her body, Tony doing the same with his chest piece whilst Steve gripped his shield on his arm. Katie’s own shield beamed out of the suit and she held it in front of her, glancing to Steve where he stood to her left. He flashed her a small smile which she returned before her helmet slid round her head.

“FRIDAY do me a favour and activate Barn Door Protocol” Tony announced as he stepped in line with Clint, a shield springing from his suit. Thor stepped in front of Rocket whilst Rhodey and Scott also fully engaged their suits.

“Yes boss,” she replied and around them all the facility went into lock down as shutters closed over the doors, windows and roof.

Katie engaged her scanners, checking the heads up display which was monitoring the energy levels on the stones and she moved her feet slightly apart, adopting an almost identical stance to Steve, their defences raised in front of them.

 Bruce looked at the gauntlet in his hand for a second. “Everybody comes home,” and with that he slid his fingers into the glove which nanobotically expanded to fit his hand. There was a sudden whoosh, and as they watched, the stones lit up in different colours, tendrils of bright light spreading up Bruce’s arm as their power surged up towards his shoulder and neck. He cried out in pain, almost falling and Katie watched worriedly as the man continued to shout and groan, his teeth grit together.

“Bruce?” She asked as Steve shifted besides her, his legs apart ready to dive in if he had to. Bruce then crashed down to his knees, his face contorted in pain.

“Take it off. Take it off!” Thor cried out, starting towards him.

“No, wait!” Steve urged, holding his hand up. They knew something like this was going to happen, they’d seen the mess left of Thanos’ arm. But they couldn’t quit, not now. “Bruce, are you okay?“ 

“Talk to me, Banner.” Tony demanded.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” Bruce grit out through his teeth, giving a jerky nod as Thor gave him two thumbs.

After what felt like hours, Bruce slowly raised his arm. With a final grit of his teeth, he moved his fingers and everyone braced themselves. Steve moved himself in front of his wife with his shield raised, even though she was probably more protected than he was, such was his force of habit. With a loud yell, and a laboured effort, Bruce snapped his fingers. Steve’s shield raised automatically over his face in an attempt to shield himself and Katie form the blinding white light that pulsed out from the Gauntlet, filling the room.

But it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

Steve had to admit he had expected more, but his concern at the moment was Bruce who collapsed backwards to the floor and the gauntlet slid off his hand dropping to the tiles with a clang.

“Bruce!” He called, kneeling down beside him as Clint booted the gauntlet across the room away from them all.

“Don’t move him.” Tony instructed as he dropped to his knees besides Bruce who was gripping onto Steve’s arm with his left hand, blinking in pain. Tony opened his palm, spraying Bruce’s right arm with foam to cool him off.

“Did it work?” Bruce breathed out, blinking slightly.

Katie glanced around, her helmet retracting as she did so. “I don’t know.” As she continued to look around for a clue, anything that would indicate if they’d been successful, she spotted Scott walking towards the windows of the facility, the blinds sliding back as the lock down reversed.

“Worth a shot.” Thor sighed, clearly having already decided it hadn’t. He knelt down besides Banner “It’s okay…”

As Steve, Tony and Thor tended to Bruce, Katie continued to watch Scott who stood by the window, his mouth forming a little O of surprise. She squinted, wondering what it was he had seen, and then she spotted a few birds in the tree on the patio area. She swallowed slightly, whilst birds hadn’t been uncommon in the five years, they had certainly been down in numbers, and it was unusual for four of them at once to be in a tree that small.

She was then distracted by Clint who had given a sharp intake of breath and she spun to watch him as he picked up his phone from one of the desks with a shaking hand.

“Honey?” He croaked, and Katie watched as his face contorted into raw emotion, his words failing to form out of the sheer emotion he was clearly feeling. “Honey?”

There was only one person that could be, and if it was her then…

“Guys, I think it worked,” Scott spoke from his spot and Katie took a deep breath as her own tears threatened to overwhelm her. She locked eyes with Steve, who glanced up at her, his own eyes shining as he smiled.

“We did it.” Katie breathed out, looking round as she gave a watery laugh, wiping away her tears. “Son of a bitch, we actually-“

But she didn’t get chance to finish her sentence as suddenly there was a huge explosion, and the ground fell open beneath her.

*****

Smoke. Fire. Ash. Gushing Water.

That was all Katie could see, hear and feel. She was vaguely aware that FRIDAY was yelling something in her ear. As she shook her head slightly, she groaned, waiting for her senses to catch up with the rest of her.

Then, she heard Tony, and as she moved to get up, she realised she couldn’t. There was something crushing her into the ground, something ridiculously heavy which was pressing on her back. She tried to push herself up, but the weight was too much. 

And then it was gone, and a strong arm was hoisting her to her feet.

“Little Stark?” Thor asked as Katie gave another groan, retracting her helmet. “Are you okay?”

“No serious injuries detected.” FRIDAY informed her, and she nodded to the God.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” She blinked, looking around as she tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened. “Where’s…”

“I take it that wasn’t the snap.” Tony mumbled, distracting her as she glanced down to her left as he blasted away a piece of concrete that had been pinning his legs down. He stood up, and the three of them took a moment to look around where they were stood in the ruins of the compound, before Thor gave a lowly growl and walked to the edge of the blown apart building, looking down into the huge crater.

“No, it was him.” He nodded. Katie and Tony both walked towards him, drawing up on either side, and Katie gave a sharp gasp as she saw Thanos in a distance, sat on a rock.

“Where’s Steve?” Katie’s brain suddenly remembered who it was she’d been looking for earlier, and she, glancing round furiously. She engaged her helmet again and FRIDAY scanned the piles of rubble but she needn’t have bothered, she spotted him almost immediately. She quickly moved towards him, kicking some more rubble and wreckage out of the way before she dropped gently to Steve’s side where he lay unconscious, FRIDAY informing her that his life signs were fine.

“Stevie?” She he said gently, shaking his shoulder. “Come on honey, wake up.” With a sharp intake of breath, Steve’s eyes flew open and Katie let out a sigh of relief, as she looked up to see Tony smiling, Steve’s shield on his arm.

“That’s my man.” Tony nodded, leaning down towards Steve who glanced up, his breathing evening out. “Lose this again,” Tony held out the shield, “I’m keeping it.”

Steve grimaced and turned to look at his wife. “You okay?” “Yeah.” She nodded, “turns out Tony’s suits are pretty good, who knew huh?” Tony scoffed as Steve blinked, getting his bearings, taking in the debris and rubble of the compound. “What happened?” 

“You mess with time it tends to mess back,” Tony spoke gently, glancing at Katie sniffed a little, wiping at her nose, fear flickering across her face. “You’ll see.”

“Thanos?” Steve swallowed, and Katie nodded. Steve exhaled again as Tony helped him to his feet and the three of them walked over to Thor, who was stood exactly where Katie and Tony had left him earlier.

“What’s he been doing?” Tony asked, standing to Thor’s left as Katie stood to the God’s right in between him and her husband as the four of them glanced down at the Titan.

“Absolutely nothing.” Thor’s voice was low.

Steve had no idea how the Titan was there, but he didn’t really give a shit either. There was one thing they had to do, and that was all that mattered.

“Where are the stones?” He asked.

“Somewhere under all this,” Katie gestured to pile of ruins under their feet. “All we know is that he doesn’t have them.”

“So we keep it that way.” Steve spoke simply, steely determination lacing his voice, his eyes not moving from the Titan.

“You know this is a trap, right?” Thor asked, his gaze also locked on the large warrior.

“Yeah. I don’t much, care.” Tony replied with a shrug.

“Good. Just as long as we’re all in agreement.” Thor nodded, and with that there was a large crack of thunder. Bright beams and shards of lightning surround the God as he stretched out both his hands to summon Stormbreaker and Mjolnir. His casual clothes transformed into his armour and cape, his beard flowing into a braid, giving him a distinctive Viking Warrior look as his eyes glowed bright white, every inch of his face lined with fury.

“Good to have you back, Thunder God.” Katie smiled at him as he took a deep breath, the lightning dying down as he looked over her shoulder at Steve, who nodded at him.

“Let’s kill him properly this time.” Thor’s voice was a low growl as he jumped off the edge of the ruins they were stood on, landing with a loud crash on the ground. Katie moved to one side of Steve, wrapping her arm around his as Tony did the same, the three of them flying forward and landing with a little more grace than Thor had done.

Once more the four of them exchanged looks before the started to walk cautiously towards Thanos, but Katie stopped as Steve pulled on her arm.

“You need to promise me.” He looked at her as her. “If this starts to go sideways…” “I think we’re a bit past that.” She breathed out and Steve shook his head, looking down.

“Baby, the kids. I need you to promise me that if it looks like, well, you need to go back for them.” “Steve.” Katie took a shaky breath, her eyes filling with tears. “There’s no point making me promise anything like that, because if we don’t get rid of him, then there might not be anything to go back for.”

Her words hit him harder than any punch could, and Steve felt his chest contract, painfully. He tore his eyes off her which were now full of tears as he looked up at Tony and Thor who continued to advance ahead of them, his hand running down his face.

She was right and whilst he wanted her as far away as possible, with their kids, safe, he knew it was futile because nothing was safe now. He could send her away, get her out of the fight, but if they failed then she was as good as dead anyway, they all were.

Because Steve didn’t believe for a second that Thanos would make the mistake of leaving who died this time round down to chance.  

“If we go, we go.” Katie’s voice ripped him from his thoughts as he turned back to her, the tears in her eyes dancing with the flames that reflected from the various fires dotted around. “We have to try or they don’t stand a chance. Whatever it takes.”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to reply. Instead he gave her a curt nod and the two of them strode forward to confront the man who had haunted their dreams for the past five years.

“You could not live with your own failure,” Thanos spoke for the first time as they drew closer. “Where did that bring you? Back to me. I thought by eliminating half of life the other half would thrive. But you’ve shown me that’s impossible.”

The four of them split up, as they began to surround Thanos, circling him, whilst he spoke.

“As long as there are those that remembered what was, there are always those that are unable to accept what can be. They will resist.”

“Yeah, we’re all kinds of stubborn.” Tony continued his pacing to stand behind the Titan.

“I’m thankful, because now I know what I must do,” Thanos stood up, “I will shred this universe down to its last atom.” He reached for his helmet which had been propped up on the edge of his double edged blade where it was stuck into the ground in front of him. “And then with the stones that you’ve collected for me,” he placed the helmet on top of his head, “I’ll create a new one, teeming with life,” he pulled his weapon from the ground, twirling it in his large hand, “that knows not what is lost, only what has been given,”

There was a rush and a flash as the lighting flew round Thor’s axe and hammer, his eyes flashing as he stood to Thanos’ left, Katie now to his right.

“A grateful universe.” Thanos concluded.

“Born out of blood,” Steve glared up at the man, anger lancing through every cell in his body.

“They’ll never know it,” Thanos cocked his head to the right, “because you won’t be alive to tell them.”

At that, having heard enough, Thor gave a loud cry as he surged forward, beginning the fight. Tony and Katie both launched into the air and Steve threw himself in, shield first, as the four of them began to work in tandem.

Lightning flashed, shots fired, metal clanged on metal as they all deployed their various weapons. It was brutal, hard, just as Steve had remembered from Wakanda, only this time they were engaged directly with the Titan, and it was fast becoming apparent that this Thanos was equally as vicious an opponent than his future self had been. 

“Okay, Thor. Hit me.” Tony’s voice rang over Steve’s comms as Katie flew up out of the way of the Titan’s sword as he swung it at her, deflecting the shot she’d taken at him from her repulsors.

As Steve launched his shield again, Thor banged his axe and hammer together, charging Tony’s suit with lightening. Tony then shot the extra energy out using his hands and body, Katie joining him as she hovered off to the left. Thanos twirled his blade in front of him, diverting the energy and Steve gave a yell as it rebounded back to Katie, her suit taking a full shot causing her to fly off to the side, colliding harshly with a huge piece of the compound structure, falling to the floor.

With a roar of rage, Thor grabbed Stormbreaker and used it to bat his hammer to hit Thanos, who used Tony as a shield, casting the man aside where he too landed harshly, remaining motionless on the ground.

Steve launched forward but was flung away, landing and taking a heavy thump to the head. With a groan, he blinked away the spots of light that had formed in front of his eyes from the impact of the blow, and glanced around, giving a sigh of relieve as he saw Katie was pushing herself up on her hands, rising to all fours. With the ringing still in his ears, he then saw Thanos pounding down on Thor, Tony still motionless in the background.

With a loud grunt, Steve ground his teeth together in stubborn determination and reached out to push himself up, but he paused when a sudden shock of warmth vibrated up his arm. He instantly glanced down at his hand and realised he’d flattened his palm against Thor’s hammer, not the ground. He frowned for a moment, as the vibrations continued. It felt like the throb of his motorbike engine, a warm purr. The last time he had tried to move, sure, it had given a little, but he hadn’t felt anything like that…

Could he? Was it possible?

With an automatic movement, one that seemed completely out of his control, Steve rose to his feet and reached out, gripping the handle. He sucked in a breath and as he pulled up his arm, the hammer came with him.

**** With a groan, Katie blinked, shaking off the daze that had descended over her thanks to the heavy blow she’d taken from Tony’s deflected fire. She looked around, the ringing loud in her ears as she saw Thanos flip Thor to the floor, pressing him back up against a rock. Thor reached for his axe, and as the pair of them grappled, Thanos gained the upper hand and began to attempt to push Stombreaker through Thor’s chest. 

Immediately, Katie took off and began to fly towards Thor, raising her palms to shoot a beam at Thanos, but as she neared something whizzed straight across her path and she stopped dead in the air, her sight focussed on Mjolnir as it soared towards Thanos, where it whacked him harshly in the side of the head, sending him flying away. It carried on for a while before it stopped, and boomeranged back right round but it didn’t stop at Thor.

Instead it continued, and Katie felt her mouth drop open as she followed it with her eyes as it flew into Steve’s waiting hand, his fingers curling round the handle as he caught it.

“Holy shit…” She spluttered at the same time as Thor breathed a little smugly into the comms.

“I knew it!”  

Steve was wielding the hammer. Steve Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn that was too dumb to run away from a fight was worthy.

But then, as Katie watched him turn to look at Thanos, hammer in hand, that determined expression on his face as he sized up his opponent, she realised there was no one else more worthy than the man who had done nothing but continually put his life on the line for others.

Thanos kicked Thor harshly in the chest sending him straight through the rock he was up against and then Steve proceeded to charge at Thanos, swinging Mjolnir. He caught Thanos perfectly on the chin with an upper cut from the hammer, which sent him flying through the air, where he landed, and jumped up.

Katie took off towards the two, as Steve launched his shield, but Thanos deflected it easily. As it swung back towards him, Steve threw the hammer straight at it, creating a shockwave which knocked Thanos back off his feet.

Then, the Captain went completely on the offensive, shield and hammer flying through the air again and again before he lined his arm back up and summonsed the lighting. Shooting a shock at Thanos he blasted the Titan off his feet before Katie landed in front of him giving a yell. Just as Thor had done before to Tony, he charged up her suit and she powered everything she had into the Titan as he lay on the floor.

Steve drew to her side as she unloaded, but before she could say or do anything else Thanos’ sword flew back at her and she dodged out of the way, but wasn’t quite quick enough. It hit her hard in the chest and sent her skidding backwards against the floor where she collided with a metal pipe.

Thanos advanced on Steve, menacingly swinging his weapon and, one on one, Steve was no match for him. He lost the hammer and, after receiving a nasty stab to the leg and gash to his arm, he could do nothing but hold his shield up to deflect the blow that was coming his way.

Only it didn’t. Thanos’ double edged weapon sank straight into the Vibranium like it was butter.

Steve looked at it in shock and horror, never once had anything ever penetrated the metal, but he didn’t have chance to think about it as the blows continued. Pieces of his shield were shearing away left, right and centre and then Thanos picked him up by the front of his suit and tossed him aside like he was a rag doll.

He landed harshly a few feet away from Katie and rolled onto his back, his eyes closing and his chest heaving with exertion. He gave a little gulp, a low gasp that was almost a cry flew from his mouth as he felt sheer desperation flood his system, the faces of his kids and his wife flashing through his mind.

Steve Rogers might be worthy, but he was beat.

**** Chapter 57

 **Original Posting**

[aph-honk-kong]

Passing Seasons

Harald gets a taste of opulence the moment he touches down on Hong Kong. [A continuation of this.] [Written for @aphasiaweek with a focus on Taiwan, Macau and Hong Kong.]

  He probably should’ve noticed the moment they got on the plane.

  Even though Harald and his brother have had the privilege of travelling to a different country once a year since they were young, all of their flights have been spent taking the economy class. But on the flight to Hong Kong, he and Leon were accosted by a smiling flight attendant right at Heathrow Airport and lead to the very front of their plane, where they have their own private suite.

  He’s in said suite now, the divider up between him and his boyfriend while he calls Stellan before takeoff.

  “This flight probably costs more than what I make in a year!” He exclaims. “Leon said the tickets probably got mixed up or something, but in that case it’s the luckiest damn mixup ever. Look at this place!” Harald moves his phone around to display his surroundings. “The seats are so soft I could melt into them.”

  On his phone, Stellan’s eyes widen at the sight of the cabin. “My goodness, I’ve lived in college dorms smaller than that.”

  “I know, right? Leon’s on the other side of this divider, having a pre-flight cocktail. I didn’t even know that was a thing, for fuck’s sake! Imagine getting drunk before you’re even in the air.”

  “Did Leon tell you where the two of you will be staying, by the way?”

  “I think we’re staying in a hotel,” he replies. “He’s been really secretive about this trip, even though it’s so important.”

  Stellan frowns. “Oh, that’s not good. Has he been acting differently lately?”

  “No, not really. But I’m a little nervous, going so far away while knowing so little.”

  “That’s natural. Remember to look out for yourself, especially since you don’t know much about Leon’s family and friends in Hong Kong.”

  The intercom crackles above. “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff.”

  “Take care.” Stellan’s eyes crinkle as he gives a rare smile. “Call me if anything happens, okay? Even if it’s three in the morning for me I’ll get up to listen.”

  “Thanks, Stell. I have to go now, but I’ll call again when I get to Hong Kong. See you.”

  “Bye.”

  He lowers the divider in the cabin after he’s hung up. “I’m still in shock,” Harald tells Leon. “How on earth did the airline mess up this much to our favour?”

  “We’re just lucky, I guess.” Leon slides him a flute of champagne, eyes already slightly-glazed over. “It’s a good start to our trip. You nervous?”

  “A little,” he admits. “It’ll be my first time to Asia, for one, and I’ll be meeting all your old friends and your family. What if they don’t like me?”

  Leon cups his cheek, smiling tipsily. “They’re all going to love you, I promise.”

  The aircraft rumbles and begins to move. He leans over to nuzzle his neck. “If you say so.”

...

  Thirteen hours later, a very disoriented Harald clings on to Leon’s arm while they stumble through the Hong Kong International Airport. Groups of people are milling around, searching for the washroom, baggage pickup or both. Despite not having been back in years, Leon seems to know his way around perfectly and manages to get the two of them out of the airport without a hitch.

  A neatly-dressed lady is waiting for them outside the airport, standing by a limousine with a pleasant smile. “Welcome to Hong Kong, Mr. Wang and Mr. Grieg,” she greets. “We are here to take you to the Four Seasons Hotel. Would you like us to help you with your luggage?”

  “Wait, wh - “

  “Yes, please.” Leon nods to their cart of suitcases, and a group of workers immediately exit the limousine to pick them up. “Thank you very much.”

  “Leon, what the hell is going on?” He hisses. “Isn’t the Four Seasons one of Hong Kong’s most expensive - “

  “Just relax, babe.” He pecks Harald on the forehead. “I know what I’m doing.”

  He leads him into the limousine and sits him down on the plush velvet seat. Harald stares out the window, as though about to try and escape any moment. “Is this another mixup?”

  “I hope not.” Leon places his hand over his and smiles. “I just wanted you to be able to stay at the best place possible while here.”

  He gapes at the limousine, at the people still carrying their suitcases and stowing them in the trunk. “How much did all this cost?”

  Leon fidgets, suddenly looking down. “Uh...” he mumbles, “thirteen thousand six hundred pounds - “

  “What - “

  “ - per night.”

  “WHAT?” He nearly leaps out of his seat. “We can’t afford this! How long did you save up for the stay? Did you have to sell anything? How deep in debt are we? What the flying, soaring, somersaulting shit - “

  “Harald!” Leon wraps an arm around him. “I promise we’re not bankrupt or anything like that. I just happen to be friends with some people who work at the hotel, and they managed to get us a special discount. Really, you don’t have to worry about it.”

  “You could’ve at least warned me. If I’d known we’d be picked up in a limo, I wouldn’t have boarded the plane looking like a hungover college kid.”

  “I think you look as cute as ever.”

  “Shut up.”

  They begin to drive away from the airport. Harald can’t help perking up to look out the window, staring in awe at the massive white bridge they leave Lantau Island on, then the rolling countryside mingling with the occasional building. 

  They pass schools, shipping ports, shopping malls galore, but the most stunning sight is that of Hong Kong Island. Soaring skyscrapers are a massive contrast to the few colonial buildings left, and everywhere, pedestrians of all kinds mill around. 

  Leon snuggles into him, squashing him against the window. “So what do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful.” They pass a mall that looks like a miniature version of New York’s Times Square. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Wait ‘til you see our hotel.”

  The limo pulls up in front of the Four Seasons and Harald’s jaw drops. This can’t be their hotel, it just can’t. The representative opens the door for them and leads them into the grand, gleaming building while their luggage is being taken care of. Still in shock, Harald steps into the stunning lobby and looks around. Not even the W Hotel, reputed as one of London’s best hotels, is this extravagant.

  The elevator is transparent, letting them look out onto the busy streets of Wan Chai. He can’t stop pinching himself, for this breathtaking building can’t be where he’s staying.

  The biggest shock comes when they open the door to their suite.

  “What is this?” Harald can’t even bring himself to step inside. The suite looks more like the living apartments of some Western monarch of old, with plush, elegantly-carved furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the view and an actual chandelier hanging from the painted ceiling. Their suitcases are already there, opened up in their bedroom and waiting to be unpacked. 

  Leon is already making himself comfortable, pulling his clothes out of his suitcase and picking some out to wear after his shower. He looks at Harald, who’s still partially in shock. “What’re you waiting for?”

  He gingerly enters the suite, eyes wide. He can’t even speak.

  While Leon busies himself with showering, Harald takes out his phone and calls his brother. 

  “How was your flight?” Is the first thing Stellan asks after picking up.

  “It was amazing. The food was great, for one, and in the middle of the flight the attendants flattened my seat into a bed. But that’s not the point.” Harald flips his phone’s camera around and moves it around his room. “This is the hotel suite Leon booked for us!”

  He sits in silence for a while, quietly observing the room. “Well,” he finally says, “that’s certainly... something.”

  “It’s a lot.”

  “How much did this cost?”

  “Too much, that’s for sure.” Harald glances at the bathroom. He’ll have to shower after Leon. “Thankfully Leon has friends here and pulled some strings so we can stay here cheaper.”

  Stellan glances at something out of the camera - probably his husband - and waves him away. “It should be about three in the afternoon in Hong Kong right now. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “I’m going to shower first. How ‘bout you?”

  “I have an interview this afternoon, but that’s about it,” he says. “Have fun in Hong Kong, okay?”

  “I will. Good luck in your interview.”

  They chat for a while more before Leon is finally done with his shower and it’s his turn to freshen up. Even the bathroom is fancy - everything’s made of marble, the towels are still-warm and the soap fragrant. He almost wants to stay in there forever until he remembers he has a city to explore.

  Leon is on his phone, sitting on their massive bed when he comes out. “My brother and a friend of mine are meeting us at the hotel lobby in five minutes.”

  “Your friend?”

  “Her name’s Ling,” he explains. “She’s from Taiwan and pretty famous in the fashion world - her store opened a branch in Milan just last month.”

  “Ooh.” Harald flops down next to him. The sheets are impossibly soft. “Woah, this is the best bed I’ve ever slept in.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Leon jokes. “We have go to down to the lobby.”

  He reluctantly gets up from the bed and follows him out of the suite.

 ...

  Vicente and Ling are waiting for them at the doors of the hotel. Leon waves at them, hand in hand with his boyfriend, and power-walks towards them as fast as he can without looking like he’s running. 

  “Jia Lin!” Ling rushes forward and envelopes him in a hug, laughing, “it’s been too long! You’re way taller now and your hair’s no longer a disaster but I see you still have shit fashion sense!”

  His brother ruffles his hair. “Well, you can’t blame him. Londoners are even worse.”

  Leon squirms out of Ling’s arms. “Why is it that the first thing you two do after seeing me is to roast me?”

  “Is that your boyfriend?” She abandons Leon to approach Harald. “Hello there! Welcome to Hong Kong!”

  With a skittish glance at him, Harald manages a smile. “Hi. My name’s Harald, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “No need to be so formal lah, just saying ‘hi’ is enough.” Ling stops in front of him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m Yue Ling, but people always manage to mess up ‘Yue’ despite it being a three-letter word so just call me Ling.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Vicente gives Leon another slap on the shoulder before going to greet Harald. “Hi again. I don’t think you forgot who I am, right?”

  “No, who are you?”

  “Shut up.” 

  “So!” Leon interrupts. “Where do you want to go?”

  Ling turns to him. “Shouldn’t you be the one deciding that? You’re the one who hasn’t been back for a while.” 

  Where to go first? There are so many old spots he simply has to revisit, but what sort of place will give Harald a good impression of his home city? Then his stomach growls. “I say we go eat something first.”

  “Why don’t we go to Chu’s, then?” Vicente suggests.

  “It’s still up?”

  “Of course. I don’t think anyone would have the heart to close that place down.”

  “Hell yeah.” Leon goes to take Harald’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I haven’t had their milk tea in, like, forever.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the four of them are seated on rickety plastic chairs around a table, surrounded by shouting customers and waiters alike. He stares at the menu flattened to the table by the pane of glass and tries to decide exactly what he should order. These are foods he won’t be able to find anywhere outside Hong Kong, from garlic-fried noodles to fresh fishballs to egg custard that’s actually good, and every one of them gives him a pang of nostalgia.

  Harald is pressed up next to him, squinting at the characters. “I understand all these words separately.”

  He points at one of the dishes. “That one’s Hong Kong-style French toast. The one next to it is a, uh...” How do you translate this into English? “A toasted bun with condensed milk.”

  They place their orders soon after. It feels amazing to be able to speak Cantonese again, to be surrounded by his mother tongue like a warm blanket. The chatter of the restaurant makes him feel like a secondary school student again, having afternoon tea after a long day of class. Leon takes a sip of his creamy milk tea and indulges himself with the memories for a while. 

  His phone rings in the middle of one of Vicente’s story. He looks at his screen, rolling his eyes when he realises it’s Yao. “Hello?”

  “Ka Long! You’re back in Hong Kong now, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m coming over for dinner tonight in case you forgot.”

  “I know, I know. Did you bring that boyfriend of yours along?”

  How did Yao know he brought Harald over? Better not to question. Leon sighs. “Yes.”

  “What’s his full name?”

  “Harald Grieg.”

  “Aiyah, you brought a gwai zai home?”

  He grits his teeth. “Why does it matter if he’s a Westerner or not?”

  “No, no, it doesn’t. I’m just surprised, that’s all. What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s the head chef at the Dragon Room.”

  “Really now?” Yao says incredulously. “Very impressive. Educational background?”

  “He didn’t go to university - “

  “HE DROPPED OUT!?”

  “No, he made the decision not to go.” Leon shoots his boyfriend an apologetic look even though he knows he can’t understand the conversation. “He went to culinary school and got a diploma.”

  “Which culinary school?”

  “No clue.”

  “Okay, sure. What’s his net worth? If you don’t know, what’s his family’s?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  “How many houses does he own?”

  Leon blinks. Only his brother would want to know his partners’ property statistics. He prods Harald. “This is a stupid question, but how many houses does your family own?”

  “There’s the house in Trondheim, which is the one my brother’s living in, and we have a summer home in Akureyri. Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” He parrots that information to Yao. 

  “Only two houses?” Yao repeats, disappointed. Leon resists the urge to throw his phone. “How many cars, then?”

  “One.”

  “Ugh, of course. Boats?”

  He pokes Harald again. “Another stupid question, but do you have any boats?”

  “Stellan and I have a motorboat we used to go out to sea with,” he replies. “What’s with you suddenly taking interest in the stuff I own?”

  “It’s nothing, really.” Leon pecks him on the forehead. Across the table, Ling makes a face. He tells Yao over the phone, “he has a motorboat.”

  “No yachts?”

  “No yachts,” Leon confirms. 

  There’s silence on the other side for a long time. Then Yao finally asks quietly, “so you’re dating someone with no university education, two houses, one car and only one boat?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He half-shouts in English. Some people from other tables turn to stare at him. “Who cares if Harald’s not a multibillionaire? I love him, and that’s that!”

  “He doesn’t even have a yacht!”

  One more comment on Harald’s lack of yachts and I will throw this phone across the room, Leon seethes internally. “Quit your judging for now. You can make up your mind when Harald comes over for dinner tonight.”

[needtherapy]

open always petal by petal (ch 2)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien​, @coslyons​, @treemaidengeek​ and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Day 7 ⋆

I fell in love with him first, and he fell in love with the ship first, Song Lan tries to mumble, but he forgot, he doesn’t have a voice anymore, stolen by the man who stole Xingchen’s life.

A gentle hand smooths back his hair and traces a path across his jaw.

“Captain Song, when you wake up, I will buy you a fleet of ships. Just wake up,” a voice says. “Please wake up.”

Song Lan tries words again, even knowing they won’t work. I don’t want a fleet of ships. I only want to know why you are filled with such sadness, he says, but all that comes out is a breathy groan.

The warm hand on his neck disappears, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to pull the comfort back. Instead, he reluctantly opens his eyes and sits up.

The ship is dark, lit only by red emergency lights. He’s sitting on a table in the infirmary, hooked to a neural interface and cortical stimulator, and Cao Huan is on the other side of the room, disinfecting his hands. When he turns, Song Lan signs, “How long?”

“Only a few minutes,” is the answer, and Song Lan can tell the man is fudging the truth if not outright lying. He’s not great at it. “The shockwave knocked out the electrical systems. I looked, but the backup is uniquely designed. I did not want to risk...fiddling just yet.”

He says the word like he’s never used it before, and Song Lan smiles, slowly unhooking the machines from his head. Xingchen definitely had a unique way of wiring. Sometimes he knitted the wires together because he liked the way it looked. Or he chose colors that didn’t correspond to normal schematics but had meaning to him. Blue for ground because he was from the top of a snowy mountain, yellow for live because the sun created life. And so on.

“Okay. I’ll turn on the backups. Anything else?”

Cao Huan bites his lip and shakes his head.

“There’s no time to be polite. If there’s something I should know, tell me,” Song Lan insists, swinging his legs over the edge of the table and gingerly standing. There’s a bump and scrape on his forehead, but otherwise, he’s fine. He’s more worried about Fuxue.

“No,” Cao Huan says. “Nothing. We are far enough away from the remaining pirate fleet for safety. They should be disabled long enough for us to get somewhere for repairs.”

Song Lan knows there’s something more. He knows it like he knows every inch of Fuxue, like he knows the unperturbed expression on Cao Huan’s face means the exact opposite. It takes a second to unravel.

“You didn’t kill them,” he signs, and Cao Huan’s jaw tightens. He looks away, and Song Lan knows he’s guessed right. “You tried your best. They turned.”

“My best was not enough.”

Song Lan doesn’t miss the bitterness of the words.

“They’re pirates. They knew what the cost might be.”

“You are right, Captain Song. There is no time to delay. Show me how I can help you restart Fuxue,” Cao Huan says, and again, the topic is seemingly closed.

With a sigh, Song Lan motions for Cao Huan to follow him, and they spend the next hour rewiring critical systems to the backup engine. Only life support switches automatically, and they have to reconnect propulsion and flight control. It’s just enough to limp to the nearest station, which is, luckily, Rogue Sky.

Cao Huan is surprisingly reluctant to go there, though, even after Song Lan explains that it’s the best place for repairs.

“Are you certain it is our only option?” he asks.

Song Lan considers, even though this is his ship and his decision. The man had helped save his life. This trip is more like a partnership than a mere transport now.

“I trust their chief absolutely,” he finally signs, and Cao Huan nods, accepting his answer with a quick flicker of a smile that in no way fools Song Lan.

⋆ Day 8 ⋆

Rogue Sky is one of the nicer unaffiliated stations, orbiting a planet on the border of the Western and Eastern Sectors, near Qinghe-controlled space, but it has none of the grandeur of Sichuan, or even Caiyi. Despite having been cobbled together from scrapped and spare pieces, it’s known for quick, skilled, no-questions-asked repairs. Any one of those reasons would be good enough to come here, but the odd assortment of stragglers who live and work on Rogue Sky are the closest thing Song Lan has to friends anymore.

There are more than a dozen ships—including a Goldlighter medic—docked in bays or sitting on landing pads. Song Lan brings Fuxue into one of the large repair bays that already has two other ships in it. Even here, Fuxue isn’t very big, dwarfed by Qinghe mining vessels and Qishan haulers. In fact, the only ship smaller is a sleek Yunmeng runabout, a high-speed cruiser that seems a long way from home, in Song Lan’s opinion.

He’d called ahead, so Qingyang is waiting for him.

“Now that I’ve seen Fuxue, I’m even more shocked you’re alive. What did you do to her this time?” she demands.

Song Lan grins and signs, “I can’t be blamed for pirates.”

He feels more than hears Cao Huan behind him and adds, “We wouldn’t have survived if my passenger wasn’t such a skilled gunner. Luo Qingyang…” Song Lan pauses. He doesn’t know what Cao Huan’s sign for his name is. He picks the signs for the two words as a stand in for now. “This is Cao Huan. Cao Huan, this is Qingyang, chief of Rogue Sky.”

Cao Huan has an odd expression on his face when Song Lan looks at him, but he smiles and nods at Qingyang. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Captain Song speaks highly of you.”

“Ah. Cao Huan,” Qingyang says. “Any friend of Song Lan’s is welcome here.” She turns back to Song Lan. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat while the mechs diagnose your baby.”

They walk through the station and Song Lan takes note of the changes. Typically, many of the station workers live on-world, but he sees plenty of new sections. Living quarters here. New worker dining halls there. Upgrades to the infirmary deck.

He sees other things too. Signs of wear. A bucket under a leaking pipe. Shoeless children running through the halls. He wonders when the last time he visited was, and a pang of guilt taps his shoulder. Every visit matters. Every tiny scrap of work he can give them matters. It’s been too long. However long is too long.

He touches Qingyang’s elbow. “Is everything okay here?”

“Same old, same old. Life goes on and we try to keep up.” Qingyang says with a smile, the same thing she always says. This time, he shakes his head and frowns at her, and she shrugs, giving him a more serious, considering look.

“There are a lot of new people on the station. Better jobs here, and safer. The Joint Senate is doing its best, and even the Goldlighters are...better than they were, but you know how it is. After a war, after a regime change, there’s always a vacuum,” she answers. “It’s never been an easy life, being unaffiliated, and lately, there are a lot more pirates and mercs. But we have a good reputation and I aim to keep it that way.”

It should be comforting, but he doesn’t miss the words between the words and that she only signs to him, doesn’t speak out loud. While the High Chancellor was openly hostile toward unaffiliated stations and colonies, Xiandu was more insidiously at odds with them, framing it as “in their best interest” to be part of the Goldlighter network. It was safer, he’d said. Together, they’d be more prosperous, he’d said.

But more than one station who objected, more than one colony who resisted, had gone missing under his regime. Even the scrapping colony Song Lan had grown up with was gone now, either destroyed or forcibly integrated. It’s a miracle Rogue Sky has remained independent and prosperous as long as they have, and Song Lan knows it hasn’t been as easy as it’s seemed.

He wonders if Qingyang is being mindful of the guest behind them who is undoubtedly one of the privileged class, if not an affiliated Goldlighter himself, or if it’s easier for her to disguise her worries if he can’t hear her voice.

Lunch—or whatever meal this is; Song Lan has forgotten—is hot and brown and full of noodles and vegetables. Hydroponics, Qingyang tells them, with a glance at Cao Huan. An old friend upgraded their systems last year, and it hasn’t given them a lick of trouble since then. Song Lan wonders how legal their upgrade was.

“I would like to see the gardens, if you are willing to show me,” Cao Huan asks, signing as he speaks, and Qingyang looks sideways at Song Lan before she nods. He tries not to smile. Evidently the tall, quiet man is capable of surprising her, too.

The gardens are a full deck, now, alternating between neat and tidy rows of fruits and vegetables and wild, bright flower gardens that seem to have no other value than aesthetic. It’s stunning, far more spectacular than he remembers. Song Lan turns to ask Cao Huan if it’s what he expected, but Cao Huan is distracted, smiling and touching the dark green leaves of a climbing vine. He leans forward to sniff its tiny white flowers, closing his eyes when he inhales.

Song Lan means to step back so he doesn’t intrude on what feels like a private moment, but Cao Huan looks at him. Just looks at him through long dark lashes, with the hint of a smile in his eyes, and Song Lan knows he wants to kiss him here in the midst of all this beauty. He hasn’t felt this way in so long, he almost doesn’t recognize the way desire captures and bends him, focusing everything on a single point of intent.

He is so grateful when Qingyang’s comm squawks for her attention and disrupts the direction his thoughts are heading.

“The mechs say it’s fixable, but it’ll take two days. Honestly,” she adds, when Song Lan’s face falls, “you’re lucky they can do it that quickly. We’ve had an influx of parts for Jian-class ships lately. A lot of crews are upgrading the old Qishan system to Lan nanotech.”

“Captain Song, please, do not worry on my account,” Cao Huan assures him. “Two days will make no difference."

He does look relieved, actually, and once again, Song Lan wonders what’s waiting for him in Caiyi.

“I need to get back to work,” Qingyang says with a wry smile. “Let me show you to your room.”

Song Lan hopes she’s just misspoken. He doesn’t want to ask, for fear of insulting Cao Huan, but he is also increasingly aware that it would be...difficult to sleep in the same room.

First, though, they go back to the repair hangar so the chief mech can tell Song Lan every single thing wrong with Fuxue, some of which existed before the pirates, and all of which the mech is certain must be fixed immediately. It’s hard to argue that the deflectors don’t need upgrading, or that the propulsion system doesn’t need cleaning, so he just sighs and agrees, thankful again that Cao Huan paid so well in advance.

They gather up the things they’ll need for a two-day stay, including the discarded knitting—Song Lan is sure he’s going to need the soothing repetition of knit and purl—and follow Qingyang again.

She hadn’t misspoken. There is only one free guest room on the station thanks to the Goldlighter medic ship, which is two days into a four-day engine repair. It is, at least, a larger room, with plenty of space to hang a hammock, and Song Lan has slept in worse places.

“I’m so sorry. We’ve seen a lot of these longer repairs lately. Either they’re finicky old engines or, like the medic ship, they’re the complicated new Goldlighter systems. If they weren’t ill and injured patients, I would happily make them move into fewer quarters,” she apologizes for the sixth time.

“Chief Luo, I have slept in many worse places. Even the floor would be fine for two nights,” Cao Huan says for the sixth time. Song Lan wonders which one of them is going to win the war of courtesy. “Thank you for your concern.”

There’s something in his tone, both honest and firm, that makes Qingyang finally relax. She starts to say something, but a voice in her comm catches her attention and she shakes her head, waving to them as she walks away arguing.

For a minute, they are alone, and although they’ve been alone on a ship for the last eight days, this time Song Lan is aware of every single one of the sixty heartbeats and twelve breaths it takes for Cao Huan to stop surveying the room and smile.

“If you do not mind, I would like to meditate in the gardens.”

Song Lan tips his head. “You don’t need permission. Most areas of this station are open to all.”

Cao Huan laughs, light and a little uncertain. “No, Captain Song, I…” He falters, and Song Lan wonders what’s in that falter, what he meant to say, because he very clearly changes direction. “I will be gone for an hour, in case anyone looks for me.”

He picks up his guqin and leaves. Song Lan shuts the door behind him, leans against the wall and, very gently, bangs his head on it.

Instead of dwelling on the things he can’t change, Song Lan goes for a run, a luxury he wasn’t expecting to get halfway through this trip. It does help to clear his mind, and the fast, chilly shower afterward—real water, more satisfying than any sonic shower—works even better. He’s still toweling off his hair when he gets back to the room and finds Cao Huan hanging up a hammock.

“No,” he signs, touching Cao Huan on the shoulder to catch his attention. “You should have the bed.”

Cao Huan frowns. “Why? You are the pilot. You should be well-rested.”

“You’re the passenger. You paid for a comfortable passage,” Song Lan insists. It’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t seem right for Cao Huan to sleep in a hammock instead of a bed. He should have soft pillows and plush blankets.

“This is perfectly fine,” Cao Huan argues, a stubborn clench in his jaw. “Do not assume that I am dissembling for the sake of pride. I have not slept in a bed in three years.”

Something about that tickles the back of Song Lan’s mind, but he doesn’t have time to work it out, because Cao Huan frowns and crosses his arms.

“Captain Song, I am not as cosseted as you think me to be. No one has needed to worry about my comfort in quite some time.”

Song Lan only means to look pointedly at Cao Huan’s expensive silk robes, but his gaze lingers on the skin at the base of Cao Huan’s throat, at the hint of muscle in his arms, the way his belt hugs his waist, and his mouth goes dry. He tries to think of a response, any response.

“Well, I do,” he signs with a huff. “Worry about you.”

Cao Huan’s face shifts from aggravation to confusion, and he examines Song Lan’s expression as if, now, he’s the one who doesn’t believe what Song Lan is saying.

“Captain?” he asks tentatively.

Before Song Lan can wipe the truth from his face or think of something to diffuse his stupid stupidity, Cao Huan is stepping closer, touching Song Lan’s face with his beautiful hands, and his lips are on Song Lan’s, warm and inviting.

With a groan he can’t silence, Song Lan accepts the invitation wholeheartedly, wrapping his arms around Cao Huan’s waist and kissing him harder, pressing into his body harder. The lines of it he can feel under the robes are tantalizing, more muscle than he expected, but also more softness—a curve of belly against his and a truly exceptional ass.

Cao Huan tugs at Song Lan’s shirt, and without debating the wisdom of it, without succumbing to the creeping voice that whispers you can’t have this, Song Lan lifts his hands and lets Cao Huan pull the shirt over his head. He fills his mind with the feel of soft silk against his skin and the burning taste of Cao Huan’s mouth.

“You are extraordinary,” Cao Huan says, kissing a spot on Song Lan’s neck that sears like a brand. “Spectacular,” he adds, biting Song Lan’s earlobe softly. “Gorgeous,” he grins before kissing Song Lan’s mouth again, and it even sounds like he means it.

Song Lan hasn’t been with anyone since Xingchen, never thought he could want anyone but Xingchen. He doesn’t know why, why now, why this man, why this place, but maybe it doesn’t matter. He feels what he feels, and Xingchen would never have asked him to seal himself up in a lonely tower forever. He can enjoy this moment before it passes. He can.

He fumbles with Cao Huan’s robes, unsure where to start, so Cao Huan generously helps, untying the complicated knots and ties of the belt and five layers of robes more swiftly than Song Lan could have managed, dropping them to the ground in a heap. He’s breathtaking, standing in his white pants, feet bare, hair pooling around his shoulders, an uncertain smile on his lips, and Song Lan is furious with his own speechlessness. He was never overly reliant on words, but the unfairness of his inability to tell Cao Huan how much he wants him, to not even be able to say his name, hits him all at once.

“Is it...is this...too much?” Cao Huan asks, caressing his cheek, obviously trying to read the shift in Song Lan’s expression.

Song Lan shakes his head and leans forward, resting his forehead against Cao Huan’s. It is too much in the way that the sun in the morning is too much after a long dark night, but he forges ahead, kissing Cao Huan methodically, patiently this time. No, Song Lan changes his mind, nibbling the hollow of Cao Huan’s throat and listening to his soft hum of pleasure, it’s just enough.

He notices Cao Huan’s hands on the waistband of his pants seconds before the man sinks to his knees and tugs them down, nuzzling his nose into the sensitive skin at the joint of Song Lan’s hip. He bites a path up the inside of Song Lan’s thigh, his sharp teeth scattering tingling sparks through Song Lan, and flicks his tongue against each spot, buckling Song Lan’s knees and forcing him to catch himself on the man’s sturdy shoulders. Cao Huan looks up at him, lifts his light brown eyes to meet Song Lan’s, before he licks the hard line of Song Lan’s cock and takes it into his mouth.

Song Lan falls into a dark and nameless void, shocked by his own reaction to Cao Huan’s lips around him. The desire coalesces from every part of him, settling in his core like a waiting explosion. He is desperate for the straining, clawing ache to release, desperate for it never to end. He runs his fingers over the arch of Cao Huan’s ear, and it steadies him in some ways, undoes him in others. He yearns to know more, where this tiny scar on his cheek came from, why his hair is long, what he’s been doing alone for three years, who he is.

Cao Huanes presses lightly into Song Lan’s skin, grazing his hips, skimming the taut muscle of his stomach, touching everywhere he can reach, and he looks at Song Lan with more than just want. It occurs to Song Lan that maybe they are in this void together, careening into something neither of them expected or understands.

He can’t hold back his hoarse cries, and he doesn’t want to. He wants Cao Huan to know what this means to him, that it’s perfect and wonderful, that even if he could speak, he wouldn’t have the words for it.

The climax rolls over him slowly, at first like an opening fist, but then without end, the collapsing star of pleasure stealing away his thoughts, even his breath. He only inhales when Cao Huan’s tongue swirls around his cock, almost too intense to bear, and he staggers backward, hitting the bed and sitting down awkwardly. Cao Huan strips off his pants and follows him, straddling his lap and kissing him, on the mouth, on the neck, on the top of his shoulder, murmuring words Song Lan can’t believe.

“Please,” Song Lan signs, “I want you...anything...everything…Huan-ge, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s asking right, at a loss for forming intelligent words, but Cao Huan growls, low and fierce in the back of his throat, not a sound Song Lan expected from so dignified a man, and he shivers at what it promises.

“I...did not consider…” Cao Huan answers shakily, “I do not want to hurt you,” he says, tightening his hands around Song Lan’s jaw.

Song Lan doesn’t think he cares right now, but as much as he wants to fuck Cao Huan, to be fucked by him, he can adapt.

He swipes his fingers through his mouth and wraps his wet hand around Cao Huan’s cock, stroking him hard and fast. Cao Huan tips his head back, one hand on Song Lan’s shoulder and rocks up into his hand, but it’s not quite enough. Dragging Cao Huan on top of him, Song Lan adjusts Cao Huan’s cock between his thighs and squeezes, reveling in the man’s guttural moan. “Captain Song, you…you are more...” Cao Huan cups Song Lan’s cheek. “You are so much more,” he says and kisses Song Lan, thrusting between his legs, the slippery, sliding pressure igniting something new and frenzied inside Song Lan.

He clutches greedy hands around Cao Huan’s ass, pulling him closer, and they settle into a rhythm together immediately, nearly familiar, like a song he knows by heart. Song Lan looks into Cao Huan’s eyes, his almost golden eyes, and he doesn’t understand how it can be like this. He doesn’t know this man, not even his real name. How can he feel so much for him all at once, so much desire and fascination? It doesn't make sense when he tries to think about it, but when he lets go and just exists, just accepts it, everything feels exactly right.

“Captain, please, I want your mouth,” Cao Huan’s breath next to his ear sends thrilling bolts of lightning down into the tips of Song Lan’s fingers. “Can I come in your mouth?”

Song Lan can’t answer fast enough, tugging at Cao Huan and trying to say yes, fuck, yes at the same time. Only the “yes” comes out in any way discernible, and Cao Huan scrambles forward. Song Lan eagerly takes him into his mouth, his cock hot and wet already, hitting the back of Song Lan’s throat. He urges Cao Huan deeper, tightening the lock of his lips around him. The mechanics are different than he remembers, and he thinks the sensation must be different than Cao Huan expected, but the man cries out almost immediately, his climax crashing over him and transforming his face into something almost too beautiful to look at.

Cao Huan slumps onto the bed, his panting breaths mixed with laughter, and Song Lan scoots toward him. A sated smile finds its way onto his mouth and Cao Huan touches it.

“Captain Song, the service on this transport is unexpectedly thorough,” he says solemnly, and Song Lan laughs.

“You can use my name, you know,” Song Lan signs, and then realizes he’s never shown his name to Cao Huan. There’s a strange intimacy in making the sign, the combination of tented fingers that flick down, like brushing water off of skin, and he feels heat rising to his skin.

“Perhaps I prefer to call you Captain,” Cao Huan teases, but he repeats the sign.

Song Lan doesn’t bother to ask the sign for his name. He knows it won’t be real anyway, but Cao Huan purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I am Huan,” he signs, with a closing, twisting fist that opens flat, almost the normal way of making the signs, but not quite, and he watches Song Lan closely as though there’s some test in these motions. “It is not how I am usually known, but...it is not untrue.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Song Lan tells him, and Cao Huan shakes his head.

“It matters to me.” He brushes back Song Lan’s hair. “I… I want to tell you the things that...that are not too shameful to say.”

And now he is blushing, the red bloom spreading from his neck up into his ears, and he ducks his head, tucking it under Song Lan’s chin. Song Lan doesn’t have an answer for that, for the trust he’s being given. He wants to be worthy of it, though, so he doesn’t ask any questions, just pulls Cao Huan closer.

It is astounding, Song Lan thinks, running a hand down Cao Huan’s arm, how much he wants him again already, but he can hear the man’s breathing starting to slow. He satisfies himself with the feeling of skin against skin, the silky soft brush of hair over his arm, the contented sigh as Cao Huan pins Song Lan’s leg with his.

Song Lan briefly considers how much warmer they would be with a blanket, but reconsiders when he looks at the naked stretch of Cao Huan’s body next to his. There are some things worth enduring a little chill for.

⋆ Day 9 ⋆

Song Lan doesn’t quite know how to react to waking up in a bed with someone else, someone who had, evidently, adjusted them in the night. They are under the blankets now, and Song Lan is curved around Cao Huan’s back, one arm under his head, one across his chest.

He decides he’s not at all unhappy about this unfamiliar arrangement. It’s just a passing fling, and all the more precious for its fleeting nature.

Song Lan sets his lips against Cao Huan’s shoulder, following the muscle up his neck. There is a small bump at the top of his spine, not a bone, something with a faint blue light under the skin. Now that he’s looking closely, he can see a practically invisible line along Cao Huan’s hairline, an indistinct ribbon, and he wonders what kind of neural implant it is. He’s never seen such delicate work. The red contact points and black wiring of his own nodes are barely noticeable at a distance but raised enough to be seen and felt up close, and he is well aware that his rescuers spared no expense to provide them.

He will tell you when he’s ready, Song Lan thinks. Or he won’t. It doesn’t matter.

Song Lan’s hand finds its way down Cao Huan’s side to his hip, flexing involuntarily against the smooth skin, and Cao Huan’s voice rumbles in his chest.

“If you are going to be so ardent in the morning, Captain, we will need to find provisions first.”

He rolls over and kisses Song Lan firmly. Song Lan realizes that he’d been clinging to doubts about whether last night had been intentional or a fluke, whether Cao Huan would regret it in the morning, and the answer is a crushing relief.

“Also, I am hungry,” he grins, sweet and charming in a way that reminds Song Lan a little of Xingchen.

Not that they’re anything alike, Song Lan thinks. Xingchen was a wild soul through and through, nothing like Cao Huan’s outward tranquility and concealed turbulence. It’s like comparing fire and ice, and the only similarity is how they both burn through Song Lan.

They make their way to the city decks, the heart of the station where food sellers, shops, and entertainment stalls are crammed together, one on top of the other. Song Lan waves and smiles at the people he knows, even stops to talk to some of them.

A few people give Cao Huan curious looks. If he stood out in Sichuan, he is a strange and alien creature here, not only for the way he’s dressed. There’s just something about him that draws the eye, even when he is so clearly trying to be unnoticed.

They buy tiny scallion pancakes from one stall, fried noodles from another, curls of fruit-flavored ice cream, lotus root sandwiches, spicy tacos, steamed buns—more food than Song Lan normally has for two meals, but Cao Huan has apparently never eaten any of it before. Song Lan isn’t too proud to admit that he keeps buying food to watch Cao Huan’s expression change with every new taste.

They find the other supplies they’re looking for, too. Song Lan is a little embarrassed to buy lube with someone, but Cao Huan seems unperturbed by the shopkeeper’s knowing grin. He also buys new clothes: dark blue pants, fitted white shirts, and a very sensible leather jacket.

It’s all so mundane, so ordinary to go shopping and eat food with someone, but it feels wondrous, like waking up and finding an uncharted green planet.

He glances at Cao Huan who is looking at him with a curious, puzzled expression, and Song Lan wants him so badly, he’s sure it’s evident on his face. Cao Huan’s mouth quirks, and he speeds up, taking Song Lan’s hand and pulling him along.

By the time they get back to their room, Song Lan has figured out how to undo Cao Huan’s wide silk belt, and the man laughs shakily when Song Lan pulls it off in the hall and loops the long fabric around his shoulders. He reels Cao Huan back to him, one hand snaking down his stomach, and Cao Huan leans back, resting his head on Song Lan’s shoulder.

“Are you planning to fuck me in the hallway, Captain Song?” he asks, tickling Song Lan’s ear with his breath. He guides Song Lan’s hand lower, and Song Lan groans. “I might let you.”

It’s a measure of how far gone Song Lan is that he considers it before briskly pushing Cao Huan through the door.

Inside, he pulls off his clothes, trembling with need, catching Cao Huan in his arms before he can take off the last layer of thin silk clinging indecently to his body.

“You,” he pants, speaking the words, ignoring the muddy way they leave his mouth, because even signing feels too complicated. “Want you.”

“You may have me,” Cao Huan tells him. “Any way you like.”

It seems impossible, too much for Song Lan to comprehend. The words. The way he looks, waiting on the bed, lips red and swollen. The soft heat of his body when Song Lan slides slick fingers inside him. The way he writhes and moans, shockingly uninhibited.

He was loved, once, Song Lan thinks, stroking his hand down the velvet-soft skin of Cao Huan’s cock. He knows how to respond to love.

“Captain...Song Lan, Lan-er, please,” Cao Huan asks, tugging on Song Lan’s arm, his eyes dark with surrender. “I need you now.”

Song Lan watches Cao Huan’s face as he lifts his hips, fits them together, and slowly presses inside him. He distracts himself from the exquisite pressure and enveloping warmth by marking the change of expressions: a twinge of discomfort, blinking surprise, mouth-open wonder, and finally, as Song Lan starts to move, fevered lust that pierces Song Lan and fixes in his mind, never to be forgotten.

This...the two of them...joined like this...Song Lan hadn’t known he’d been in limbo before, only living in the technical sense of the word. This feels real. For the first time in years, he is more than merely existing. It’s unbearable.

His orgasm is an agonizing spike, sudden and blinding, and he crashes into Cao Huan, clutching at him, touching as much of him as possible, as long as possible until the violent shuddering of his body calms and the pounding of his heart steadies.

And somehow, it’s nowhere near enough.

“Will you...” Song Lan is still not used to this, specifying what he wants. He thinks he must seem pathetic, asking so bluntly, but he can’t stop himself. “Huan-ge, will you fuck me? Please?”

Cao Huan closes his eyes and exhales with a tremulous laugh. “Lan-er, it is all I seem to want to do lately,” he says, even as he is sitting up, shifting Song Lan on his lap, kissing his mouth.

Song Lan is not a small man, and there is something about being adjusted with such little effort that sends shivers hurtling up and down his spine. The anticipation, though, is nothing compared to the actuality of Cao Huan’s fingers between his legs, sticky and wet with lube, slipping inside him smoothly. For a moment, for several moments, he’s certain he’s on the verge of combustion, breaking apart along tiny, ecstatic fractures.

Abruptly, Cao Huan bites Song Lan’s collarbone, the burst of delicious pain bringing the world back into focus. His moan comes out in a keening whimper, and Cao Huan flexes his hand, rubbing against Song Lan and sending shockwaves through him. Song Lan sinks into the relentless pleasure of fingers plunging into him, and he whines when Cao Huan stops, even knowing why, even knowing what’s next.

Cao Huan takes his time, letting Song Lan get used to him, filling him inch by inch.

“Breathe, Lan-er,” he murmurs, kissing the side of his mouth, and Song Lan takes a ragged, hoarse breath.

And another as Cao Huan twitches his hips.

And another as Cao Huan pushes the rest of the way into him.  

Song Lan had forgotten—how could he have forgotten—this particular surge of feeling, of being so consumed by desire that there’s nothing else, no other thoughts to have. He rocks with Cao Huan, captured by the cadence of his thrusts, his mouth, his hands.

Cao Huan gasps out his name like a plea for mercy, “Lan-er, fuck, Lan-er,” before slamming into him with the force of his climax, and Song Lan cries out too, not wanting it to end.

Cao Huan leans against Song Lan’s chest, panting, and Song Lan kisses the top of his head. Then his ear. Then his nose. Then his mouth. Cao Huan flops back onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo.

“I...I do not know exactly what to say,” he mumbles.

Song Lan wants to laugh. What is there to say? Thank you for the mind-blowing sex?

Actually…

He lays down next to Cao Huan and rests a hand over his heart, feeling its fluttering drumbeat.

Thank you, he draws on Cao Huan’s chest. Thank you for making me feel again.

Their room doesn’t have a dedicated bathroom, but it has a sink. Song Lan eventually gets up to clean himself off and wets a cloth for Cao Huan. He grins when Cao Huan tries to take it away from him and cleans Cao Huan too, kissing the curve of his stomach, the ridge of his hip, the tops of his thighs, as he goes.

“My turn next time,” Cao Huan says with a no-arguments tone of voice. Song Lan doesn’t hate the promise of a next time.

He only barely finishes before the lassitude catches up to him, and he yawns as he climbs under the covers, snuggling against Cao Huan. He shouldn’t be tired—it’s the middle of the day—but it’s safe and warm here, and Song Lan decides to enjoy this moment too. He traces the arch of Cao Huan’s eyebrow and the bow of his mouth, smiling when Cao Huan nibbles his finger.

Song Lan closes his eyes and lets himself rest.

It’s still day when he wakes, according to the clock, and Cao Huan is up, dressing in his new clothes that do nothing to disguise his distinctiveness. He pulls his hair back into a ponytail, and Song Lan’s stomach flops appreciatively.

“You’re still gorgeous,” he signs, and Cao Huan shakes his head.

“You may be biased,” he retorts.

“True,” Song Lan agrees, swinging his legs out of bed and stretching. “But I thought that before I saw you naked.”

He grabs Cao Huan around the waist, and Cao Huan rewards him with a lingering kiss.

“I...I am going to meditate in the gardens. Will…” he sounds so hesitant, and Song Lan tips his head curiously. “Will you join me?”

“Of course.” Song Lan has no idea why Cao Huan is anxious about meditation, which seems innocuous, which Song Lan has heard him do nearly every night since they started this journey, but it’s easy to say yes to Cao Huan.

“Thank you,” he says, touching Song Lan’s face before picking up his guqin. “And then dinner?”

Song Lan’s stomach objects loudly. “Dinner first?” he asks hopefully, and Cao Huan laughs.

“Dinner first.”

Dinner ends up being another kaleidoscope of vendor foods, from meat wrapped in thin pancakes to vegetables fried in spicy batter to skewers of soft chicken and potatoes.

Song Lan finds his favorite dessert, layered frozen fruit bars, and he hands a watermelon lime bar to Cao Huan. Cao Huan’s eyes widen at the sweet and sour taste, and when he finishes, Song Lan hands him a different flavor, the second one melting faster than he can finish it.

“I should have waited to give you that until we were alone,” Song Lan signs, and Cao Huan tips his head.

“Why?” he asks around a bite of what looks like mango and tajin.

“Because I want to lick it off you,” Song Lan grins.

Cao Huan blinks slowly and smiles. “You may,” he agrees, tilting his head back.

Song Lan had always known that what he felt with Xingchen was unique, the ease and willingness of touch and affection, and he’d never expected to find it with anyone else. But when he touches his lips to Cao Huan’s now, surrounded by an almost overwhelming number of people, tasting the spice and tang, he is honestly not sure he can stop at only the kiss. Cao Huan hums in his throat and Song Lan hastily pulls away from the temptation. After meditation. He can surely be patient and wait until after meditation.

The gardens aren’t empty. Workers are picking fruits and vegetables, and visitors are wandering down the pathways. It’s amazing how much this space adds to Rogue Sky, Song Lan thinks. Every station should have one.

Cao Huan settles on the floor in a quiet corner of the deck facing the wall, and Song Lan sits across from him. Cao Huan gives him an uncertain smile before closing his eyes and setting  his fingers to the guqin. Song Lan breathes in and out slowly, counting in rhythm with Cao Huan’s breath, finding the quiet space inside him before Cao Huan starts to play.

The sound of the instrument is even more spectacular here, twining through the trees and echoing in the high ceiling. It seems like this was what the guqin was meant for: open spaces and, Song Lan notices, a growing crowd.

To their credit, the people are polite at first, just walking closer, standing nearby without obviously watching, but it doesn’t take long for them to congregate. He can’t blame them. Cao Huan isn’t just playing the guqin, he’s speaking with it, telling a story with it, the music unfolding in a heart-wrenching requiem.

He plays for so long, a single, unbroken stream of sound. Song Lan can almost hear the words, not soothing as he expects meditation to be, but mournful, tearing Song Lan apart with every note. He sees Qingyang in their audience, tears streaming down her face, and he wonders who she’s thinking of, if it’s someone specific or everyone they’ve lost.

Without warning, Cao Huan pushes the guqin away and in a fluid, graceful movement, stands and stalks away through his audience without a backward glance.

Song Lan packs up the guqin—he has no idea what he’s doing, but thankfully, it’s not that complicated—and, with a shrug to Qingyang, heads back to the empty room.

It doesn’t take as long as he expects for Cao Huan to find his way back. Song Lan is sitting on the bed, knitting a sock cuff, when he comes in the door. He flicks a smile at Cao Huan before going back to counting the ribbing repeats, trying to give him whatever space he needs, even here in this small room.

Cao Huan hovers by the door for a few minutes, and Song Lan pretends he doesn’t see the indecision and fear on his face.

“I can not seem to make the guqin do anything but weep anymore,” he finally says, and Song Lan sets down his knitting.

“You are entitled to your feelings,” he signs.

Cao Huan frowns. “What if I am not?”

There doesn’t seem to be an answer to that. Song Lan stands up and carefully kisses Cao Huan’s forehead. “You are. Even if they don’t make sense.”

Cao Huan sighs and rests his head on Song Lan’s shoulder, muffling his words. “What if I did something terrible? Unforgivable, even?”

We’ve all done terrible things, Song Lan thinks, but he isn’t sure if that’s actually true. Maybe other people have lived normal lives and never needed to seek revenge. Justice, he reminds himself. It was justice.

Song Lan smooths a hand up Cao Huan’s back, mapping the dips and ridges, tracing a path around his shoulder blade. He settles it against the nape of Cao Huan’s neck and rubs the tense muscle there.

“You are too good to me, Captain Song,” Cao Huan mumbles, and Song Lan huffs, a single sound of disbelief. Kindness has not been forefront in his thoughts recently.

“Would you be so kind if I’d killed someone?”

The words hang in the air, and Song Lan can feel Cao Huan’s body still, waiting, ready...to run? Ready to fight?

Song Lan rests his other hand on the center of Cao Huan’s back, massaging his thumb in a reassuring circle, a circle that means yes, I would, before he moves away just enough to sign.

“I killed someone—the man who took my voice and killed my partner, my love. He was a hired assassin, only doing his job, but I hunted him down and killed him anyway.”

He searches Cao Huan’s face for shock or censure, but all he finds is understanding, an ever-blooming field of empathy, and it’s a relief, such a relief to admit this vicious secret, the worst thing he’s ever done.

“I don’t regret it. If I could have killed his patron, I would have. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would kill without reason, but even if you are, it’s your choice to let it consume you or make peace with yourself.”

There’s so much else Song Lan could say. That he’d planned to kill Xiandu, even though the assassin claimed the hit hadn’t been his order. That he cried when he learned the man was dead; he hadn’t cared how it had happened, only that it had. That he’d been drunk for days afterward, both in relief he did understand and despair he didn’t. That peace is a daily battle.

Cao Huan leans into Song Lan, hugging him around the waist. When he finally does speak again, his words are small and brittle eggshells.

“I loved him, and I hated him. And yet, killing him is not the most unforgivable thing I have done. What is unforgivable is that I did not do it sooner. What is unforgivable is that I love him still. And hate him still. What is unforgivable is that I am allowed...expected...to go on with my life as though I did nothing wrong.”

The last words break away in a bitter snap, and Song Lan frowns. He sits Cao Huan down on the bed and crouches down to look at him, at the tear streaks on his cheeks. Gently, he dabs them with his sleeve.

“Huan-ge. You and I get to live with our mistakes. You and I are alive to forgive ourselves and the people we loved. It’s not unforgiveable to live.”

He only half believes it himself, but he hopes if he says it enough, eventually it’ll be true.

Cao Huan doesn’t look convinced either, but he touches Song Lan’s face, and it seems to steady him. The tears stop falling, at least.

“I...I…” He tries to say something and fails. A wan smile flutters over his lips, barely long enough for Song Lan to be sure it was ever there. “You are good, Lan-er.” The smile tries again and sticks this time, slow and resolute, and it reaches the deepest places inside Song Lan, places he has tried to close off. “Thank you.”

When they finally go to bed, it’s only to sleep. Although, with Cao Huan’s fingers fitted between his, Cao Huan’s legs tangled together with his, “only” doesn’t seem like a fair word for the way it feels to sense a new planet forming around him, and Song Lan is afraid he doesn’t know how to face the swiftly shifting landscape of his life.

[wordsablaze]

10~ the chance to see the light

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: 2021 is lowkey already a mess so here some good vibes with these two dorks being almost the exact opposite !!

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @havenoffandoms @lasaga666 @mayastormborn 

previous chapter

-

The market is loud.

So incredibly loud.

Eskel has rarely ever come across a market so loud and even if he has, he’s never stayed longer than just passing by for necessities or just travelling through to leave town. Crowded places can never exactly be a witcher’s best friend due to all the mutations so no matter what, Eskel always feels a little on edge in markets.

Jaskier on the other hand seems to be in his element from the moment they enter the crowds. He greets practically every merchant they see even though he buys nothing from them, which baffles Eskel, who’s used to often buying things he doesn’t remotely need from various people because he feels bad for wasting their time, but it seems to be the norm for Jaskier - he figures it’s a bard thing. And a pretty endearing bard thing at that.

Well, it’s endearing until Eskel bumps into someone, swivels on the spot as they both apologise to one another, and then turns back to find Jaskier gone.

“Jaskier?” he asks, but said bard is nowhere to be seen.

Eskel groans, his mind unhelpfully reminding him of the siren incident, and cranes his neck to look over the people around him to try and spot either Jaskier’s lute or his bright doublet. When he can find neither, he sighs and starts moving, mumbling apologies every time he has to literally push past the sheer number of people that he didn’t even think could fit in this town and hope none of them think badly of him for it.

He’s just beginning to think Jaskier had used the market as an excuse to be rid of him when someone crashes into him but instead of immediately jumping back, latches onto his arm with a surprising amount of strength.

“Eskel, there you are!” Jaskier grins, steadying himself but still not letting go. “I am so sorry for disappearing, I didn’t know you’d stopped walking.”

Eskel exhales slowly, nodding. “That’s okay. There’s just, uh, a lot of people here.”

Jaskier’s expression softens into sympathy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be so crowded. You can never really tell which towns go for the morning rush until you’re part of it, unfortunately. Do you want to leave?”

Eskel blinks at being given the choice. He’d figured that, the same way he’d taken responsibility whilst hunting a siren, Jaskier would decide their plans whilst hunting a mirror. “No, that’s fine, just… let me know where you’re going next time?”

He means for it to be a joke but Jaskier frowns, biting his lip as he slowly lets go of Eskel’s arm. The small distance that creates between them doesn’t last long because Jaskier hesitantly slips his hand into Eskel’s, not quite gripping it properly but carefully holding his fingers in place as if waiting for approval.

As much as Eskel wants to provide said approval, he hesitates. “Are you sure? That’d send a pretty clear message that we’re… that you’re friends with a… with me.”

Jaskier smiles softly, somewhat sadly. “We are friends, darling.”

“But this is different and-”

“I know,” Jaskier interrupts, “but I can’t promise I won’t get distracted again and I don’t want to get overwhelmed with your witchery senses and all.”

Oh, so Jaskier is just being considerate. Eskel chides himself for thinking anything on the contrary and nods, returning Jaskier’s smile as best as he can because he’s not about to refuse him when he’s just trying to help. “That’s very kind of you.”

Another frown flickers across Jaskier’s face but he doesn’t explain it, only nods and gently squeezes Eskel’s hand as he firmly interlocks their fingers, so Eskel doesn’t question it, letting himself be guided to the different stalls.

If later asked, he wouldn’t be able to recall what anyone was selling at any of the stalls. What he would be able to recall is the way their hands may as well have been made for being held, the way he could feel a firm tug all the way up to his shoulder every time Jaskier turned to admire something or the other, the way Jaskier turned around with a look of concern if Eskel didn’t move fast enough when being pulled along.

He genuinely has no idea how much time passes before Jaskier comes to a complete stop with a rather dramatic gasp. “That one! Oh, Eskel, isn’t it lovely?” Jaskier asks, gesturing to a small, circular mirror.

The merchant seems a little sceptical to hand it over at first, presumably not a huge fan of witchers, but Eskel watches as his gaze travels to their connected hands before his doubt morphs into amusement. When he looks up again, he’s smiling and offers the object up with no hesitation, which is a little confusing but it’s not like Eskel is going to question it.

“Well, what do you think?” Jaskier asks as Eskel takes the mirror, squeezing his hand in what could be excitement or support but is appreciated either way.

It’s a pretty simple design, with one side smoothed down perfectly to create a reflective surface and the other side curved outwards with a flower carved into it. He shrugs. “It’s really nice.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Melitele save us from witchers and their limited reviews. It’s a rose, Eskel. It’s not just really nice, it’s perfect!”

Well, if Jaskier is so determined to continue comparing him to roses, he’s not going to complain regardless of how much he disagrees. And yes, upon further inspection the carving is an impressively delicate rose, so he smiles. “It’s really perfect?” he offers.

Both Jaskier and the merchant laugh, and Eskel is so distracted that he forgets to pay attention to how much Jaskier is spending on the mirror, on him. He’s drawn out of his thoughts when Jaskier tugs on his hand again, grinning.

“You’ll be happy to know we can leave now!” he announces. Although Eskel is more than relieved to finally get out of the sensory mess otherwise known as a market, he selfishly doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier’s hand yet.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not really, no. I replaced my lute strings not long ago and we just ate and I don’t really have much coin left anyway because the patrons of this town aren’t particularly generous so there’s nothing keeping us.”

With a sigh, realising there’s no excuse for them to stay attached any longer, Eskel releases his hold on Jaskier’s hand and starts walking back the way they came. He makes it about three steps before the scent of honey he’s so quickly become comforted by turns sour. Though when he turns to see what’s happened, Jaskier is smiling as if there’s nothing wrong.

“You forgot your mirror, Eskel,” Jaskier tells him with a nervous chuckle, holding out said object.

He takes it from him but that can’t have been the matter because Jaskier still smells the way Lambert does when Vesemir withholds his brewing privileges. Before he can ask, Jaskier brushes past him and speeds up so quickly that Eskel almost loses sight of him again before he manages to catch up.

“Jaskier? What is it, did something happen?” he asks eventually, by the time they’re nearer the inn and there are less people around.

Jaskier shakes his head but doesn’t stop walking. Eskel glances between him and the mirror, which he then pockets so he doesn’t break it, before sighing, confused. “Do you need more coin?”

That seems to have been the wrong way to go about fixing things because Jaskier turns on his heel and folds his arms, all but glowering at him. “I do not and will never need your pity coin, I am perfectly capable of covering my own expenses, thank you very much!”

Eskel wants to disagree, considering that Jaskier is currently wearing his spare clothes, but he also has the feeling that Jaskier wouldn’t take too kindly to him pointing that out. Instead, he just shrugs. “I’m sorry, bardling, I didn’t mean to imply-���

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jaskier interrupts once more, but this time he just sounds tired, his previous determination long-gone. “Just tell me honestly, was it really that bad?”

“What?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier gestures vaguely to nothing in particular and yet somehow looks surprised when Eskel doesn’t seem to catch on. He sighs quietly. “You know, holding hands?”

Wait, what? Oh gods, Eskel seems to have completely missed something here. And apparently Jaskier has too, because he seems equally as lost when he sees that Eskel has no idea what he means, his glum transforming into uncertainty.

“How about we go inside first?” Eskel suggests, which he feels is the most logical course of action since the inn is within sight.

The second they’re back in their room, having deposited their respective lute and swords on the floor, Jaskier whirls and gives Eskel a pointed look. “You let go of my hand. I think it’s better you explain why instead of me standing here and guessing.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Eskel says honestly, “you said you were helping me in the market and I didn’t want to take advantage of that kindness once we left.”

Jaskier scowls, but it’s clearly not directed at him because the next thing he does is launch himself forwards and throw his arms around Eskel, who definitely doesn’t stumble in a not entirely unpleasant shock, no sir.

“All due respect, darling, but you witchers can be so stupidly obtuse,” Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder and Eskel laughs, letting himself relax into the embrace and waiting patiently until Jaskier eventually pulls back, thankfully free of any sourness.

“Just to clarify then: this is permission to uhm, hold your hand even when we’re not in markets?” Eskel asks, swallowing down the awkwardness he can sense burning inside him even as the words leave his mouth.

Jaskier grins. “Yes, even the mightiest of witchers are allowed to engage in the more ordinary act of hand-holding.”

Although he’s sure his doesn’t have quite the same charm to it, a matching grin blooms on Eskel’s face. “You know, I thought it was rather extraordinary, actually.”

Just as Eskel had predicted, there’s about three seconds of confusion before Jaskier blushes and his grin once again widens in a way that seems impossible and highly dangerous. He’d say it must be another bard thing but he’s beginning to think it’s just a Jaskier thing and he’s almost afraid of how many Jaskier things he’s been keeping track of lately.

“You’re quite the flirt for someone so obtuse,” Jaskier informs him, raising an eyebrow.

Eskel shrugs. “Must be the company I’m keeping.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests, but the accompanying giggle just makes it sound adorable. As soon as he thinks that, though, Jaskier smirks at him. “So you’re keeping me?”

Ah, not again. He truly has no idea how he’s meant to react to what he’s almost certain is flirting and unfortunately, that fact only seems to amuse Jaskier instead of discouraging him. Not that Eskel has any idea why anyone, especially this bard, would want to flirt with him in the first place.

“You’ve got your thinky-face on again,” Jaskier accuses him quietly, poking his chest. “Do you really have to think so hard on the concept of keeping me?”

Eskel finds himself shaking his head just a little too quickly. “No, no. I would be honoured to continue keeping your company, I just- I don’t know how to do this.”

Jaskier tilts his head to the right, raising an eyebrow. “With ‘this’ being what, exactly?”

That’s exactly what he wants to ask.

“This… this flirting thing,” he settles on.

“I wasn’t really considering it to be a thing so much as just the flirting,” Jaskier says, so quietly that it’s barely even a whisper.

Eskel can literally feel the way his eyes widen. He can also literally smell the way Jaskier begins to doubt himself so, without thinking, he reaches out and grabs the bard’s wrist, instantly regretting that choice when Jaskier flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, letting go immediately, “just, uh, just don’t leave yet. Please.”

With a slow exhale, Jaskier nods. “Yet?”

“You can leave whenever you wish,” Eskel clarifies, relieved when all Jaskier does is smile rather than take him up on that offer.

To his credit, Jaskier barely even moves as Eskel tries to compose himself. He rubs his fingertips together before just wrapping his arms around himself and shifts from one foot to the other but he doesn’t leave, giving Eskel as much time as he needs to choose an answer that doesn’t come across as something else that can be taken in the wrong way.

In the end, he just sighs. “I don’t- I mean, I haven’t been flirted at for longer than I can exactly remember. You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing the difference between the typical bardic reputation and the- and anything more… serious.”

“Bards can’t be serious?” Jaskier jokes, but it seems like an automatic response rather than his genuine response if the frown on his face is anything to go by.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eskel replies, very much wishing that he did.

Jaskier nods, reaching out for and taking both of Eskel’s hands. “I can assure you that despite also holding the uhm, the typical bardic reputation, I was being entirely serious about flirting with you.”

Eskel was a little afraid of that, to be honest.

“But if you don’t- that is, if it were to make you uncomfortable, I would be happy to uh, take that problem off your hands and stick to less serious flirting,” Jaskier adds, “or no flirting at all, even. That one may be considerably more difficult since flirting essentially becomes second nature in my trade but I can certainly attempt such an endeavour if it would ensure that we continue to travel together. And I’m aware you’ve already told me you’re happy with that arrangement but it only feels right to make sure in case-”

“You can stay sure,” Eskel cuts in before Jaskier rambles himself into a mess, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“But?” Jaskier asks, raising an eyebrow.

Amazed at how the bard somehow knows he needs to continue, Eskel smiles a little. “But I don’t know how to flirt and be serious about it.”

And he genuinely doesn’t. Obviously. He’s a witcher, he’s more than lucky if anyone at a brothel wants to keep their eyes on him, never mind maintain a conversation, and even then, that’s only if he goes to one in the first place. It’s not like he’s never been flirted at before, but it’s a little hard to take any of it seriously when it’s usually accompanied by undertones of fear or curiosity or mocking jest.

“It’s not like I’m an expert,” Jaskier scoffs and immediately, inexplicably, some of the tension in Eskel’s body melts away.

“What about all those romantic ballads of yours?” Eskel asks, frowning.

Jaskier shrugs, his thumbs drawing tiny soothing circles on Eskel’s hands. “Just because I sing about relationships doesn’t mean I’m in one, darling.”

Eskel is honestly a little baffled by how that can be possible. He can’t imagine being blessed with someone like Jaskier and then deciding not to try and keep him around - which reminds him to violently berate his brother for doing so - but frankly, he’s pretty glad nobody else has because if they had, he’d never have been given the chance himself.

“You look nice in my clothes,” Eskel blurts and, going by the redness that bridges over his nose all the way to his ears, Jaskier mercifully seems to understand what he’s trying to convey.

“I hope you’re aware you’re not getting them back now,” Jaskier teases.

Eskel shrugs. “A loss I’m willing to endure.”

Jaskier laughs brightly, throwing his head back with his hair arching messily in the air above him, his hands tightly clutching onto Eskel’s to stay balanced, and Eskel doesn’t need to be an expert on relationships to know that he’d happily lose any of his belongings if it meant being able to keep Jaskier in his life.

Well, maybe not his mirror.

-

...in retrospect, i may have made them a tad ooc by projecting too much but hey, it be like that sometimes :)

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[raindropsduringthesunset]

Tour Guide (TSS Fateful Fae AU)

Ao3 ~~~ Wattpad

First Part, Last Part, Next Part

Characters: Janus, Virgil, Remus, Roman, Logan, Patton (Mentioned)

Relationships: Anxciet (Platonic), Anxciet (Romantic?), DRLAMP (Background) (Platonic)

TW: panic/fear, brief anger, threat of violence, implication of injury, mention of past injury

cw: Janus (Sympathetic), Remus (Sypathetic), Patton (Mentioned) (Sympathetic), food, possessiveness, panic, exhaustion

~~~

Janus didn’t really care for mortals much. They were too loud, too selfish, too unkind. He’d lived long enough to see humans build worlds and burn them down hundreds of times. Their blood lust had made Janus squirm. He was disgusted by their carelessness for others' lives.

Yes, Janus was aware that fae were commonly known for hurting humans and stealing their souls- but if you asked him, the stereotypes are ridiculous. The only reason the fae were known for that was because that is all people want to share. Honestly, the fae couldn’t care less about humans. Of course there were chaos fae- they tended to be more violent than most faeries- but were far less common.

Needless to say, Janus wasn’t surprised when V was hesitant after he had said yes to joining them. The others had left with courteous goodbyes to go do their daily chores. He could feel his fear, feel his bones grow hollow and shake softly under his thin clothes; though, Janus thought it may have just been the cold. Hm. They’d have to fix that.

“Are you cold little one?” Janus asked, a small teasing undertone to his voice. V glanced up at him for a moment, quickly nodding before looking away nervously.

“It’s fine, I can cope,” V mumbled, scratching at the side of his wrist. Janus rolled his eyes and shrugged off his coat, gracefully draping it over V. Janus honestly expected V to give it back to him but was pleasantly surprised when he just froze before pulling it closer.

Lucky for them, it was only about noon when V finally agreed to let Janus walk him around. The forest was slightly darker than when V had first arrived- probably because Janus had noticed he was squinting to see through all the light. The wind had picked up, wafting the sweet smell of dew and ivy through the air.

V winced every few steps, the flinch almost unnoticeable. But of course, Janus was keen as ever. He sent V a glance, Worry hidden behind his prying features.

“... What?” V asked with a slight hitch to his words. Janus blinked at him for a moment before looking him up and down.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yes? I thought you- you saw me fall earlier, right?” V asked, genuine confusion in his words. Janus nodded briefly, his chest swelling up when V flushed and tightened his grip on his coat.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed little one, I’m simply… worried.”

“You don’t seem to be one to worry.” Janus smiled. What a smart boy.

“I’m not. But when what is mine is in… distress, I worry,” He pushed a strand of his long hair back, looking more fully at V and smirking when he found him staring up at him in barely concealed wonder, “Does that make sense, darling?” V quickly nodded and looked forward, trying and failing at hiding his blush.

Leaves crunched satisfyingly under V’s feet every few steps, birdsong ringing out around them. Janus scrunched his face and rolled his eyes. As much as Janus liked the flowers and plants that the spring brought, he did have to say that he didn’t quite enjoy listening to the birds chirp and trill all day. Sure, it was calming some days, but working on the gateway all day meant that birdsong was constant.

V seemed to feel the same way- though he could have just been nervous. His face was twisted uncomfortably, wincing when a particularly loud shriek harassed their ears. J smiled a bit before quickly going to bury it behind his usual stoic stare.

“I see you too dislike the birds?” V looked up, a sheen of fear glazing over his eyes.

“Mhm…” J hummed and redirected his eyes forward, his arm pushing away a stray branch.

“It does grow quite annoying,” he paused and thought for a moment, “Would you like a tour? If we travel quick enough I’m sure the twins can find time to assist you in creating your… room- is that what humans call it?”

“My room?” V asked, his face scrunched up. J scoffed.

“Well of course we’re giving you a room, what are we to do? Have you sleep on the forest floor?”

“.. Yes? I mean- I haven’t done anything to really… earn it. It’s not like I can’t sleep on the ground. You don’t have to go out of your way to make somewhere- it’s not like I’m that imp-” V looked up and bit his tongue with a soft yelp.

Janus looked pissed. Okay yes, he was pissed- why wouldn’t he be? Humans were meant to take; so why was this one so difficult to give things to?

“It’s not a privilege to have your space little one,” Janus hissed out, hands shaking slightly. He closed his eyes and clenched and unclenched his hands, taking a deep breath. Anger seeped out of his expression as he opened his eyes, though a burning pit in his stomach remained.

“We can talk about this on a later date when you're more rested just- just take things when they’re given to you. We aren’t just going to not provide you a necessity. We don’t want to scare you away, little one.” Janus explained, glancing down at V. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before just setting on staring straight forward.

A few minutes later, Janus gently grasped a part of his cloak and tugged V to the left. V stopped walking and looked, confused. Janus glanced through the bushes and let go, softly gesturing for him to follow as he walked through. V hesitated before stepping quickly after him. He braced himself for the branches of the bush to scratch but was pleasantly surprised when he only felt the soft brush of haired leaves.

When he finally emerged on the other side, Janus was there, patiently waiting. V relished in the warm feeling of this new part of the forest, slowly taking off the coat and cautiously handing it to Janus. He smiled and took the coat back, easily putting it on and muttering a small ‘thank you’.

“This, V, is the beginning gateway. This is where you get through the first layer of our realm into the housing demi-realm.” Janus gestured to a seemingly empty space.

The only thing that would suggest it wasn't just another patch of forest was the slight oddity of the air around it as it pulsed with raw energy. The air around it rippled like disturbed water through its mimicking shroud, making the image appear distorted.

“Why is it-?”

“... Obscured?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Janus began, “In my eyes- or just fae eyes in general- the gateway has a colored hue. It only appears clear because it was created to trick humans into simply passing by or phasing through it. It only truly becomes a gateway when the fae want it to be.”

Ah. That didn't seem to help much. V’s face contorted slightly before he reached out and felt the ripples, flinching back at the strange texture of the air. He rubbed his fingers together as if it was still attached to his hand.

“Why can't I see the color?” V asked, still looking at his hand.

“Would you like to?” Janus asked, making V’s head snap up. Janus almost laughed at the shocked confusion.

“You- You can make me see it?”

“The gateway isn't just a hue darling, it's a door. It has a visible archway, it's just well hidden. I can show you the gateway but not for long. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you; fae eyesight is more complex than human eyesight.”

“... yes please.” Janus smiled and walked behind V, lifting his arms.

“I'm going to cover your eyes and when I do, close them and do not open them until I instruct you to. Understand?”

“Yes.” V took a deep breath as his eyes were covered, closing his eyes and listening to Janus’ shifting. He felt the soft texture of his coat on his face, his expressions screwing up slightly before he forced himself to relax.

“Okay little one,” V shivered- J was right next to his ear, “You can open your eyes now. Be cautious, close them if it gets too much.” Slowly, V opened his eyes, wonder quickly taking over as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

The portal was a color- a hue that he had never seen before; a color he couldn’t even begin to describe. It was red but green, blue but yellow. It seemed to be every color in one- but not quite a spectrum; the fact that most of it was just in one big block made it somewhat harder to differentiate. The ripples seemed to just shine with some root that he also couldn’t quite grasp the words for. Everything was just so… different. He wished he could look at it longer, but fuck it was so bright- even with J’s cloak in front of him. He began to squint, trying to take in more and commit it to memory.

V almost whined when Janus covered his eyes again, instead- to save whatever dignity he had left- he settled with hidden pouting. He closed his eyes against his hands and sighed.

“That’s enough little one, we don’t need you hurt.” Janus whispered, a smile clear in his voice as he removed his hands, “You can open your eyes now, slowly. You need to reacclimate.”

V opened his eyes, looking where the beautiful portal-light-thingy once was and frowning. He almost mourned it before shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. Get yourself together man.

“Okay little one, I think it’s time to step through,” Janus offered him a hand, “Come.”

Timeskip

“This is the lake. The twins constructed part of this, L assisted me in growing the vegetation,” Janus smiled fondly as he looked into the slightly luminescent water, “Swimming and casting growth magic is unsurprisingly quite exhausting.” V nodded along slowly. It had been about an hour into their tour and his exhaustion was growing more and more apparent.

“Just one more place, then the twins can help you make your room. If they leave out anything you may want or need, go to L, he manages them better than I ever could.” V almost smiled at that.

Janus tugged on V’s shirt and frowned at how he stumbled. Right, tour, then room, then check up on him, then food. Humans need food, right? Three times a day was it? Fuck L was so much better at this than he was. A fucking genius he is.

Against a gentle and worn gravel path, Janus could feel the smoothed pebbles against his feet. L must have influenced the breeze because it usually ran cold- exactly why Janus preferred to wear his coat at all times. The brush was lower than he wished it would be. He’d have to fix that too. Gods the upkeep of this forest was atrocious.

“Here it is little one, you can take a break,” Janus said as the two reached a clearing. V looked around, confused before stepping ahead of Janus.

“Why is it… empty?” He asked. Janus cursed softly under his breath and waved his hand, ten door frames fading into reality. He would have laughed at V’s expression if he didn’t find it so adorable.

“What- Why are there just- hold on,” V took a few steps deeper, glancing into one of the door frames before gawking and going to the other side.

“How?”

“How, what?” Janus asked, a small smirk crawling up his face.

“How are the doors like this? How does that even work?” V said, finally turning fully towards J.

“Well, simply, magic. More complex, the doors are portals on one end, the other is designed to keep the twins from barreling into someone’s ‘room’ on accident-” again, “- Essentially the gateways open to a pocket dimension where we can create and destroy things at will. These pocket dimensions serve as rooms when we wish them to,

“I think you’d find it quite enjoyable to find what the others prefer their rooms to look like- though I do think they’d be somewhat influenced to change to be more… accessible.” Janus explained, gently tracing a door frame, “I can make these pocket dimensions. The others cannot. They can only simply manipulate them.”

“... Because you’re more powerful?” Janus smiled.

��Yes, very good.”

V tilted his head and bent down, picking up a rock and backing up before throwing it through a door frame. The rock landed on the other side where Janus picked it up and tossed it over the portal.

“Does any of this make sense?” Janus looked away and walked a few feet from the last portal, summoning a portal effortlessly. Well, not effortlessly. He could feel energy seep from his body slowly but paid no mind to it. When he was met with silence, a smile grew on his face.

“Words please darling, I can’t see you when I’m working.” He teased, not needing to glance back to see V’s face flush.

“Some of it, kind of. I don’t-” He stopped himself and sighed, “I’ll figure it out.” Janus nodded and traced the door from corner to corner, the frame tingling to the touch.

“If you ever have questions, ask for me. I’ll come as quickly as I can.” Janus finally looked back fast enough to see V nod.

Quick rustling through the bushes by them caught both of their attention. Janus rolled his eyes and walked to the shrubbery, an unamused look on his face.

“You know, you two are absolutely awful at surprising people.”

“Aw man, I thought we had it this time!”

“You were distracted! It was almost perfect before this absolute buffoon decided to push me!”

“Buffoon? Who are you calling a buffoon? I’ll konk you upside the head so hard your brain will-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Janus hushed, pulling the twins out of the bushes, “You two must help V create his pocket dimension. If I hear even the smallest complaint about you two acting a fool I will rip you limb from limb, understood?”

Janus could have cackled at the fear in the twins' eyes as they nodded. He turned around and walked up to V, gently ruffling his hair before walking away.

“I’ll be doing a few chores, I’ll be back soon to check up on you three.” To check up on V more like.

Timeskip

When Janus finally got back the sun had already gone down, the soft glow of the general forest lighting the paths for him as he walked through the clearing to V’s gateway. He knocked at the door frame and tapped his foot against the floor. He almost expected the Duke to poke his head out of the portal until he saw V walk through on his own.

“Good evening little one, are the twins still with you?” Janus asked, quickly looking V up and down. V shook his head and toed at the ground.

Janus almost frowned seeing he was still in his clothes from earlier- though he supposed the Prince might be busy tailoring clothing- despite being able to just summon it at will. V looked around quickly before meeting his eyes.

“May I come in?” He asked, allowing himself to relax. V slowly nodded and stepped back into his room, Janus quickly following.

The change of scenery was… pleasant. The room wasn’t much, simply just a wooden cabin with a few off-hand doors- most likely leading to a washroom, wardrobe, and maybe a cupboard or something of the like. It was very tidy, nothing on the walls and nothing on the floor. A bed sat against the wall on the opposite side of the room, the sheets a plain beige along with the blanket. Janus was genuinely surprised that the room wasn’t more grand. After all, he had left V with two of the most eccentric fae he knew- not that he knew many other fae in the first place.

“It’s very nice. Are you sure this is everything you want at the moment? We can always make more now or later.,” He offered, still looking around.

“No, it’s fine.” Oh. Oh, poor boy. He sounded so tired.

“Come here please.” Janus requested, extending a hand to V and gently clasping it as he laid his own in his palm, “You were hurt earlier, allow me to help-”

V ripped his hand away and stumbled back. Janus was taken aback as he blinked- slightly dazed. What? V took a few steps back before walking to his bed and sitting down.

“Can I- I want to sleep.” He muttered, exhaustion seeping through his bones. Janus frowned before nodding slowly.

“I’ll close the gateway for outsiders on my way out. Sleep well, darling.” He walked out, attempting to ignore the tugging feeling in his stomach telling him to go back.

He couldn’t go back because V didn’t want him to go back. And that was fine. It was fine. He chose to think of it as a blessing. He had more time to reprimand the twins.

Timeskip

“We didn’t do anything!”

“I swear! I didn’t even say anything! He just seemed to deflate when you left.” Janus sighed into his hand and closed his eyes.

“Well something happened when I left and none of you called for me- and then you left him?” Janus hissed out.

“He told us to!” Janus raised an eyebrow- lie, “Okay he didn't tell us to- but he implied it!”

“He implied it? He’s a mortal, Prince, he can’t just be left alone in a pocket dimension.” The twins looked embarrassed, bringing their eyes down. Janus was almost proud of himself for successfully scolding them before the Duke’s head popped up.

“Wait- didn’t you just leave him alone?” He asked, a smug look crossing his face. Janus gaped at the pure audacity that he had before collecting himself.

“Well you see, Duke, he had asked me to leave- to my information, he’s sleeping and-” Janus was cut off when L walked into the hideaway.

“That’s highly unlikely. Why would he have any reason to trust us enough to sleep here?” L said, closing his notebook gently and pushing it into his coat.

Okay, now that Janus thought about it, yeah. There was no way that V was asleep at the moment. His bond hadn’t calmed down past when he had last he’d seen him either. Janus pursed his lips and turned his head sharply to look at L.

“Where’s Pat?”

“He’s busy cooking supper at the moment. I advised him that a soup would be the way to go with us not knowing what the human enjoys and is possibly allergic to. Simply a broth and a few chopped vegetables.” L said simply. Janus nodded and took a few steps away from the twins.

“Is there any particular reason you came here instead of helping Pat cook?”

“Actually,” L’s lips twisted up, “I’m here to fetch you to eat. J, would you like to call V or shall I get him myself?” L hid a knowing smile when Janus sent a quick glare to him.

“I can get him myself, we’ll meet you in the dining room eventually.” He spoke coldly, the twins chuckling before he sent them another glare.

“Be fast, we wouldn’t want the food to get cold by the time you finally arrive.” Janus nodded and flipped his coat, walking to the altered brush.

“He’s so possessive.”

“It’s adorable honestly- who could have thought?”

He rolled his eyes and stepped a little faster. So what if he cared for V? He wasn’t possessive. Just… protective.

…

Fuck.

[normal-thoughts-official]

magnus is this notorious pirate famous in the caribbean with everyone talking about him because of how successful he is. his quartermaster is definitely raphael (his care for his clan and how he cares for others solidifies this thought process) and their ship has some corny name that raphael pretends to hate but definitely loves. europe thinks that magnus and his crew are demons(racists fucks) meanwhile theyre out here being nerds who enjoys navigating the seas and ruining racists job prospects+

+cat and ragnor live on nassau with magnus bringing back supplies they sell(we love the blackmarket here). the lightwoods are brought into this world bc their parents send them off to nassau to try and expand the family's business and gain profit off of this lawless place which refuses to be governed by anyone. malec meets at like the local inn where maia works at also where izzy meets her and by association The Polycule)and is just attracted to each other right then and there with bad flirting. once they become settled in, alec and izzy becomes like disillusioned with following what their parents expect of them and start to actually do what they wish. because he's dramatic, alec probably asks ragnor who settled down from pirating for more lessons in sword fighting (hes not unexperienced but theres a difference from fighting on land and on water)

eventually magnus hears about this cue them dramatically learning how to fight on like this cliff top with their swords connecting (we love euphemisms for sex) and them bonding over magnus' book collection he has and them no longer doing what their parents expect of them (im imagining asmodeus as this well traveled trader or something who only cares about money rather than having humanity) and even though magnus is this pirate which is a profession that the "civilized world" looks down on, he's like the epitome of actually having morals and caring about people (pirates were known to drastically impact the slave trade as they often freed slaves and let them join their crew or they worked directly with maroons and indigenous people). 

i imagine their first kiss to be when theyre training and someone has a sword pressed against the others neck because theyre horny bastards and they accept only the dramatics. their proposal/matelot is potc levels of dramatic with them fighting an enemy crew alongside The Polycule(the most badass and queer crew out there) and like halfway through alec is just like marry me and then next thing they know it raphael is officiating their marriage around dead people before they go on to have a better and more planned out wedding on shore (had to get some of this out now before i went too deep, The Poycule is definitely something i paid attention to most considering how big and complex the group is)

ugh not to add to an already huge post but

you are totally right about raphael being his quartermaster! raphael is a great leader and he cares so much for his people and he is one of the few people magnus obviously trusts, even as they have their differences. only other person i could imagine as magnus' quartermaster would be cat but like! raphael is perfect for the job! also i love the idea that he pretends to hate the corny name, he has to pretend to hate magnus' puns and jokes on principle but really he loves it

also "meanwhile they are all nerds" accurate, the whole ship is just a whole mess of people having fun and being family we love that for them

and ok not to slut for the polycule but i'm slutting for the polycule i just. aaa want to know so much more about them. i know you said they were already with maia but idk i can see many of them being part of magnus' crew? especially meliorn and tbh clary lmao she seems the type who would love adventure like that (i'm going with fanon clary here mostly) and i can see simon in both but i can also definitely see simon being in the inn with maia (god i have a half baked au that includes that) because being in the sea all day? no thank you. and they are just this nice local couple that helps all the pirates because fuck the racist law

also it's hilarious because they are so warm and welcoming and the lightwoods get there and simon is like "oh-oh. incoming" and maia is all like "what the fUCK do you want"

which lowkey backfires because izzy is just like "oh she's so fierce, i love her" and is already like, halfway in love doing the head tilt and huge grin thing (she's not creepy about it, just like, she likes it, you know? especially because in this AU izzy was raised as a Rich Girl so she's expected to be all that fragile useless white woman ideal and yada yada and she's not here for that so she's attracted to the idea of women like clary and maia)

and just like ghhgggghhh not to slut but i love the idea that they are in the inn and meliorn raphael and possibly clary are always in the sea so like! sweet reunions! not that they are usually going super far lmao mostly just stopping the slave trade and protecting the caribbean and shit, but that's a few months in between visits and i picture that at some point when they are getting to nassau raphael is just like, vibrating (you know, as much as he allows himself to) and magnus just smiles knowingly, happy that his boy has found people he's so happy with

and raphael getting into the inn and being like "simon! maia!" and simon and maia being like "raphael! meliorn!" and just crashing into this big group hug and it's all laughs and meliorn twirls maia and she giggles and simon kisses raphael's cheek and is all worried about them both (plus clary) because god what the fuck kind of shit did they get into this time, are they hurt? if he's broken another leg he's gonna- and raphael laughs and says "no, cariño, i promise all i have with me are gifts" because he's not gonna travel the caribbean and not bring stuff for his partners. so it's him and meliorn showering maia and simon in gifts and pretty and maybe stolen things (maia in particular takes such great joy in learning that her pretty new bracelet belonged to some racist bitch) like spoils you know? lmao, and looking at them it's like they haven't seen each other in years or something but no it's been like a month and it's always like that

and alec and izzy are just watching that, mouths slack, shocked, but highkey yearning for something as free as that, that loving family and that open love and meliorn's genderfuckery and just everything about them! and alec "conceal don't feel" lightwood is kind of frowning and goes "are they always like that?" to which magnus, behind him, answers "yes" and then he turns around and they stare at each other and magnus quickly goes from "happy for my boys" to "hello tall person" in a matter of seconds and is suddenly all seductive and flirty and alec is having the time of his life? especially since here away from the lightwoods he can allow himself just a little bit, and letting a guy flirt with him can't hurt, right? he knows izzy won't tell their parents. so he engages

cue terribly bad flirting, izzy smiling widely as she watches the polycule dynamics, highkey wanting something like that for herself, especially seeing the way that clary talks to maia all like "look at this SWORD" and all the adventures. and maia still doesn't trust her but apparently magnus has already hit it off with her brother so what the hell, they might as well stay

and just!! yes getting to know each other shenanigans. i picture that like the army gets there and tries to get magnus and his crew and alec and izzy are like running to them to warn them (alec not knowing quite why, he shouldn't be taking that big of a risk, he shouldn't be getting attached to a pirate - of whom he's only heard terrible things so far, thinks they are Evil basically - just because something about him is alluring and represents the freedom he doesn't allow himself to want, but... he is getting attached) and the whole gang is all like *very calmly heading to the secret hideout in their room* oh don't worry about that lmao they do this every week

and idk i just want a moment where they are almost found and alec and izzy lowkey save their ass (i mean they would have managed but they make it easier, maybe use the Privilege Card lmao). maybe the guards were closer than they thought so alec ends up just shoving magnus into the hideout and when the guards come in he's all like "WHO is interrupting our sleep" and acts like an entitled brat and they don't even search the room lmao and then alec runs to the hideout all "sorry that i pushed you, are you okay?" and magnus is all like "i'm fine" but a little touched about the care. just to establish that trust, you know? both between them and between izzy and the rest of the polycule

so after that it all kind of flows smoothly because they know they can genuinely trust the lightwoods and so it grows into something more. magnus and alec can bond over having Terrible Parents With Terrible Morals and they open up about their respective traumas with abuse, and alec confesses to magnus for the first time ever that he doesn't want to be like his parents, that he thought if maybe he earned their respect, he could change things from the inside. and magnus looks at him all soft and touched and is like "there's no changing things from the inside" and alec is like "i'm starting to realize that" you know

and yeah alec gets to see how much that crew cares for each other, way more than his "traditional family" ever could (except for him and izzy who are just as devoted to each other as the crew is, but like, it's honestly less the "blood relations" and more how they've always been there for each other as they handled their parents' shittiness) and again he's just yearning because he always believed he wouldn't get something like that. and magnus in particular is just so caring and just wants to make the world a better place, you know? and he admires that and they bond over that, too

and just jdhdaodshad god i love this. and meanwhile izzy is flirting with maia clary and meliorn like crazy and soon they are like this huge messy group with all those dynamics... and i just aaa and alec and izzy end up joining the crew and daiodsaiodjsaio RAPHAEL OFFICIATING THEIR WEDDING i'm genuinely all for that fucking shit, magnus wants his boy to do it for them and aaaaa! also i DEMAND raphael&meliorn fighting sequences because i bet they would make a bomb ass duo fighting back to back and shit, you know? bonus points if they are defending simon and maia who are behind them and just making sure no one touches them?? i live for this shit 

in short i love this and you said “get some out of your chest" so if there's more, then fuck, i can't wait to see it dahsdaijas i'm sorry for talking so much i get too excited

[shieldedbythunder]

Okay, but AU where Steve is a Viking and no one takes him seriously as a fighter because he's so small, but he prays every day to Thor to make him strong and Thor is impressed by Steve's determination, so he decides to help him and gradually falls in love with this fierce, scrappy fighter who jumps into fights to protect others in danger without thinking avout his own safety.

Matt, I am SO sorry for taking so long to get to some of your asks!! This one sounds especially cool!

Thor’s heard countless prayers in his name over the centuries, asking for protection, for strength and glory, for the blessing of a child. And usually, he finds it easier to maintain a distance from the mortals who call upon him - he can’t help everyone, after all. But over time, he starts hearing the same prayers for courage and strength from a young warrior, so skinny and small that Thor almost took him for a child the first time. His curiosity winning out over his better judgement, Thor travels to Midgard and visits the young man unseen.

The villagers may scoff at the idea of him fighting in battle, but in truth, Steven (Steve to his friends) has been fighting all his life. To make it through the first night after his birth, to draw a full chest of breath on his bad days, to provide for himself and his mother, and later just himself, after losing both of his parents. While he may never fight for his people, Steve still holds his head high and trains as best he can with his father’s shield. All he wants is to be useful to his people, to protect others. And though it often earns him a black eye or split lip from somebody twice his size, he never backs down from a fight if it keeps somebody else safe.

Thor finds himself impressed by Steve’s resolve and spirit, and decides to grant his prayers. Steve remembers almost nothing of it; the faintest impression of a dream one night, of a tall warrior with golden hair and a hammer at his belt laying a hand upon his forehead with a benevolent smile. But he wakes the next morning, awestruck at the knowledge that he has the Thunderer’s favour on his side.

Usually, that would be the end of it for Thor. Once a prayer is granted, he’ll return to his place in the ether and eventually forget whichever mortal he’s just visited. But there’s something about this man, with a heart too big for a body twice his size to contain, that beguiles him, and he finds himself returning to watch over Steve more and more frequently as the years pass.

Thor’s blessing makes itself evident in Steve’s body, slowly but surely. It starts small at first; he’s amazed to find he finds he can breathe more easily as time goes on, the illnesses that have plagued him since childhood finally starting to clear. By the time he goes into battle with his tribe for the first time, he’s grown a little taller and stronger, easily able to wield a shield and sword where they would have fatigued him within minutes before. Little by little, Steve continues to grow and change, until he stands tall and broad-shouldered with the best warriors in his village, a figure of great admiration to all. And yet, he remains the same kind and humble man that he was before, as Thor proudly notes.

Steve still offers daily prayers of thanks to Thor, his heart overflowing with gratitude for being given this gift. And Thor still visits him in dreams from time to time. At first he says nothing, merely nodding his thanks. But as time goes on, he and Steve begin to talk in the few minutes they spend together in dreams. They find amusement in how similar they are, stubborn men who just want to do what is right, and to the amazement of both, they begin to form something of a friendship. One that only strengthens and deepens as time goes on, leaving them both feeling empty and lonely when Steve wakes up alone and Thor returns to the ether.

Steve knows there are many who would like to see him wed. Pretty women from prosperous, influential clans, who would love to take a warrior of his renown as their husband and bear his children. But when he thinks of sharing his heart with someone, he finds his thoughts turning to bright blue eyes and strong hands on his shoulders, a warm laugh rumbling like the summer thunder. It’s laughable, perhaps even blasphemous to think, but he’s fallen in love with Thor. 

Little does he know that Thor feels the same for him; he’s come to realise that, in truth, he began to love Steve when he first looked into his soul and saw his spirit shining brighter than any star. But he’s left anguished at the thought that Steve’s life will be as brief as a mayfly’s. They say nothing of it when they meet in dreams, but savour every moment and touch that they share, letting themselves believe that what they long for is possible for a few short minutes.

Eventually, the day Thor’s been dreading comes. Invaders sail in from England, seeking to take the land from these savage heretics, and Steve, naturally, is on the front lines defending his home. It happens when he’s trying to cover an escaping family as they flee from a group of soldiers. Even outnumbered five to one, Steve manages to hold them off long enough for the family to get to safety. But one of the last to go down uses his last strength to run Steve through with a sword, a terrible, blinding pain that whites everything else out and leaves him certain that not even Thor will be able to save him now. Little does he know as he falls to his knees, clutching the hacked remnants of his father’s shield, that Thor has already made up his mind.

Everything’s going dark, his last thought one of relief that the family made it to safety, when Steve feels arms around him, lifting him up. When he can finally see again, he’s greeted by the sight of Thor, looking nervous as he clasps something between his hands. Even in his confusion and shock from knowing he’s dead, the sight of his old friend and love puts Steve’s mind at ease.

Thor’s words are halting when he welcomes Steve to the halls of his ancestors, his rightful resting place in Valhalla. He tells of what an privilege it has been, to see Steve grow into the mighty, honourable warrior that Thor saw inside him all those years ago, and to call him a friend. But there’s something else he’d like to call Steve, something infinitely dearer to his heart if Steve would permit him. Words failing him, Thor opens up his hands, and Steve is left speechless as he’s handed one of Idunn’s golden apples, the secret to godhood and immortality.

He is under no obligation, Thor stammers, uncertain for the first time in his thousands of years, and it would be a great deal to ask of him when he has already given so much in Thor’s name. But if Steve would just give him the chance to give him the happiness he deserves - he never gets further than that. In three steps, Steve closes the distance between them and kisses him, hands framing his face, strong and sure in that way that’s so Steve that Thor wants to laugh and cry with happiness all at once. 

To live forever in Asgard would be no hardship at all, Steve laughs as he bites into the golden apple, as long as Thor would always be by his side. And so they are remembered in legend, side by side, hand in hand, brothers in arms and love.

This was lovely to think about. I’d really recommend Slatgjof and its sequel if you want a fic with a similar prompt, it’s a wonderful story!

[fangirlingquietly]

Ok, time to talk about Doctor Who's Revolution of the Daleks. There will be spoilers below, so if you haven't seen the episode yet, steer clear for now. (I'm an international stan, so VPN and iPlayer were my best friends. Hope this helps you too.)

I live in the future, somewhere about 7 hours ahead of London, so I had no plans of watching the show's broadcast live, but for some reason, I was still up when the show went live and I was like, "What the hell - let's do this."

Despite watching the episode at around 3AM in my side of the world, it was definitely entertaining and enjoyable! I like 13's era, and I think Jodie Whittaker's amazing, but I do share some of the other stans' feedback about how Chibs' mostly expository dialogue drags out episodes, mostly telling what we should know instead of showing it to us. Having said that, I think Chibs' took some of the constructive feedback because RotD is an emotional, action-packed, and exciting return for the Doctor and the fam. It will go down as one of Chibs' best-written episodes, definitely.

Plot-wise, it's really interesting. The stakes couldn't have been higher. The fam is stuck on Earth while the Doctor is trapped in what she calls Space Prison. What's worse is that Daleks are back on Earth, working for the British government as security drones. It's reminiscent of 11th Doctor's Victory of the Daleks set in WWII, but at the same time, it feels errily like the present. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it, but living in the time of Black Lives Matter and distrust in law enforcement is at an all time high, it's hard not to draw parallels wherein people in power use technology to spread hate and divide for personal gain, oftentimes, at expense of everyone else. While the Daleks represent the real and imminent threat of the episode, I think Chris Noth's Jack Robertson is a hidden and even more chilling villain. A man of immense wealth, power and status who is using all of his privileges for more personal gain; someone who is willing to trade off his race for survival, and despite all that, he comes out unscathed, and can manipulate himself into being celebrated. It's too real, it's scary. I like to think Chibs is not yet done with Robertson and it would definitely be interesting if he'll crop up again in the future Whoniverse.

There was a lot of fan service in this episode, all of which I enjoyed thoroughly. More than a decade since we last saw him, Captain Jack is (properly) back! I love him and Torchwood, so if we're to believe the rumors that his return, the mention, and his albeit off-screen reunion with Gwen Cooper will signal Torchwood's return, I AM ALL FOR IT! His presence also brought an interesting dynamic with the other companions. Let's face it - it's gold when Jack flirted and called Graham "silver fox".

But let's get to my favorite sequence of the episode - Jack's talk with Yaz. I love how raw and emotional it was, and in just a few minutes it showed Yaz' motivation for staying with the Doctor, set up her possible dynamics with 13 in the future and alluded to Ryan and Graham's departure, all done sincerely. When Jack said, "coz the joy, it's worth the pain" my heart just broke. I don't know if it was intentional on Chibs' end, but I think it was a good callback to when Sarah Jane Smith said "Some things are worth getting your heart broken for," in School Reunion and when Madam de Pompadour said, "One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel," in A Girl in the Fireplace. That sentiment just rings true to all of the companions' stories - travelling with the Doctor is amazing, but it's not without it's heartbreak, it's just up to them whether it's worth the risk, before it's too late (A good and very real life lesson to take away, if you ask me).

And for Ryan and Graham, there's more exciting adventures waiting for them on Earth than with the Doctor. I'm okay with Ryan & Graham's departures, though personally, I'm more of a fan of the more tragic companion departures, like Donna, the Ponds, River and Clara. I like that for all of the agency that their characters lacked in the two seasons they were there, Chibs gave Ryan & Graham the option to leave the TARDIS on their own terms, contradicting what Jack said earlier that whoever travels with the Doctor basically had no choice - whether you stay until you die, forget or get sent back in time or the Doctor abandons you. Come to think of it - maybe the tragedy of Ryan & Graham's departure is as subtle as their character developments. It may not be as loud as the other companion's, but it doesn't mean it's not as painful. It made me think that maybe the stoic dynamic among the fam in the earlier seasons was deliberate (and not because Chibs cannot write an ensemble dynamic. That's just BS - the man wrote Broadchurch, and that was a masterclass in writing for an ensemble) , and the regret of losing people important to you before you're comfortable enough to open up to them is the real tragedy for the Doctor. The Doctor's regret of not being able to go back to them in time before they changed their minds will sit in her hearts as heavily as the guilt she feels with Donna's fate or any other companion. Moreover, it's also saying that when Ryan and Graham found a family in each other after both losing Grace is as important and as amazing as Donna saving the universe and becoming the most important woman in the universe. Rory's line in God Complex comes to mind: "I'd forgotten not all victories are about saving the universe," and that made their departure more bittersweet.

Can we also talk about how beautifully shot this episode is? I've always said that I'm a fan of the more gritty, realistic but Broadchurch-esque cinematography for Chibnall's Who. It makes the story, no matter how otherworldly it is, a bit more grounded. There were hits and misses in the previous episodes in this approach, but I think it's in this episode where they've perfected it. Also, the CGI is so good, and his Dalek redesign is sleek and sexy (sorry, Moffat).

This is me probably nitpicking, but I expected that the impact of the Timeless Children will be more explicit in this episode, but the only TC reference gave 13 and Ryan a good heart-to-heart, where Ryan had to remind the Doctor that despite her current identity crisis, she's still the Doctor. Again, I don't know if it's deliberate but it feels very reminiscent of Clara in The Day of the Doctor where she reminded Eleven that "We've got enough warriors. Any old idiot can be a hero... Do what what you've always done. Be a Doctor." I really love callbacks. It just shows so much respect and reverence to the history of the show.

What RotD did very well is give a very entertaining story, but it also set up Series 13 very well. I'm looking forward as to how they'll explore the repurcussions of the Timeless Children. John Bishop's addition to the cast is really interesting. It's being marketed as a new companion, but historically, that kind of end credit introduction was just done with John Hurt's War Doctor. I don't know how they'll play it out, but the possibilities are exciting. On a last note, I do hope that the next season will give Jodie Whittaker her Water of Mars/God Complex moment - an incident that will push her Doctor to the darkest pits and just give her that emotional acting playground that she's so capable of maximizing.

Thank the heavens we don't have to wait long for the next series. BBC's projecting that they'll be back before 2021 ends. Until the Doctor returns, maybe another rewatch?

[renjunthings]

crazy rich asians.

masterlist. previous. next.

chapter one ;

     it was the day of the flight. the uber renjun had arranged slows down near the airport’s entrance as the couple readied the bags they were carrying. once the vehicle halts to a stop, the two got out, hauling their hand-carry backpacks and jackets they carry. although it was already spring, the dying winter is still out in the open. the driver hastily grabs their luggage as cars behind them clog up. 

     donghyuck is about to walk away with their things when a woman in uniform came towards them with a sweet, welcoming smile. 

     “mr. huang, i’m here to escort you both to your seats in the plane.” 

     donghyuck blinks. twice. he didn’t know economy tickets gets this kind of service, “excuse me, what.” 

     he winces at how his words came out so blatantly, a sudden shame runs up in him as his body heat up in reaction. 

     renjun ignored his partner’s reaction to evade any misunderstanding with the airline staff and said, “thank you.” 

     the woman nods in response, smile never leaving her face and spoke sweetly, “this way, please.” 

     renjun reaches his hand for donghyuck’s and intertwines them, his small hand tugging his lover’s big ones. 

     “hey, our luggage—“ 

     “don’t worry about that, let’s go.” 

     donghyuck’s mouth clamps shut. he came to a conclusion that this was the type of privilege only first class people can have when he saw how easily they went through security, not having to wait in lines, and especially, having a personal escort. donghyuck’s mind begins to wander off as he observes the inside of the plane while the flight attendant tours them around. everything around him screams in rich he knew he could never afford even with five years of saving. then it occurred to him. how could they be in a  such privilege if donghyuck and renjun split the expenses they had planned the nights prior? 

     the tour has come to an end to their own suite. there are two foldable chairs, big enough for a bed when extended, beside each other. there’s a wall forming enclosing the beds, making it a small room, with two doors parallel to each other. 

     the moment the woman is out of sight, donghyuck’s head snapped at renjun, “baby, we can’t afford this for a travel that’s like,” he made exaggerated hand movements, “an hour and a half.” 

     donghyuck wants to scream, laugh, and cry at the same time at how ridiculously this is wasting money. he had given renjun his split of the expense for the plane tickets so he was worried how much the other chipped in for this luxury.

     “my family has business with the airlines and the tickets are… a perk, you could say,” says renjun, putting down his bag and removing the jacket he was wearing then sat on the bed. 

     donghyuck feels as if he was hit like a gong in his head, “so your family is like… rich?” 

     not that he didn’t mind nor cared about the money; what mattered to donghyuck is that renjun didn’t bother to tell him. 

     renjun pauses, hesitance evident on his face, “we’re comfortable.” 

     “that’s what a super rich person would say,” donghyuck counters in a beat. he was bewildered at how his boyfriend kept it all in secret. the idea didn’t even reach his mind that his partner comes from a rich family when he dresses and acts nothing like them. 

     the older just laughs, finding donghyuck’s reaction cute, “i try not to think of it as my money, though.”

     renjun was surely a unique one. he knows he can get everything he wants in an instant but it never one crossed his mind. donghyuck began to wonder how he was brought up by his family. his family. there was a bucket of pressure drop on his shoulders. donghyuck knew he came from a poor family, only having a mother and his three younger siblings. following his dream to be a producer and singer was risky but his mother encouraged him, working extra hours at the local ramen shop in seoul just to pay for his eldest’s college tuition. it did pay off. now, he was local artist and part time dj with a growing reputation. 

     donghyuck sighs, looking down at his hands, “wow,” shoulders slouching, “i mean i don’t care about the money part but—how—what—you like to hang out in that smelly park and my dingy apartment rooftop for pete’s sake!” 

     “i really like those places, by the way,” renjun feigns an offended look then looks up the ceiling, “those are great places for painting and stargazing.” 

     it was true. those places were the frequent dating spots they have on daily basis. 

     “yeah,” donghyuck replies, “but i kind of feel upset because you didn’t bother to tell me, though.” 

     a small frown sits upon donghyuck’s perfect soft lips. renjun’s heart ached with guilt, seeing his boyfriend like that. with a slightly shaking hand, renjun reaches for donghyuck’s own and encloses it on his both hands, “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. as cheesy as this is gonna sound but when I met you, I never felt so normal in my life. you didn’t know who i was or where i came from. all of the expectations from my family, friends, anyone who knew me, were gone. it was like freedom i never knew existed. and i will always be grateful of you for giving me that.” 

     donghyuck wanted to cry. he wanted to wallow at his boyfriend’s speech and cry his heart out. not knowing what to say, he smiled lovingly at renjun and noticed the tears threatening to fall out of the other’s eyes. 

     “awwe, is the baby crying?” 

     renjun wiped the tears before they fall, muttering a “shut up,” to which the taller one just laughed and grabbed renjun’s cheeks, giving it a squeeze. 

     despite the lovely moment, there was a lingering question in donghyuck’s mind. the older senses this as it showed on donghyuck’s face, a change of emotion. renjun doesn’t know why there’s a shiver of fear pass through him. “what’s wrong?” 

     with a troubled look, donghyuck debates whether to tell him or not, he goes with the former, “since it’ll be my first time meeting your family… i kinda wanna know what i’m getting into like which cousins i am meeting or something,” he rambles on. 

     a gush of relief bleeds through renjun. he didn’t know what he was expecting nor why he was afraid, “oh, of course. um—well,” renjun doesn’t know where to begin. heaving a sigh, he continues anyways, “you already know i have gay parents, that’s a start, they get backlash for their relationship status but that doesn’t stop them from having successful businesses. my cousins however, are a handful,” renjun thinks back to the memories shared with his cousins. 

     there was wong kunhang/huang guanheng, known as the prince to the public. he was dubbed the prince for his looks and personality, minus the weirdness he exudes when he is with the people he’s comfortable; he is the literal definition. he is heir to the line of bags and shoes production within the family along with him being one of the top models in asia.

     next was xiao dejun, commonly called xiaojun, is cunning but a softie deep down. he has sharp looks that has got women and men whipped. xiaojun is heir to the jewelry line and is in the period of being an apprentice still practicing his trade. 

     next, zhong chenle, the youngest cousin and also known as president chenle. he has a cute demeanor that makes everyone want to adopt him but don’t let it fool you, he is mischievous. chenle is heir to the zhong airlines, the most booming business renjun’s family has, thus the younger being called president chenle. 

     then there’s dong sicheng, renjun’s favorite and closest cousin. renjun already shared bits of information about the cousin to donghyuck and even showed him a picture to which his boyfriend only gush over how cute renjun’s cousin is. 

     “i’m finally meeting THE dong sicheng?” donghyuck beams at renjun excitedly. by now, the couple had laid on the bed after the plane take off, face to face. 

     renjun’s face turned sour, “okay, i’m regretting inviting you to meet my family,” he slides away from donghyuck and sits up. 

     “nooo,” donghyuck whines, “i’m just kidding! come back i need cuddles!” 

      the rest of the travel is spent cuddling after donghyuck attacking the other with pecks and aegyos until renjun had enough of it and gives in. the atmosphere around them are filled with happiness and love donghyuck almost doesn’t wanna tear away from renjun when the captain announced to buckle up. 

     at the heat of the moment beside the love of his life, donghyuck almost forgets what’s awaiting him.

masterlist. previous. next.

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just reply if u want to be in the taglist!!! or off the taglist :D

[fasa-umich]

Bea Fandiño, FASA 2020-21 Co-President

One Last Time

We’re gonna teach them how to say goodbye...

3/19/2021

Wowee, what a whirlwind of a year. These past twelve months have been filled with so much to be proud of—I even started a list of “Proud Mom Moments” last May so I could document all the small triumphs worth recognizing. It’s as if I’ve been planning out this testimonial since my election into the Co-Presidency, so I only laugh as I try to put all these thoughts to paper the day after my testimonial was supposed to be done (sorry ading Janielle—Filipino time, am I right?).

“Pick up a pen, start writing.”

I want to start off by saying that this year was not easy. It wasn’t for anyone. Our board came into our tenure hitting the ground running, full of visions and concrete plans for FASA, only to have them thwarted time and time again by circumstances out of our control. Let it be known that if this was a normal year, our board would have absolutely crushed it. x1000.

But it wasn’t a normal year. And you know what? We still crushed it. We changed the game. And while it can be so easy to focus on what could have been, doing so would distract us from celebrating everything that was.

This was the mentality Izzy and I pushed at the onset of the summer. Yes, FASA has traditions. There are certain aspects of our programs that everybody loves and expects to see each semester. But FASA is also dynamic. Every year, boardies are challenged with finding the balance of upholding tradition while trying new things and pushing the boundaries. And with the nature of this year, there was no better time to challenge ourselves to do the latter. Because we wanted to do more than just “survive”—we were ready to reach new heights.

Pinay Power looking fire as hell

So what exactly was FASA this year? If I had to choose one word, it’s resilient. Bouncing back after each hurdle, our boardies refused to give up on this org; as did our members, who stayed with us through it all. PCN can’t happen in person? Cool, let’s turn it into a frickin’ MOVIE. Can’t have big group gatherings? Okay, let’s leverage our FAM’s to build stronger small-group bonds. Can’t travel to external orgs? No big deal, let’s organize virtual discussions with our Michigan Philippine Student Associations and our fellow Latinx friends on campus. Even in the face of adversity, FASA resiliently remained rooted in culture, tied together in family, and strengthened by our dedication to the community.

Pop quiz: What are the three ~pillars~ of FASA?

None of this could have been accomplished without the perseverance of our board. Without Janielle’s commitment to high quality. Sean’s willingness to ask important questions. Josh’s contagious, positive energy. Kris’s flexibility and open mindedness. Christine’s constant, uplifting support. Lauren’s willingness to step up for anyone and everyone. Angelina’s dedication to collaboration. Jason’s careful consideration for vision and purpose. Jolene’s innovative ideas. Estelle’s passion for navigating cultural discussion. Kate’s constant communication and initiative. Sam’s critical eye when we’re overthinking things. Kaitlyn’s honesty with what she believes is best. Izzy’s never-ending drive to make sure each person feels heard and supported. To my boardie family, you are an absolute inspiration. Your work ethic is unmatched, your care invaluable, and your determination a force to be reckoned with. It has been a true honor to work with you, to learn from you, and to be your friend.

“And I know we weren’t perfect, but I’ve never felt this way for no one.”

When people ask me what my favorite aspect of the Co-Presidency is, I actually find a strong parallel with my past experience as Performance Chair. In performance, you get to see people grow throughout the year, building up unique confidence and boldness through cultural expression. As Co-President, I had the honor of seeing that growth extended as I watched those same individuals rise as leaders and come to own their position in FASA. Through the trials and successes, to be granted a front-row seat in that journey is a privilege, and I thank each of my boardies for letting Izzy and me join along for the ride. We definitely took a more hands-on approach this year (hopefully you didn’t get too sick of us, lol), and with that, an even deeper understanding of the efforts and motivations of the people who make it all happen. And being challenged to make the tough calls, actively listen to what people have to say, take action to move forward, and use my voice to stand up for what I believe in, I learned just as much from my boardies as they (hopefully) did from me. Even as Co-President, there is always more FASA and Filipino culture to explore, as well as more to learn from those around you.

“I wanna talk about what I have learned, the hard-won wisdom I have earned.” -Boomers

On that note, FASA would not be standing so tall—well, as tall as a Filipino can be—today if it weren’t for our general members. To my first years: Your energy is what kept FASA fueled this entire year. To my sophomores: Thank you for sticking with us, engaging with our programs, and keeping FASA a part of your life. To my alpha dings juniors: Literally, I can’t imagine life without you. To my grad student population of ~2 (and growing!!): You are history in the making! Keep the momentum going! And to my seniors: I’ll save the sappy goodbyes for when you leave my life forever in a month (mom and dad, I already know I’m gonna cry and you’d best believe I’m bringing you down with me). But in all seriousness, your constant support over the years has shaped FASA into the community we know and love.

Like I said before, FASA is dynamic. It’s ever-changing. But even if the FASA 10 years from now is different from the FASA we know today, the impact we have made on each other’s personal and cultural journeys remains true. That’s the beauty of this family—stripping away the official title and positions, at the end of the day, we’re all just defining our own Filipino American experience together. And though FASA will continue to change, that personal impact is something that will stand the test of time.

“No matter where life takes us, nothing can break us apart...I just wanna be with you.”

Okay yeah yeah, I know I’m a sap, just let me be Feelings Chair for once. Before I wrap things up, there are a few people I want to acknowledge:

Mai-Ly and Elisa: X FAM BEST FAM!! Seriously, you should be incredibly proud of yourselves as FAM Heads. X FAM broke records this year, and I could not be more happy with the top-tier music videos, hella extra [exclusive] merch (other fams be jealous), COASTERS (lol), and overall stronger fam. Thank you for putting up with my sometimes overly Type A agendas and being so flexible amidst the craziness.

Kris and Josh: Long! Live! FASA! Performance! You guys were faced with a lot of difficulties this year. But in the end, you kept performance not only alive, but also fun and something members looked forward to, whether virtually or in-person. I am so incredibly proud of you and honored to have been your dancer :).

Izzy: The Isa to my Bella, the Pierogies to my Beaf. Thank you for being the absolute best co I could possibly ask for and the most amazing friend in the world. You challenged me to keep the big picture in mind and were integral in helping all of us (especially me) balance hard work and fun. As someone easily caught up in the grind and instinctively expecting others to be the same, you kept me in check and indirectly reminded me to take a breather and make sure board was enjoying what they were doing. I will forever have a love-hate relationship with our three- to six-hour calls, and you will always have a spot in my GCal for a Thursday night meeting-turned-dinner-turned-therapy session. It baffles me to think that we weren’t that close before 12 months ago. Thank you for being not only my inspiration as a leader but also my constant as a friend.

Team Isabella 4 Life

So where do we go from here? Admittedly, we couldn’t do everything we wanted to do this year. Izzy and I had a vision for FASA, and it can get discouraging when you’re not able to see your vision through. But at the end of the day, we had to accept that we might not be able to reach the end-goal. If the best we could do right now was focus on the present, make the most for our current membership, and set FASA up for future success, then we were gonna give that our all. And if the INCREDIBLE drive and work ethic of our Interns is an indicator of anything, I have full confidence in the passion, leadership, and people that will continue to join our organization and further its growth. FASA is in good hands—I can’t wait to see where it goes next.

“Your position is so unique.” “So I’ll use it to move them along.”

Looking back on why I ran for board in the first place my freshman year, I remember wanting so desperately to be able to give back to an organization that had given me so much. Thank you, FASA, for giving me the opportunity to do just that. Whether as a general member or Performance Chair or Co-President, I hope I’ve been able to create that safe space that makes FASA feel like home. I said it last year, but I will say it again—FASA, thank you for trusting me. It’s been an honor growing with you.

Mahal na mahal kita,

Bea Fandiño, FASA Co-President