#but I couldn't do it. it was such a slog to get through

[kikuism]

my first dnf of the year is a book i was really looking forward to since i loved the author's first work.....

[furrama]

I should try to read Earthsea again. I have the complete works hardback brick next to my bed. The last time I tried to read it I didn't like the way it was written, it was too zoomed out. Maybe I'll try again.

[phoenixcatch7]

Just got all the memories.... Brb I'm going to curl up and cry now. My girl...........

[starfalcon555]

SORRY OP BUT WHERE THE FUCK IS GREAT EXPECTATIONS THAT IS THE WORST PIECE OF LITERATURE I HAVE EVER READ AND I WILL STAND BY THIS UNTIL THE DAY I DIE

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[akutasoda]

the fans are always right. right?

synopsis - mr reca seemed a bit more downbeat then your used too, maybe some rather interesting reviews would cheer him up

includes - reca

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, wc - 1.6k

a/n: i uhh had an idea... lost it and tried to salvage what i remembered and this was the result- anyway all the reviews used were given to me by some lovely people ( @tragedy-of-commons, @singularity-sam, @vxnuslogy, @mikashisus, @/milksnake-tea, @/tetrachrxmacy and @theother-victoria) try and guess who's who :))

a huffed sigh escaped you, slouching down in your chair as the clock ticked rhythmically in the background. mr reca was supposed to meet you around fifteen minutes ago. he'd never been late before.

a reasonable explanation would be that he had something more important to tend to. and that would be understandable. but for now you were bored out of mind and leaving wasn't an option as reca could show up at any time - he probably wouldn't be as forgiving if you were to show up after him.

today you two were meant to develop a new script and start on the storyboard for his latest idea. in honesty, you're still not quite sure how you landed this job. you wanted to start getting into directing films of your own but couldn't quite place how to start and so you settled for finding a job as a co-director.

after helping co-direct a few pieces here and there, you got a message from the esteemed mr reca. you had to do a couple (maybe even hundreds…) of checks to make sure you weren't actually dreaming. mr reca didn't exactly strike you as the kind of person to need or even want a co-director.

and yet here you were. apparently he enjoyed the sense of style you breathed into the films you helped direct and thought it would pair nicely with a couple of his. even to this day you find it hard to believe that you still had this job.

but you put your all into it. a lot of trust and expectation was placed upon you and you would be sure to not let him down. even if that meant waiting for him to show up for your appointed meetings.

twenty minutes.

you looked around the room for anything to pass the time, all you could think of was your phone laid idly on the desk. then an idea crossed your mind. reca had recently released a film. perhaps you could read some reviews to pass the time.

you never really expected yourself to be mentioned in any of them. yes you got credits and the recognition for being reca's personally selected co-director but most people still only talked about him in their reviews, which wasn't exactly a problem.

it didn't take long to find a rather reputable review page and so you began scrolling.

you should've expected the first one being a five star review

@bebe_fanpage101 : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "This film has changed my life. My whole outlook on everything that exists in this world, in fact even in the entire universe. I can never look at anything I know the same way ever again. This film represents emotions most humans could never comprehend. But I can. Thanks to this film I have been awakened to many things previously thought unimaginable. Thank you."

a rather extreme opinion in your eyes, reca did have some “over-the-top” fans. your became intrigued after stumbling across a one star review soon after

@frankenweeniehater4life : ⭐

- "what ?"

[review has been deleted]

maybe it wasn't an actual review, but you stifle a laugh at the next review being from the same person

⭐

- "wrong movie how do i delete a review" (Edited)

perhaps this could definitely entertain you until reca arrived. you idly scrolled through the reviews, only stopping when some peaked your interest or made you smile

@seas_ablaze : ⭐⭐⭐

- "A film that does a lot of monkey business and goes bananas with it."

or alternatively,

@frankenweeniehater4life : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "i've seen about a million movies and dear god this has to be one of the worst. an absolute slog to get through. the pacing was awful, everything took years to happen. the soundtrack was grating. the actors either put no effort in or way too much- either put them back on the street or send them back to the musical theater. the cinematography was dull at best and straight up nauseating at worst- i had to pause multiple times so i didn't get physically ill. and don't get me STARTED on the stilted script and dull characterization. and the dog isn't even a weenie."

you reckon they might have gotten the wrong film again… but it definitely explained the username-

and at that moment reca finally showed up, he pushed open the doors grumbling something - obviously whatever kept him busy wasn't pleasant. he had walked in with a huff and his expression didn't exactly read that of happiness.

you brushed it off and greeted him like you usually would, something that was greeted with another grumble which you could only guess was a hello of sorts towards you.

watching, you noted how he slumped into the chair on the other side of the desk and it became clear that he wasn't in the mood to get any work done. the silence was starting to get uncomfortable and so you slid your phone over to him, reviews still open.

reca perked one eyebrow up and questioned you “what's this about? we have duties to complete not waste time”

you hummed in response before sliding your phone closer until he picked it up “it's reviews from your latest film, it's not like we'll be getting things done soon and maybe they could help guide our planning” a small pause “they're quite entertaining”

he scrolled for a bit before stopping on one and reading it out loud

@/blink!vxnus! : ⭐⭐⭐⭐

- "film was great and very informative. it made the story far more interesting compared to other documentaries tackling the same story. - 1 because mr reca wasn't in the actual film"

“it's not very helpful, just compliments” he sighed “and wishful fans being normal”

you smiled in response before reaching over as he turned the phone to you and scrolling back up again “this one's a personal favorite, especially the comments”

@/bebe_fanpage101 : ⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "came for the reca shirtless scene, stayed for the storytelling. no regrets stan robin"

- @/ultimate_recakisser : "I mean I’d be the same as well I MEAN WHAT WHO SAID THAT Speakingofshirtlessrecaifoujdthisonefanartdoesanyonewantmetosendit?"

- @/bebe_fanpage101 : "me. dms. shhh."

- @/iwishsundaywasmywife : "id judge u both. but. im the same way abt bird man so i cant"

reca stared at the review, then the comments, before his face began morphing into something akin to the middle point of shock and disgust.

he sighed “there wasn't even a shirtless scene, these people are… enthusiastic, to be nice”

you hummed in response before suggesting that the lower rated reviews may help more and scrolled until you found some.

@/iwishsundaywasmywife : ⭐

- "Great movie. Plot flows well, characters are charismatic and overall a wonderful viewing experience. Just hate the director."

@/abardslyre : ⭐

- "my gf broke up with me for the director. mr reca count ur ******* days."

you had to hold back laughter at the sight of his face distorting into confusion and a slight grimace making the corner of his lips scowl

@/seas_ablaze : ⭐

- "This is awful, pretentious garbage. In all objective fact, he's an auteur wannabe who makes idiotic movies for the normie audiences who are too stupid to think for themselves. I didn't even watch more than five minutes of it, I just know it's bad from his name attached to it. I never made a movie before or have ever taken a film class, but even I could do better than this disgrace of an art form that only a few can ever hope to master. Hell, I would personally kill all subpar directors myself if I could, I'm just that smart. As Lord Scorsese says: Cinema is dead!"

mr reca sighed, deeply, “i can't decide if this helped or not, but im leaning no at the minute”

you definitely could say you enjoyed scrolling through the reviews more, but it wasn't hard to notice how his demeanor changed. how he wasn't so grumpy and you could've sworn that at one point you'd seen a smile on his face. your idea worked.

eventually you two managed to start discussing ideas - which was more him talking your ear off with his ideas and you listening and writing down anything he told you to. and then he paused.

before you even had the chance to question if anything was the matter, reca surprised you “maybe those reviews could help for the next film”

“what do you mean?” you couldn't believe what you were hearing, your spur of the moment idea to show him reviews to hopefully boost his mood so you could both actually talk about his next film properly worked. it actually gave him ideas.

reca prattled on about how some of the reviews gave him the idea for how to expand his latest idea that had hit a wall and now he could continue to elaborate the idea. it was sort of satisfying to see how passionate he had become despite his earlier attitude.

he then abruptly stopped before trailing off “maybe i should listen to some of those reviews and change genres”

you thought that was a rather drastic suggestion, arguing that his current genres worked perfectly fine and it was his speciality, his signature if you would. but then he started mumbling again

“maybe if we went that route… then you could…” he was trailing off, you could barely piece together his coherent sentence but you could pick up on “based on us”

“what? could you repeat that again mr reca?”

“what?”

mr reca was never easy to work with.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn, @https-sourlimes

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I have just had three wisdom teeth taken out this morning, do you have any food advice? If not can I get a chronic pain!reader?

I haven't been to a dentist since I was 6... so. Not really. Just try to stick to soft foods and avoid straws at all costs!

You watched the snow fall outside and tested your weight on your feet, wincing. Mentally taking stock of the aches and pains, rolling through the catalog for anything new or worse. Anything that will get better when you get moving. Anything that you're going to have to baby.

It seems like every day the list gets a little longer. The checklist takes longer. And you tamp down the terror that one day you're not going to be able to do things for yourself anymore. It doesn't help.

Today the pool. Tomorrow physical Therapy... It's a grind. It's a fucking slog. And you hate it. But, it's all you can do right now. You've had too many falls the last couple weeks. On ice, over your own feet, hell- once just standing still in the kitchen.

It's getting ridiculous.

And humiliating.

Not to mention the urgent care probably thinks the boys are beating you because you're covered in bruises all the fucking time. Which couldn't be further from the truth... they played rough with each other, they treated you like spun glass.

"You ready to go?" Wade asked, snorkel and flippers in one hand, grinning.

You look up, pushing hair out of your face and force a smile, "You don't have to go I'm just going to swim laps."

"I'm bored," he said, "And besides. Why would I pass up a front row seat to the hottest show in town?"

"I thought that was Logan working out."

"Either of you working out-"

"I'm taking you to therapy tomorrow," Logan added from the other room.

You sigh and heft yourself to your feet as you reach for your sweats. "So you're both afraid I just won't go."

"No," Wade said nodding yes.

"And," Logan said coming to stand on Wade's other side, "you hate it. And we want to make it less shitty."

"I don't know if having two literally perfect people watching me struggle will make it suck less," you snort, pulling on sweats.

"You swim like a fish," Logan pointed out. "I don't-"

"You have metal bones."

"And I look like-"

"Shut up," you and Logan chorus.

"If you say you're ugly, I swear to god Wade," you threaten, "I won't make you tacos this week."

"Pulling out the big guns before 9am?" he whistled. "Damn."

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter two : silent treatment (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 7.4k

summary : you decide to give your bodyguard the silent treatment after a disagreement

warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. As you stand and exit the closet, tugging on a rope that you know alerts Elaine and Lysa you realize what it is.

You’re excited. 

Everyday has been a slog since your arrival, just another day of aimlessly walking around and sitting mindlessly in the library but today you actually had an agenda. Even if you were to be accompanied by the abhorrent Mandalorian. You had only ever read about gardens, you obviously couldn't have one back on Hoth but you had always wanted to see one, if not have your own. But this was your home now, which made that your garden. You had a garden and today you were going to get to see it. And so, for the first time you summon Elaine and Lysa, instead of allowing them to arrive naturally as they always did. You stand at the mirror, eager to get dressed as the girls rush in, you can tell by the way that they stare at you that they don’t fully understand what's happening as they try to keep the surprise off their faces. Elaine speaks first as Lysa rushes off to the closet to find something for you to wear today.

“Good morning ma’am… you’re up rather early?” The way her voice pitches up makes it come off as a question but you just nod as you begin to undress, watching in the mirror as Lysa brings out a blue gown and you quickly turn around.

“No.” Both girls stare at you with wide eyes and then look at each other as you speak. “I want to wear something else, I’m sick of blue.” Lysa nervously rushes back into the closet but you can see a smile forming on Elaine's face. 

“Seems like someone has finally found their voice.” As Elaine speaks she dresses you in your undergarments. 

“One can only wear blue so many days in a row.” You brush a strand of hair behind your ear as you can see Elaine walking out holding a pale yellow dress in the reflection of the mirror, holding it up for approval. “That will do nicely.” That seems to relax her a bit as they begin to slip it on to you, lacing the back of it up tightly before sitting you down to do your hair and makeup but you gently wave their hands away. 

“Ma’am? Is everything okay?” Elaine says as she holds her hands up, waiting to see what will happen next but Lysa takes a step back as she drops her hands as if she’s been burned and you quickly turn to reassure her. 

“Everything is perfect, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just… I want to do it myself today. You two can have the rest of the morning off… thank you.” You turn back to stare at yourself in the mirror, the reflection actually looks familiar with your hair down like this, the lurid makeup they usually do you up in absent. 

“Ma’am this is rather unorthodox…” Elaine says but she can’t seem to shake the smile from her face. “But if you insist.”

“I do. Insist.” Your lips are also curling into a grin that you’re desperately fighting off as you look at Elaine in the reflection of the mirror, meeting her gaze. “Take the rest of the morning off, I’ll see you in the evening.” Both girls nod as they take their leave, Lysa finds green slippers and puts them on you before darting out of the room. You start to run a brush through your hair and you shout one last thing over to them before the door closes. “Oh! And please inform Leo that I’ll be skipping breakfast, I have other matters to attend to.” Elaine turns to cock an eyebrow at you but nods as she closes the door. 

You don’t bother holding back the grin now as you comb your hair, wanting to leave it down but you’re not sure if that’s proper for royalty so you decide against it, pinning it up loosely and donning a thin band of a tiara to hold it all in place. Now comes an issue you had not accounted for. Do you put on makeup? The girls always put makeup on you, especially on nights where you have dinner with the prince but now that it’s a choice you wonder if it would be weird. It’s not like you’d be dolling yourself up for the Mandalorian, but he really is the only person you see all day, other than Leo, who you only saw when you needed something. 

Well this was starting to ruin your good mood. Would it be weird if you didn’t wear makeup? It might be since up until today every time he’s seen you you’ve been wearing a mountain of it. Maker, what if he doesn’t even recognize you. No, that's stupid of course he’ll recognize you, he spends everyday with you. You can put on makeup, it isn’t weird. You’d just be putting it on for yourself, not him, it isn’t weird to want to look nice for yourself. But he’s a prick. An observant prick. What if he says something about it? That’s stupid why would he say something, you always wear makeup, it would be odd if you didn’t wear it. What if he’s already out there? What if he saw Elaine and Lysa leave? Would he assume you did your makeup yourself? Shit, why hadn’t you asked if he was waiting? Since when do you care what he thinks? When did this fucker get in your head like this? They’ve done your makeup rather garishly every day you’ve spent with the Mandalorian, so you decide to do it, just something simple, not the typical caked on look they give you, just something around your eyes to make them pop. You settle on green, subtle green eyeliner. 

You look ridiculous. He’s going to laugh at you.

You don’t care what he thinks, yet you find yourself reaching into the vanity to find a cloth to wipe the makeup from your face, maybe you should just tell him you don’t feel well and you want to stay in your room today. Gods when did he get in your head like this, one stupid little conversation and suddenly you couldn’t escape him, that stupid, arrogant, cocky, pompous, conceited, ill-mannered, son of a-

“Why are you taking so long?” You drop the cloth before you can clean your face as you catch a glint of silver in the mirror. 

“What is wrong with you!?” You clutch your chest as you turn around to scowl at the Mandalorian. “If you don’t stop scaring me I’m going to put bells on you.” He leans back against your bedpost and crosses his arms.

“Your ladies-in-waiting. They left half an hour ago and you didn’t come out, I thought you might be in danger.” He shrugs as if that justifies him sneaking into your room. Had you really been sitting here that long?

“Why didn’t you knock? For Makers sake, I could have been changing.” You squint at him angrily as you stand, facing him as you match his stance. Something tells you that the way you do it is less intimidating. 

“If I knocked I would have alerted any potential intruders.” 

“You’ve been outside the door this entire time and we’re on the fourth floor.” He shrugs again.

“I couldn’t take that chance. Now are you ready or not?” He stands up straighter and gestures towards the door. 

“Yes. These gardens better be worth it, I have high expectations.” You frowned as you made a beeline for the door, you could feel him following close on your heels. Once in the hall he once again stood beside you, not behind you, you bit back a smile. He takes a slight lead and you follow him through  the maze of halls. 

You want to talk. Now that you’ve had a taste of any sort of companionship you’re ravenous for it. Even if it is with someone as impolite as him, so you keep it light. 

“So… where are the gardens located?” 

“If I tell you, are you going to try and run off without me?” 

“If I tried you would be right behind me anyways so what would be the point?” You grin in earnest as you hear him exhale sharply through his nose. 

“You know about the forest that surrounds the castle?” 

“Yes I know that the castle that I live in is surrounded by trees.” You know he doesn’t see it but you roll your eyes anyway. 

“Forgive me, princess.” Your heart skips a beat, he actually sounds sort of sweet… “You got lost trying to find the fresher three days ago, so forgive me if I assume you know nothing about the grounds.” And there it is. 

“Do you spend all your free time coming up with snarky remarks? Is that what you do when you aren’t actively stalking me?” That gets a scoff from him.

“It isn’t stalking if it’s my job.I swore to keep you from harm and my word is very dear to me.” 

“You’re avoiding the question.” 

“Have you considered that I’m just smarter than you? That I just have a quicker wit?” Gods, you want to rip out the stupid modulator that he speaks through. It has to be altering his voice, no one's voice is always that low and steady. You feel as if the baritone of it soaks through your skin into your bones. 

“Impossible. The only explanation is that you must be dedicating several hours a day to forming new creative insults for me.” You let your fingertips trace the stone bricks as the two of you descend a staircase. He shakes his head no.

“I don’t have the kind of free time for that. You’re a full time job, sarad'ika.” 

Dead stop.

“What the hell did you just call me?” 

He doesn’t respond, actually it looks like he’s freezing up. He better not be laughing under that tin can with his modulator silenced again.

“You can’t just start slandering me in other languages, Mando.” You can’t keep the smile off your face as you reach forward to gently brush your hand against the Beskar pauldron closest to you. You mean it as nothing more than a comforting gesture but he instantaneously recoils from it, you’re surprised he even felt it through the steel and fabric but he takes a sudden step back and doesn’t mute his modulator fast enough for you to miss the beginning of a sharp inhale. There’s a beat of silence where you can feel your heart racing, why did it always get so hot in this stupid castle at the most inconvenient times. 

“My apologies, princess.” He straightens up and starts descending the stairs again, much more rigid than before. 

“Oh come on you can’t just do that.” You have to hike up your skirt to keep up with him now.

“Do what?” His stride doesn’t waver. You have to take two steps at a time to match his pace. 

“Say something and not tell me what it means!” 

“Drop it, princess.” Gods, you hate the way he says it. He makes it so easy to forget that it’s a label, not an endearment. You can’t stop the words that fall from your lips on instinct. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

He turns sharply, doing a swift 180, and you slam into his chest plate but manage to keep your footing. You’re higher on the stairs then him, making you face to face now. Well, face to helmet. 

“You are a princess, princess. I will refer to you as your title, nothing else. There is nothing else that I should be calling you.”

He called you sarad'ika. 

You scowl at him and you’re sure he’s scowling back at you. You’re not sure how long you stand like that, two statues on the staircase until finally you make the first move, brushing past him as you continue down the stairs until you reach a door, you wish you had paid more attention to where he was taking you because you’re caught off guard by the immediate exit from the stone walls of the keep. You hadn’t stepped foot outside the castle walls since you had first entered them.

It took you a second to adjust to the light as you held your hand up to shield your eyes. Once you've finally settled you take another step before you have to cover your eyes again. “Maker!” You take a step back as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You can feel him grab your shoulder gently.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Genuine concern. You’re taken aback by it, he’s never sounded anything but sarcastic and stoic up until just now. You open your eyes to stare into the thin black line in the Beskar. His hand jostles you slightly and you suddenly remember to breathe. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?” You can physically feel the worry coming off of him, both of his hands gripping your shoulders now. 

“I just- I’m okay… it’s just- the- the reflection…” You say it softly and feel his hand drop and he lets out a sigh. “The sun on your armor just caught me off guard…” He turns around and starts walking again and you can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of you, making him stop dead in his tracks. 

“It’s not funny.” His tone has returned to its cold stoic nature but you can’t stop laughing.

“Oh come on…” You make your way over to him, still trembling with laughter. “You’re so sparkly, it caught me off guard.”

“I was seriously worried about you. You do understand that my entire job is to keep you safe right?” He takes long strides and once again you can barely keep up as you follow him to a trail at the edge of the forest that surrounds the keep. You take deep breaths, trying desperately to stop the laughter as you grab his arm. He tenses the moment you make contact with him but at least he doesn’t draw back this time. He won’t look at you, his helmet turned slightly to the right. 

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You mean it but you can’t fight the smile on your face as you hold the fabric between his pauldron and his bracer. “It’s kind of nice, you know, to know you are capable of human emotions.” You don’t realize that your thumb is rubbing small comforting circles into his sleeve, your gaze softening. “I was starting to think you were just a very sarcastic droid.” That makes him look at you.

“I am not a droid.” 

Yikes. Tough crowd.

He says it with such sternness that you don’t follow it up with a joke, you drop your hand from his arm and just stare into the visor. 

You bring your hand up to comfort him again.

“Hey I’m sor-”

“Don’t” There’s that word again, only this time he’s so harsh with it. You take a step back. 

“Well I hardly think this is fair.”

“Excuse me?” He tilts the helmet slightly at you, the annoyance in his voice is still palpable. 

“We have had two conversations since the day I met you and you spent most of those conversations making fun of me and suddenly you get all stiff and upset just because I made one joke at your expense, a joke that might I add wasn’t even all that mean, and you get all short with me? That’s not fair.” He doesn’t speak, you can feel the sharpness of his gaze even through the visor. 

But he doesn’t have a retort, he just scoffs. 

Kriff. 

You had to say something, because now you’re both just standing here on this trail in utter silence. Come on, think, you can’t let one awkward moment ruin this. You can’t have things be weird between you and the only person who will talk to you in this entire fucking castle. Gods, you can’t stand him but he’s company. So, you say the first thing that comes to mind, like an idiot. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“What?” His voice is still tinged with the remains of his anger.

Well now he’s just being unkind for no reason, you apologized, or at least tried to before he so rudely interrupted you. Or maybe you should have chosen a less stupid question but it was too late to be thinking thoughts like that. 

“You know what, nevermind. Go back to the castle, I’ll find the garden myself.” You shove past him, marching down the trail through the trees. Where was this coming from? Why has he suddenly out of nowhere gotten so cold? Whatever, he can go sulk somewhere else. You just wanted to see the gardens and you’re not going to let him ruin your entire day before it’s even started. You can hear him groan as he starts to follow. Of course he isn’t going to listen to you, you turn on your heel to face him. “Stop it.”

“You know I can’t.” Of course he doesn’t sound apologetic, but at least he doesn't sound angry anymore.

“I am ordering you to stop.”

“You don’t have the auth-”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if I do not have the authority to tell you to stop, you will stop, go back to the castle. Now, Mando.” You know he won’t but you’re getting desperate, you don’t care because at this point if you have to feel alone, you want to actually be alone. 

“No.” 

There it is. You knew that you weren’t friends, afterall how could you be, you don’t know each other in the slightest. But a small part of you thought that maybe he respected you, at least respected you enough to not treat you like everyone else does. Like they’re afraid of you, or like you are nothing more than an extension of your husband. Yet here he is acting on your husband's authority, with no one around, just the two of you. In your loneliness you had briefly let yourself get sucked into a reality where the Mandalorian was someone who you could talk to, even if it was only to argue, arguing was so much better then the nothingness that was consuming your bland life, the little feud that the two of you had built up through what short conversations you had managed was all you had. But of course he had to go and ruin it, you hadn’t wanted a friend, you had just wanted someone to talk to. 

You hate him. For getting your hopes up. You hate your husband. For marrying you in the first place. You just want to go home, real home, Hoth, not this unfamiliar stupidly hot planet. It’s all starting to crash down on you. You haven’t cried since the day you found out you were arranged to be married but out of nowhere it was starting to hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes shot daggers at the Mandalorian. You wanted to scream at him, you wanted to stomp your foot and throw a tantrum because in an instant he had ruined what had the potential to be your first good day in weeks, and he had done it within the first 30 minutes of being in your presence. But why give him the satisfaction? Especially if he was only doing all this to be cruel. You had done nothing wrong after all, he was the one who had gotten all uppity out of nowhere and for seemingly no reason. 

“Fine.” At least your voice doesn’t crack.

“Fine?” He sounds truly surprised by the lack of explosion after your minutes of brooding. Maybe he was doing this all because he was bored, afterall he was probably just as alone as you were. But you had thought that maybe you were starting to be alone, together. 

“Fine. You are right. I do not have the authority to dismiss you, I would like to return to my chambers.” He takes a step forward. You can’t look at him anymore. 

“Oh come on, you can’t be ser-”

“Don’t.” You hope it hurts. 

Having the word thrown back in his face with as much venom as you can muster, as you once again shove past him and follow the trail until you are out of the forest and making your way back to the castle. He doesn’t try to stop you, he doesn’t even speak. He just returns to the way he’s always been, deadly quiet, and always just out of sight. Just out of reach. Neither of you speaks as you make your way up the several flights of stairs, in your rage you didn’t realize you were lost until it was too late. 

Stupid enormous castle. Stupid maze of halls. Stupid husband who made this stupid place your home. Stupid Mandalorian. 

You know he knows that you’re lost but he doesn’t speak. Finally you just sit against a wall, the Mandalorian a few steps back, watching you.

“Leodall!” You say it loudly in the noiseless hall, your voice bouncing off the walls. 

“Is that really necessary? If you’re lost I can take you back to your room.” His voice is dripping with annoyance at this point and all you do is glare at him until you see a familiar orange figure approaching.

“Yes princess, is everything well?” His brows furrowed as he sees you sitting on the floor, he goes to help you up but you wave him off, standing on your own. 

“It appears I need your help finding my chambers Leo.” You don’t acknowledge the Mandalorian, keeping your eyes trained on Leo. He on the other hand does toss a look at Mando, the confusion on his face is evident but he senses the tension and decides not to ask, leading you to your room. 

Maker, you hadn’t even been on the right floor. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you ma’am?” Leo asks as he steps into your room after you. 

“No Leo, that will be all, thank you.” He nods as he shuts the door, you see the glint of silver as he does. 

You collapse onto the bed, the real bed, not the one that you found so much more comfort in, kicking your shoes off you curl up into yourself and just lay there. The urge to cry has passed, now you just want solitude. 

You try not to wonder if he’s still out there. 

You don’t know how much time passes but eventually Elaine brings you dinner, Lysa is not with her. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen them separated. 

“They said you didn’t go to lunch ma’am, I thought you might be feeling ill.”

“No. Just tired I guess.” 

She doesn’t press further as she sets down the tray. This is why she’s your favorite. As she goes to leave, you sit up. 

“Is he still out there?” You whisper it, you already know the answer. And you also know he’s probably listening. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

That’s all you needed to know, you nod and she dismisses herself. 

✩

You hate him. 

You have nothing better to do now that you refuse to talk to him. So you hate him, that’s your new hobby. You’re on day three of your strike. You let Elaine and Lysa doll you up in blue gowns again and do you up with over the top makeup and you go back to the library. But you don’t pretend to read books anymore. Instead you sit in a reading nook you stumbled upon, it might be your new favorite spot in the entire castle. Even if you spend all of your time there brooding. You sit with your back to the window and you glare at the Mandalorian, all day. 

He just stands there. 

Sometimes the visor faces you, sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes if you stay long enough he’ll even pull up a chair. You just watch him. And think. 

The first day was spent plotting, mostly. You don’t have a good enough grasp on his abilities to attack him head on. You know that his helmet can do a lot but you honestly have no idea anything past the fact that he can silence himself, it gives him advanced hearing capabilities, and you have to assume night vision because of that night where he found you in the library. And of course there was the lingering issue of him being an ex-bounty hunter. 

So no. No attacking head on.

All this scheming made you realize how embarrassingly little you actually know about him. 

You seriously doubt you could sneak up on him. His neck wasn’t armored but it was covered in layers of fabric. It would be embarrassing if you tried to stab him and got tangled up in his cape. And obviously you didn’t want to kill him. You just… well you don’t really know what the goal is now. Honestly you feel a bit silly over this whole thing. You might have overreacted but he had been impolite to say the least, and you had nothing better to do so why not just be mad. 

Maybe you could ask Kodo to dismiss him. You never asked him for anything during your weekly dinners but you were his bride after all, maybe he would do that for you. Unless the Mandalorian was working directly with Kodo… you’d never considered that he might be reporting back to the prince with information about you.

You rule that possibility out. Kodo doesn’t care enough about you to do that. (You also rule out asking for Mando to be dismissed because as much as you despise him, you can’t bring yourself to do that. You desperately wish you could.)

New plan. Get away from him long enough to explore the gardens without him.

How hard could it be to find out where his quarters are located? Maybe you could ask Leo, would he even know? He has to live somewhere in the castle. There’s no way he could live anywhere else, he’s there day and night watching you… 

Does he even have quarters? He wore the same thing every day, at least it looked like he did, he certainly didn’t have a bad smell to him that would indicate he doesn’t change, although you had no idea what he smelled like, you suppose you had never thought about it. Why do you want to know what he smells like all of a sudden? Nevermind. He had to sleep, right? He wasn’t waiting outside your room the night you had snuck out to the library. If you could find out where his room was maybe you could lock him in… or you would just make him angry, he was so tall, and broad, and you couldn’t tell with all the layers but he seemed muscular, strong enough to break down a door certainly. 

You stare at where he’s sitting, he had pulled up a chair an hour ago and placed it across from your nook, both his legs firmly planted on the floor as you two engage in what might be your tenth staring contest of the day. You bet he could rip a door right off its hinges, he’d probably be outraged if you barricaded his door, he’d hunt you down for doing that. Of course he would know it was you, who else would try and lock him in his own chambers? You wonder what he would do if he caught you. Obviously he would catch you, if he had been a bounty hunter he would catch you with ease, he’d probably just go straight to the garden, knowing that’s where you would hide from him. He would probably be so furious with you that he’d probably throw caution to the wind, disregard the fact that you were royalty, disregard the fact that you were married to the prince, and just take you right there. 

Back to the castle.  

Back to your chambers. Take you back to your chambers. 

Gods it’s hot in this library… you took a book off the shelf just to fan yourself. 

Is he sweating under all that metal?

Stop it. 

You decided to plan more tomorrow. The heat was clearly having some sort of effect on your ability to think clearly.

But day two of your silent treatment came and you didn’t feel all that palpable rage anymore, you were just confused now. So you dedicated day two to figuring out what had happened. Why had things fallen apart so quickly?

It had all started when you made that droid comment. 

Or had it?

Now that you were thinking about it he had actually started to pull back when you’d been on the stair. He had called you that name. Kriff. What had it been? You should have written it down. It must have been pretty bad for it to make him so upset. But why would he be upset about something he said? He had said it so naturally, it clearly had just slipped out. You weren’t even sure what language it had been in. You could look, you were in a library after all, but it would be obvious to him what you were doing and you didn’t want to upset him further. 

What else had happened…?

Shit.

You had touched him, it hadn’t been anything more than a brief brush against his armor. Maybe that was considered offensive in his culture though, maybe you had crossed a line. Your stomach dropped but only for a moment as you remembered your first interaction, you had touched his armor quite a bit that night so that couldn’t be it. 

You hated riddles, and you were giving yourself a headache.

So you spent most of the second day rubbing your temples with your eyes closed. 

And now you’re here. Day three of your strike and you’ve already run out of things to be angry about so now you finally let your mind wander to the one thing you’ve been avoiding since you met him. 

What’s under the armor? 

Or more importantly, who is under the armor? In your previous brief conversations you hadn’t brought the helmet up, they’d been so short there was no way for it to come up naturally. (And honestly you assumed he was sick of being asked about it. Everybody probably asked about it.) For what little you knew about Mandalorians, you knew they didn’t take their helmets off. But he had to at some point right? He was human. Gods, now that you thought of it you never saw him eat or drink. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose as you imagined him drinking through a little straw inside the helmet. He turned in just the slightest towards you but kept his visor trained on a shelf of books that must have been pretty interesting to have been holding his attention for the last several hours. 

He was probably scowling, like, all the time. He probably had a permanent crease between his eyebrows. It would probably piss him off if you smoothed it out with your thumb. Of course that would be why you would do it. To piss him off. 

He had to be handsome. You despised the fact that he had to be handsome. He acted with an air of confidence that only extremely good looking people had. Of course he would be handsome, the gods could not be kind enough to make him ugly. You bet his features are sharp, just like his tongue. Stop. 

Don’t think about his tongue. 

You need to talk to Leo about implementing some sort of cooling system in this dreadfully balmy library.

Think about something else. His lips. That was innocent enough. You would wager that they were chapped, spending all that time inside steel, probably made his lips dry. He was probably always licking his lips. His bottom lip was probably always jutted out in a pout, he’s so stupidly moody. His tongue was probably always poking out slightly, wetting his stupidly plush bottom lip. 

Stop. 

Maker, it’s so warm in here, it’s a good thing you’re wearing such a dark shade of blue because you’re certainly sweating through your gown. Calm down. 

Teeth. Think about teeth. There’s nothing about teeth that should make your heart race, they’re just teeth. They’re probably straight and perfect. He acted so superior, the bastard would have perfect teeth. They’re probably just sharp enough to hurt if he were to bite you, why would he be biting you?

Stop.

When you get him all riled up and simmering he probably stands there all stupid with his mouth open just slightly. You can probably see his bottom teeth when he sits there with a dumb look on his face. You could probably get a better look at them if you pulled his bottom lip down with your thumb.

Stop.

Think about his eyes. Get away from his mouth entirely. His stare has to be as intense as his presence. He could probably lay waste to a bounty with one look if he would just take the helmet off. Nope. Actually, don’t think about how his eyes would feel on your face. Be thankful for the helmet. Just stop thinking about him. How dare he. He was probably doing this on purpose, getting in your head like this. Gods, you detest him. 

He’s probably brunette. He probably keeps it short because he can’t maintain it with the helmet and all. Why does that kind of bum you out? 

Stop.

You don’t care what his hair looks like. He probably had an unkept beard, he doesn’t have time to shave. It probably scratches you as it brushes against your skin. 

Nope. 

Stop. 

You stand up, you need to get out of this horrifically stuffy library. You don’t acknowledge him as you make your way towards the dining hall, you have dinner with Kodo tonight, best not be late to see your doting hubby. Especially if the reason you’re late is because you were off somewhere thinking about another man. You don’t hear him but you know Mando is behind you as you enter the dining room, you take pride in your ability to find it without having to call Leo. (It’s just down the hall from the library but to you it’s still an accomplishment.) Much to your chagrin Kodo is already seated. 

“Wife! Come, join me!” Oh he is already hammered, lucky you. 

You take your respective seat across from him and the Mandalorian takes his place a few steps behind your chair, his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Good evening husband, how has your day been?” You quickly begin to down your wine as he starts to speak, his hair is a mess, you spend nearly an hour getting ready every morning and he can’t even run a comb through his hair. Lovely. 

“Wonderful darling.” Why does he always have to look so satisfied with himself?

Dinner is long. And boring. At one point he starts talking about how unattractive he thinks one of his brother's wives is, laughing the entire time at some joke you don’t get regarding her appearance. You lazily take a bite of the unfamiliar vegetable on your plate as you try to tune him out. After your first day here you stopped questioning the food, it was always good so who cares what it is. He slams back another drink, a servant rushes over and fills his glance once more. He’s had so much to drink at this point you wonder how he’s still sitting upright. It’s quiet for a moment and you realize that he’s waiting for a response to something. Maker, you should have been paying attention. His gaze darkens as he lets out a tsk. 

“I had quite a pleasant time today out in the city.”

“Oh really? What did you do today my prince?”

“They had opened a new pleasure house in the city, and a few of my brothers and I visited for the grand opening.” He starts laughing, slamming his glass onto the table as he shakes with laughter. Your entire body went rigid. You knew he was probably visiting brothels, of course he was, but the way he threw it into your face with no regard for your feelings rattled you enough to make you just want to leave. You took another sip of wine. 

“Did you, my prince? And how was that?” You can feel the tension in the room, every servant is standing a bit straighter, their eyes all forward. 

“Just wonderful.” He clicks his tongue as he picks at his food with his hands. You don’t bother hiding the disgust on your face. He leers at you. “What? Are you displeased, wife? ” You suck in a breath through your teeth. 

“No, of course not, my prince.” You set your fork down, you’ve lost your appetite. 

“No, no, no, if you are unhappy, wife, I would love for you to speak up.” He’s snickering at this point, teetering drunkenly. You want to leave, you don’t like this. He had always been annoying at the worst of times, and dismissive, but now he was just belittling you. 

At least you finally had a valid reason to hate him. 

“I am fine.” You say it as steadily as you can manage. “Just tired.”

“Really? What have you done today that has left you so tired?” 

Gods, you just want to leave.

“I did quite a lot of reading today, my pri-” He bursts into laughter before you can even finish. Your face is starting to heat.

“Is that so? This is why I do not spend more time with you, my nervous mouse.” Gross, you hate that name. “You’re just so… bland.”

Ouch.

“Don’t you agree, mouse?” 

You know he wants you to answer, and something tells you that he won’t let you leave unless you do. So you swallow your pride. And you swallow the lump that is forming in your throat.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Maybe you should put him lower on your list than the Mandalorian.

“Yes. I am bland.”

He leans back in his chair with a predatory smile on his face, like he was the cat, and you were the mouse. The insignificant mouse. 

“That is all I wanted to hear, dear wife.” He flashes you a toothy grin, giving you a wave you know means you’re dismissed. And you stand, rushing out into the hall and storming off towards your chambers as briskly as possible. Feeling the tears that you’ve held in for three weeks now starting to prickle at the corners of your eyes. The Mandalorians pace never falters as he trails after you until you finally find your chambers, all on your own. You wish you were in the mood to appreciate such an accomplishment. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand as subtly as possible, your other hand opening the door, you only get the door open a few inches before it slams shut. You turn around in an instant to glare at him, The Mandalorian was looming over you, his hand just above your head, holding the door shut. You can’t do this right now. You know that the moment he starts whatever snarky comments he surely has about that dinner that you won’t be able to hold back the tears anymore. You can’t do anything other than squeeze your eyes shut to hold back the waterworks as you brace yourself for whatever he has to say. 

The familiar faint crackle of the modulator fills the air, suffocating you. 

“Are you okay?”

Oh. 

You open your eyes and he isn’t looming over you anymore, he’s just standing, notably a few steps back now. 

You wish you could stop what happened next, but it all finally happened. At long last, you cry. You finally break down, the weight of the world collapsing down on you. He doesn’t move, or speak, he just stares. Honestly you’re pretty sure you’ve caught him off guard. 

“No.” 

It’s all you can squeak out, you wish you didn’t sound so pathetic as you said it. 

“I just… I want to go home. I hate this entire stupid planet. I hate this confusing castle and now I hate my husband” Gods you need to stop talking, you’re starting to babble, but he doesn’t speak and you can’t stand the silence so you just keep going. “I didn’t want this. Any of this. I miss my brothers and sisters, I miss talking to people. I miss being alone.” You stare up at him now with big wet eyes, you detest the way your lip quivers. “Like, actually alone. Because now I feel alone, but I’m surrounded by people constantly… and that is a thousand times worse. And I feel like I’m going crazy, like, all the time. And I can’t even talk to you, you’re always there and I can’t say a word. I don’t want to have some deep and meaningful conversation with you for Makers sake. I just want to insult you because that is the only thing I can do when I am in your infuriating presence, and you are the only person I can insult who doesn’t suddenly start to fear for his livelihood.” You stare into that miserably cold visor. “And I don’t know what I did to deserve any of this.” You sniffle as you wipe your eyes again. 

You just stand there. You want him to say something, you don’t even want him to comfort you, you just want to hear the modulator crackle, anything. But he doesn’t. And you can’t take it. So you swing open your chamber doors and slam them shut behind you, make sure to lock them as loudly as possible. 

You cry. You spend the rest of the evening crying, once you get out of that terrible dress you lay on your nest of blankets in the closet in your undergarments, clutching a pillow as you fight back sobs. So much for the silent treatment you’d been giving him. Now he probably hates you even more, he probably thinks you are some whiney, spoiled, coddled little girl who can’t handle royal life. 

It’s the middle of the night and you’ve nearly wept yourself to sleep when you hear the faintest knock on your bedroom door. 

Your heart skips a beat.

It isn’t Elaine, or Lysa, or Leo. None of them ever bother you this late, and you certainly didn’t summon them. There’s only one person it could possibly be and your heart is nearly beating out of your chest. 

Why would he come here so late? 

You don’t know but a part of you that you are really struggling to rein in while you’re still in this sensitive state has an idea of what you want the reason to be. 

No.

You don’t want that. The part of you that is obviously going crazy, that’s who wants it. Not you. You weren’t allowing that part any control, not these last three weeks and certainly not now. Still, you don a robe and rush to the door. You take a moment for a deep breath before you slide the lock back and open the door, slowly, but surely. 

But he isn’t there. 

Stop feeling disappointed. 

You take a careful step out the door, the soft glow from your room illuminating the hall. You look down both passages, searching for that glimmer of silver but you never see it. As you dejectedly go to close the door something catches your eye. A book, on the ground just outside your door. You lean down to pick it up before quickly retreating into your room. You walk over to a lamp to get a clearer view of it. As your eyes scan the title a warmth spreads across your face. 

The Smitten Paladin. 

So he had gone back for them. 

You need to stop smiling. Obviously he did this because he feels bad for you. Or, if you’re lucky, it’s a peace offering. You return to the closet, bringing the lamp over to your makeshift bed as you open the cover, wanting to read a chapter before bed, but your eyes dart to something scrawled inside. The handwriting is small and neat as you read it.

"It’s green." 

You decide that the Mandalorian isn’t your least favorite person here anymore.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

[snoozepotato]

We’ll Be Fine -14- (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader)

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the original source material or any of its characters.

she/her pronouns + female anatomy

Category: slice of life, slow burn, mutual pining

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, swearing, eye contact, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, over-stimulation, multi-orgasm, creampie, soft Ghost, anxiety, scars, tattoos, fluff

Masterlist

Summary: Ghost shows up at your room late at night, he just got back and has been gone longer than expected. You missed him a lot and things get out of hand (≖ᴗ≖)

Part 14

~UNDONE~

You’ve been trying your best to keep the negative thoughts at bay, it's not abnormal for missions to take longer than expected. But Ghost's vague estimate of a few weeks left you unsettled, even more so as time started to pass. A few weeks had turned into a few months, as life slogged by on base around you. Keeping yourself weighed down with busy work while your mind drifts.

Things take time, hell, you know that from experience. Even so, you’ve been worried about him, it's started affecting your already inconsistent sleep schedule. And dammit, you missed having tea with him in the morning!

You'd been brooding in your room since completing your work for the day, curled up in bed wearing Ghost’s hoodie. You're thankful he never asked for it back, in moments like these it was one of the only things that kept you grounded. Snuggling into the garment and taking a deep breath. It's been a while but somehow his scent still lingers in the fabric, or maybe it’s just some wishful thinking on your part.

Fuck, you're a wreck…

A sudden knocking on your door startles you from your position on the bed. Staring perplexed, why would someone be here this late? There's a sudden spark of fear that shoots through you, with the odd hour, what if it's bad news? You're frozen there for a moment, feet dangling off the edge of the mattress. Anxiety sitting cold in your gut as you just stare blankly through the darkness.

Until another knock erupts from the other side of the barrier, louder this time. You spring from the bed, the fear overtaken by curiosity. Whoever it is better have a good reason for waking you… Well, you technically weren't asleep, but you should be. You hastily unlock the door to peek your head out, only to be greeted by a broad chest.

There in your doorway, looking a little worse for wear is Ghost.

You're struck by the view of him standing there clad in that worn mask with the skull face plate. You've seen him wearing it on more than a few occasions, usually when he's on his way off base for work. It's rather intimidating, you're sure it serves its purpose out in the field. But if you're being completely honest, it's always left you feeling a little heated.

“You’re home,” dazed words escape you, feeling foolish at your choice of phrasing.

“Did I wake you?” He's grasping the door frame with a gloved hand, peering down at you with mild concern. Did he strip his gear off and immediately come looking for you? When did he even get back?

“No, I couldn't sleep… You can sit down,” you mutter, turning on the light and motioning him in. Taking one last glance out into the vacant hallway before closing the entry after him. Leaving you alone in the quiet of your room with Ghost, who's stripped off his jacket and taken a seat at your desk chair. Your frazzled mind is racing while you try to keep your rapidly slipping composure. The space grows quieter by the moment as he sits there staring at the ground between you.

“Everything ok?” You ask, but his mind is somewhere else, “Simon?” Stepping forward you stand in front of his seated form. The sound of his name coaxes his gaze up to meet yours, and fire erupts in his dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“I was worried about you,” the words fumble from your lips as you take another step forward to stand between his widened legs.

“That why you're moping about your room… In my clothes?” He's smirking beneath the fabric of the mask, very obviously taking in your form before him. You can’t help but feel naked under his heavy gaze despite the oversized garment.

Observing wordlessly as he removes his gloves, and rests a now bare appendage at the hem of the sweatshirt. Your eyes are locked, as he searches for any sign of hesitation. Caressing the delicate skin of your thigh before trailing up to halt at the waistband of your shorts. Heartbeat hammering away in your chest as he dips a finger beneath the thin fabric. Dragging it down till the garment slips, pooling at your feet. A shaky breath escapes you as his lingering touch skims back up your leg to rest on your bare hip.

“Nothin' under those, you waiting up for me?” He murmurs darkly, eyes burning into yours.

“I missed you,” the words slip out as he lazily pulls you down to settle into his lap without resistance.

You reach out to caress the side of his face, thumb brushing over the rigid material of the weathered mask. He's watching you, curiously eyes meeting yours. Embarrassment creeps in as he catches your dreamy stare. Looking away with blushed cheeks and shifting restlessly.

“You seem to like this one,” he coaxes, tugging you further against him, putting an end to your weak attempt at retreat.

“I never said that,” you mutter defensively, caught off guard by his accusation, not that it wasn’t true…

“Don’t have to, I've caught you staring at me,” he pauses, “guess I never thought that was why.”

The dry words only further your embarrassment, as your head slumps against his shoulder to hide your feverish complexion.

Suddenly you’re hoisted upwards, choking down a shaky breath as the stiffness of him presses against you. Your legs braced around him as he makes his way over to your bed, lowering you onto the cot and caging you beneath him. As your body sinks into the thin mattress pad your mind is suddenly plagued with doubt, insecurity sparking in your chest.

“You're sure?… You were gone a while” you murmur awkwardly, propping yourself onto your elbows as you peer up at his looming figure.

“I’ve been waiting so patiently, love,” his words drip with desperate sincerity, that fire smoldering in his eyes as he descends upon you.

His hands work their way up your sides to snake beneath the material of the sweatshirt. Pulling the garment over your head and tossing it onto your desk chair. Your bare state would have felt unjust if his own shirt hadn't followed suit immediately after.

Leaving you laying there trying not to gawk, while nimble hands make quick work of his belt. Freeing the beast that's clearly trapped within the confines of his pants. To say the scale was daunting would be an understatement, but lying there beneath his toned figure, you were more than willing to accommodate.

“You ready for me?” He drawls, stroking his hard cock as he gazes down at your exposed form, like he's about to devour you.

“I’m all yours,” you coo as he brushes your entrance. Slowly teasing his head in and out of your already dripping slit, taking care to drag across your needy flesh till your thighs are twitching with building anticipation. A tightly coiled spring ready to burst, trembling and desperate for more.

The impatience quickly takes hold, hooking your knee over his hip to pull him deeper into you as he hisses out a curse. Consumed by the satisfying pleasure of being filled to the brim, his name uttered as a breathy sigh escaping your lips. Glazed eyes half-lidded as he admires your blissed expression, all for him.

“Fuck, you're tight” he rasps, the pressure building as your release begins to spill over. Gripping your knee, he pushes your leg up to split you open for his greedy length.

Gasping out in desperation, you arch to meet the friction of his rhythmic thrusts. Chasing that perfect angle, body tensing as you pulse with crackling pleasure. Riding out your orgasm all the while swimming in his murky gaze. The feeling of unraveling in his hands, fallen apart and at his mercy.

It's overwhelming.

Catching notice of your unrest, his pace slows as you try to catch your breath. But your eyes are downcast, suddenly afraid to meet his stare.

Icy doubt licking at your chest.

“Keep your eyes on me love,” hushed words murmured against your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, swallowing down a whimper as his heat leaves you. He grasps your chin with a firm hand, forcing you to meet his sharp gaze. Expecting to face the reaper, only to catch sight of his bare stumbled jaw. Your eyes lock for a long moment, the mask is gone. You're left gaping at him, eyes wide and startled.

“You alright?” His words are short, concern sparking in his stare.

You're so used to anonymity, it's easy to never see someone's face when you're sitting behind a computer all day. There was always that sliver of secrecy with Ghost until this moment, and it had always felt normal. Even so, it's still his eyes that draw you in, his trust in you is so blatant now. Every ounce of anonymity was stripped away, Simon caging you beneath him.

“I’m good,” you mutter through a sigh, leaning into his touch as his hold relaxes to caress your flushed face. His tense features unwinding at the view of you smiling up at him.

“Bend over for me love, I want to look at you, all of you,” he murmurs, your eyes held in his tender gaze.

Pulling you from your lying position, to bend you over the bed before him. Anxiety creeping in again as he admires your form from behind, feeling utterly vulnerable under his heavy gaze. But this heat washes over you, like he’s engulfed you in the fire smoldering in his eyes.

“Pretty little thing,” he breathes, running a hand down the length of your back, thumb tracing along the curve of your spine. He can feel the scars that lie beneath the white of your tattoo, a reminder of where you've been, how you got to him.

“Look how easy you’ve come undone for me,” he teases, an evident smirk in his tone.

Your back arches as he drags the head of his cock over your already sensitive flesh. Entering you again from your position bent over the bed. Your leg lowers to the floor to retain your balance as he presses deeply into your soaked folds. Simon letting out a low grumble of a moan as he thrusts to bury himself completely within you.

“Fuck, you're so wet,” he groans.

A strained wine escapes your lips at the friction, vision losing its focus momentarily. Craning your head to the side, catching his dark stare out of the corner of your sight.

“Your eyes… Do something to me,” you gasp breathlessly, your heated words gripping him as he continues relentlessly thrusting into you.

“Sensitive,” you sputter, bucking against him as the walls of your heat twitch with building pressure. Rough hands pulling you by the waist to meet his pounding length.

“Good,” he pants, “let go for me.”

Snaking a hand around you to rest the pad of his finger on your swollen clit. The action alone causes your hips to spasm involuntarily from overstimulation. Trembling wrists nearly give way as he circles the tender flesh.

Biting back a gasp as you're pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching around him as another orgasm rolls through you. His large hand cradles your breast, arching your back further as his thrusts grow frantic, cock pulsing as your heat spasm.

“Fuck,” he rasps, groaning as he jerks stiffly within you. Release spilling over, your body pressed against him, his breath hot in your ear. You shudder as his cock throbs, filling you with warmth, and you're unable to suppress the soft moan that escapes your lips.

His fingers curl into your side as he buries his face into your shoulder, thrusting sharply into you once more, completely drained.

You knew he'd eventually have to leave, but you couldn't help but drift off to sleep nestled against him. Simon's back to the door as he gazes down at you, keeping watch over your resting form.

The mask has returned when you wake sometime later, to a hand brushing the stray hair from your face. He murmurs something but you don't quite catch it through the haze of your slumber. In your foggy state, you completely miss him nabbing the mug off your desk before heading out the door.

The sound fully rips you from your stupor as you sit up in your cold bed, realizing you're once again alone in your room. You contemplate letting sleep take hold, but instead get up to re-clothe yourself in the sweatshirt he'd discarded on the chair. You feel kinda pathetic laying there sulking again in his absence, missing the furnace of a man in your bed...

But your thoughts are halted by a firm knocking on the door. Before you can second-guess yourself, you're already yanking the entry open. And there he is standing outside your door again, but now holding two cups of tea. Changed out of his dirty clothes from earlier, but still wearing that mask… 

What a fucking tease.

“Told you I'd right be back,” he states plainly, making his way back into the small space and taking a seat at your desk.

Watching amused as you settle back onto your bed. It's quiet as you sip your tea, mask left discarded on your pillow. His short-cropped hair lay disheveled, pressed against his head from the long hours of wear. Calling your name softly, he looks so tired but there's this levity in his eyes.

You might have made a lot of mistakes in life, but meeting Simon Riley wasn't one of them. Looking at you with that tender gaze, it felt like home. Somewhere to return after the horrors of the world take their toll, hands to guide each other through the darkness.

WELL then, I hope you enjoyed (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

Thank you so very much for reading, this is all I have planned for this section of their story. I've got a few related fics/oneshots mulling in my brain so be on the lookout for those and more art!

@tallrock35 @violet-19999 @hypernovaxx @k4marina @sebsbee @d4z01 @ramadiiiisme @embers-of-alluring @enfppixie

[sunny374940]

Love is stored in the hat

Hello yes I am back with another piece of domestic fluff with Emmrich and Rook. This time there is snow and knitted hats. 1.2k words.

................

Rook came down into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was already light outside, made all the brighter by the snow that fell in the night. Rook looked out of the window blearily and said: “Ugh,” with pronounced disgust.

"I find the snow rather beautiful,” said Emmrich from his seat at the kitchen table. “Where is this distaste for the beauty of nature coming from, I wonder?”

“It's coming from the five inches of the beauty of nature I'm going to have to shovel off of the path to the house,” grumbled Rook. “Neve and Lucanis are coming along later in today, remember? I don't want them slogging through the snow with the baby.”

“Oh, of course!” Emmrich clapped his hands in excitement. “I was so caught up in admiring the view that I forgot they are coming today. How I’m looking forward to meeting the little one!”

“Yeah,” Rook smiled softly. “So I’m heading out, gotta get it over with.” He turned to get himself ready to go outside.

“Rook, wait!” Emmrich called, “I have something for you before you go out to brave the elements.”

“I'm just shovelling snow, not going out in a blizzard,” Rook chuckled, but waited for Emmrich to cross the hallway and enter his study.

“Just a moment, my dear, I promise you will find this handy,” said Emmrich while rummaging through a drawer.

“Now where did I-” he muttered under his breath. “Aha! There it is!” he said triumphantly as he pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper.

“I meant to save this for your birthday, but with the snow coming early I think it's better I give it to you now,” he said, proffering it to Rook. “I know how you hate the cold, so I thought this would make our first winter here a bit easier.”

Rook took the package from Emmrich's outstretched hands, brushing a thumb against the back of Emmrich's hand in thanks. He opened the package and there sat a knitted hat and gloves, both in a blue the shade of the sky on a frosty day. He looked at Emmrich in wonder.

“You made these?”

“Yes, it is rather obvious, isn't it?” said Emmrich, a blush creeping onto his cheekbones.

“I am not as skilled at knitting as I would like. See, Lucanis gave me some pointers and then Harding's mother lent me an amazingly detailed volume on knitting just about anything, but the instructions proved rather more complicated than I anticipated and-”

Rook interrupted him with a light touch to his forearm. “No, Emmrich, they’re beautiful! Thank you, really. I just didn't expect the necromancer and alchemist to also knit,” he grinned teasingly.

Rook took the hat out to admire it properly. The wool was soft under his fingers and the care that went into making the hat made his heart stutter. “Did you learn to knit just to make these for me?”

"Well, I did try to procure a hat for you by means that didn't involve nearly taking my eye out with a knitting needle, but I couldn't find anything good enough. And then I saw this yarn and it was just the right shade for you, so I had no choice, really.”

“That explains why I had to untangle Manfred from a string that was exactly this colour the other day,” chuckled Rook.

Emmrich pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew Manfred must have made off with some of the yarn. He was so interested in the process of knitting and kept trying to take the yarn when he thought I wasn't looking.”

“I suppose you weren't looking all that well,” Rook laughed. “He had a whole tangle of it on his forearm, I guess he was trying to do it like you. Kept saying purr purr, not sure what that was about.”

Emmrich rolled his eyes fondly. “I suspect he heard me talking to myself while I was working, he probably meant to say purl. His enunciation still needs some work, I must say.”

Rook put the hat on and turned to look at himself in the hallway mirror. “Wow, it looks really good, Emmrich. I love it. And you. But that goes without saying, I guess.”

He turned back to Emmrich to give him a peck on the cheek.

“I never tire of hearing it, my love. You look beautiful. The blue really brings out your eyes,” Emmrich said with a warm smile.

“And now I must go, pray for my safe return,” said Rook, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead theatrically.

“Your wish is my command. I shall also make you tea to battle the demons of cold,” Emmrich replied with a bow and a press of his lips to the back of Rook’s hand.

“Don’t forget your gloves, dearest,” he said as he handed them to Rook.

Rook put the gloves on and wiggled his fingers at Emmrich, then walked outside to get a damn shovel.

After an hour, during which Emmrich heard lots of scraping and the occasional curse coming from wherever Rook was attacking the heaps of snow, Rook came back through the front door, stomping the last of the snow off his boots. His cheeks were red from the cold and his teeth were chattering.

“Hate the fucking snow,” he mumbled through the shivers.

“Come, darling, sit by the fire,” said Emmrich as he led Rook to an armchair in their living room. There was a blanket ready and a steaming mug of tea was sitting on the coffee table alongside some cookies.

Rook gratefully sank into the armchair and allowed himself to be fussed over. The mug of tea was placed in his hands and he took a sip. The tea was just the way he liked it, black with a generous amount of honey and he felt himself relaxing under Emmrich's care.

“Really, dear, you should wrap up better next time, you are freezing cold,” said Emmrich worriedly. “Or maybe we could ask Manfred to assist you, so you could get it done faster-”

Rook interrupted him with a laugh. “There's no way I'm letting Manfred ‘assist me’ with shovelling snow. He will make snow angels, then he'll get damp and you know he creaks when he gets damp.” Rook shuddered.

“I’ve never heard a worse sound and I won’t be causing it on purpose. And before you say anything, no, I’m not letting you help me. Who would make me tea? And hats?”

He looked up at Emmrich through his lashes and added with a coy smile: “And who would kiss me after I come back home to help me warm up?”

Emmrich brought up a hand to caress Rook’s cheek, then drew closer to place a kiss on his forehead. Rook sighed happily and leaned into the touch.

“Oh? If you need warming up so badly, I have read some amazing things about sharing body heat,” said Emmrich with a quirk of his lips. “Care to test if the theories are sound, darling?”

Emmrich extended his hand to Rook, as if to only innocently help him up from the chair, but there was desire burning in his eyes.

Heat shot down to Rook's core and he found himself suddenly very uninterested in his tea.

“I would like that very much, vhenan,” he said as he took the offered hand and allowed himself to be led to the bedroom.

[welcometogrouchland]

Batman #149 by chip zdarsky is mostly unremarkable, but I'm really fascinated by how it makes a great case for 'good' endings not saving 'bad' stories*. Because there's a lot of interesting concepts in this issue (bruce having to deal with his rapidly aging and decaying clone making him think about his own life, re-establishing a 'nest' so to speak for his family after pushing them away, etc) but bc of the OOC slog that came before it, almost every moment w/ the batfamily comes off as unearned and disingenuous imo.

Like, everything with Damian is the perfect example in this. Because in isolation it's...fine. admittedly it's a missed opportunity to not go deeper into how Damian would feel about a clone of his dad who tried to kill considering Damian's relationships with clones of himself (the heretic rejects and respawn) or with former enemies who wanted him dead but who were manipulated and/or brainwashed (like suren and maya).

Zdarsky doesn't go into any of this but you could maybe excuse it as the issue not being about Damian. However, coupled with the previous bizarre characterizations of Damian in 147 and 148, it ends up not being fine- instead it starts to feel...icky how Damian (who, despite often being drawn and written as white, will never have his connection to the non-white al ghuls forgotten and will always be effected by racism even when not portrayed as a poc) is constantly written as overly violent, uncaring and narrow minded in this run. Coupled w/ trying to recanonize the morrison origin for Damian it's like. OH this is badly written and laden with subtle bigotry, sick**

That's me going into detail on it with Damian but it's applicable to other things in this issue- the way Cass, Steph and Duke have all been ignored or turned into jobbers makes their inclusion in the 'family' here feel hollow instead of satisfying. Bruce proclaiming that Zur was still a part of him and he needs to accept responsibility for his actions (when it means taking in clone son) wrings hollow when just last issue zdarsky was bending over backwards to separate Bruce and Zur bc otherwise the Jason thing would get really awkward. Ends are achieved through means that feel hollow or strange. I'm at my destination but damn why'd the bus have to do all that???

I only really have opinions on this latest arc of zdarskys Batman bc it's the one I've read the closest (bc I'm a hater, masochist and avid follower of even the bad damian storylines) but it's not saying great things.

Bc zdarsky can do one thing good in this book, and it's write Bruce and Tim. And yet this entire story, whether of his own volition or editorial mandate, includes other characters who aren't Bruce and Tim, the fabric starts to unravel in very telling ways.

(p.s, I think pennyworth manor is an interesting idea but I feel like in execution it's just gonna be 'bruce living in a house haunted by the memory of the people he couldn't save' but with a different dead guy this time. Illusion of change and whatnot)

*whether or not the ending is good is up to you ofc, as is your opinion on the proceeding arc! I saw some ppl complain that the ending was too "WFA" for them, which I get even if I dont think it'll literally be the same premise. If anything it's probably a lead into the new tec run. Likewise many ppl who aren't in the weeds of Damian and Jason characterization liked the previous arc! But I have my opinions and rest my case before the bench

**disclaimer, I'm white and portrayals of bigotry in comics are complicated and subjective, but I am basing my point here off what other poc comic fans on socmed have been saying about 149. Also the "sick" is sarcasm incase that wasn't obvious

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (11/15) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: John has learned something new that he'd like to show you… Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,630 (this chapter, 27,487 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. It's, yet again, been awhile since the last update, sad to say. I've been slogging through writer's block, health issues and some kinda awful real life stress but I'm not giving up on this fic (or its sibling, "Recreation"). I'd like to say that the final chapters will be here very soon but, well… I've learned to not call my shots, lol. I will, however, do my best to get them here as soon as I can. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

PT arrived bright and early and, while you continued to bring out every expletive in every language you knew, ultimately it seemed your left side was improving: more range of motion in your shoulder and more strength in your leg, though the healing fractures still ached. All together, though, it was a win, no matter that it left you sweating and shaking like you'd wrestled an Elite and lost spectacularly.

You'd just come out of the shower and put on a fresh set of clothes when the door chimed. To your surprise, you found Riz and Vannak in their civvies standing there. You knew Silver Team had been on stand-by for the past few days – John hadn't been able to join you for every meal, understandably, but he had been there every night. Sleeping curled up in his arms was a luxury you weren't sure how you were going to give up when the time came. Kai and her friend had visited but this was the first time the other two Spartans had.

"Please, come in," you said and they did.

"You need new curse words," Riz said seriously.

"We got here while you were doing your therapy," Vannak explained. "Didn't want to interrupt."

"You could hear me cussing out in the hall?" you asked.

"Superior Spartan hearing," she said, matter-of-fact. "I doubt anyone else could."

"Teach her the one," he urged in as animated a tone as you'd ever heard from him before. "You know, the good one."

Which is how you ended up getting a tongue-twisting word in Sangheili added to your arsenal.

"You say that to any Covenant species and it's guaranteed to send them into a rage," Riz said with a confident nod.

"Except the Unggoy," Vannak added with a sneer. "Little bastards couldn't give a shit. They'll try to kill you on principle."

"I'll make sure I'm on a bullhorn from far away, then," you said, biting the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. "Don't want to be in striking distance if I'm going to send them into a rage."

They thought that over.

"Chief won't appreciate us telling her to pick a fight with a Sangheili," she pointed out.

"Just use it on somebody you're pretty sure you can take in a fight," he told you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you said.

They made slightly stilted small talk for about 15 more minutes, then took their leave.

A rest seemed in order, so you propped up on the bed and checked the news. They were in the middle of reporting that they had yet to apprehend the man who had tried to smuggle the bomb back to FLEETCOM in the Warthog. It showed some stock images of the Pit before being damaged by the explosion and that got you to thinking…

There should be some sort of footage of the explosion, right?

But, after poking around on your padd for a little while, you hadn't found much beyond what apparently had been approved for public viewing.

"Would you like some help with that?"

Cortana's voice startled you.

"Oh, hey there," you said, thinking, Poor thing, she's got the most boring job in the world keeping an eye on me. I hope I get the chance to buy her a coffee or something after all is said and done. Then your brain tardily caught up with her words. "You mean you have footage from the explosion?"

"Yes, I do."

"And it's something I have clearance to see?"

"I have footage from the explosion," she repeated, her tone supremely innocent.

Before you could decide whether to ask to see it or not, the holo on the wall lit up. The security cams had caught the explosion from multiple angles. You winced as you saw a body – your body – fly out of the crane operator seat to disappear into a sea of smoke and debris.

A moment later, the view changed, the quality severely degrading. You squinted through the pixilation and haze and realized you were seeing from the point of view of the holo-emiter Cortana had contacted you from.

"Oh, shit," you muttered. The massive beam that had pinned you down should've killed you outright but you'd gotten supremely lucky in the way the rest of the building had fallen, providing just enough support to give you a tiny open space. But even without the sudden, helpful overlay that detailed out the edges of the debris through the smoke, you could see how quickly that respite was vanishing as the beam's weight bore it inexorably lower and lower.

You found yourself gasping for breath, cast back into that moment. The image changed abruptly. Trying to figure out where you were now viewing from helped to break you free of the encroaching panic attack.

Then it all made sense: you were looking at several officers, so covered in dirt and dust that you couldn't recognize their rank, much less determine their names. They also looked extremely short.

Before you even skimmed over the information feeding out in rapid-fire bursts, you knew that this was John's HUD after Silver Team had arrived back on site.

"John, get here now. The support beam is failing!"

Cortana's voice came through his helmet's comm. "There's no time," he said, interrupting the man as he was saying that they would have to wait for an excavation crew to arrive to safely dig you out.

He was running before the man could object. The feed cut back and forth from his HUD to the holo-emiter. This gave you an unexpected perspective on how efficiently Silver Team worked. They needed almost no words as they homed in on your location, grabbing, lifting, moving and supporting each part of the perilous structure as needed.

It was Vannak who caught the beam before it crushed you but it was John who lifted it off of you.

The holo-emiter's feed abruptly ended and you were back in John's HUD. Vannak and Kai caught another part of the crumbling wreckage, creating an opening for Riz to dig you out by hand.

You noted almost absently how steady John's vitals were. He was holding a building off of you as if it were nothing at all.

"Out," Riz announced and John carefully lowered the weight he'd been supporting.

When he turned, you saw Riz clearing the way for Kai, who was now the one carrying you. Vannak and John followed.

They emerged out of the wreckage and Kai went into the Spartan run, taking you directly into a Pelican where she turned you over to a team of medics. The Spartans were waved back and the ship launched.

"We'll catch the next one," Riz said.

"She'll be all right, Chief," Kai told him. "She's strong."

He nodded curtly, tracking the Pelican that was carrying you away.

And once it went out of sight, that was when his vitals spiked and his heart began to pound.

You were still thinking about what all you'd seen when the door chimed again. A glance at the chrono proved it was lunchtime. You opened the door and, indeed, the first thing you saw was a massive, covered tray that no doubt contained your meal. But it was John who was carrying it.

"Silver's on stand-by," he warned, "but I thought we might get a chance to eat together."

Since you weren't yet cleared to make the long walk down to the Mess, a table and pair of chairs had been set up across from the couch a few days ago. As soon as he'd placed the tray down, you practically tackled him.

"Permission to hug the Master Chief?" you asked well after the fact, your voice muffled into his chest.

He gently returned the embrace. "Always granted."

You found yourself holding onto him a little bit longer than usual.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I saw the footage from the Pit," you said, resting your cheek against him. "I already knew I was lucky to get out of there but really seeing it? I… It makes me appreciate being here."

He paused for long enough that you looked up at him, finding him gazing over your head as if hearing something over a comm. Then he turned his attention back down to you, brow furrowing. "She shouldn't have shown you that footage and upset you."

"Cortana? No, I'm glad she did. It happened to me, after all." You put your face against him again and squeezed him once more around his waist. "You held a building off of me, John."

He made a move as if about to pick you up, then thought better of it and knelt instead to bring you more on a level together. "I'd hold a million buildings off of you, don't you know that?" he said, cupping your face. "Just… try not to be under any more falling buildings, hm?"

"I'll certainly do my best," you swore and kissed his palm.

The look in his eyes altered, grew both darker and softer at the same time. When you leaned towards him, he met you halfway.

He started carefully, like he did everything with you, but soon the kiss intensified, deepened, and his hands skimmed from the crown of your head down your back as if he wanted to map every line, curve and angle you possessed.

And then your stomach growled, loudly and unmistakably, and you muttered your newly-learned curse word.

He leaned back to look at you, amusement tugging insistently at his mouth. "That one's Vannak's favorite. He and Riz talked about coming to see you today. I'm assuming they did?"

"They did," you said, then winced as your stomach grumbled something awfully close to a repeat of the Sangheili curse word.

"Why don't we eat," he said, completely surrendering to the smile, "and you can tell me all about it."

Happily, he didn't get called away and you were able to finish your meal together in peace.

"Could I show you something I recently learned?" he asked as you stood from the table.

"As long as it doesn't involve throwing me around the room," you teased.

"Oh, I'll save that until you're all healed up," he murmured, then winked.

You'd like to think you laughed but no, that was a full-fledged giggle. "So, what did you learn?"

"Therapeutic massage," he said, flexing his fingers. "It's supposed to promote healing and relaxation. Want to give it a try?"

"Absolutely," you said. "Where do you want me at?"

"On the footstool, if that's okay?"

"Sure."

The wide, plush, rainbow-colored bit of furniture was another recent addition to the room, added because John wanted you to have the option to put your feet up. Kai had told you that, as soon as you were healthy again, she was going to high-five you for the color choice.

While his back was turned as he adjusted the stool the way he wanted it in front of the couch, you took your shirt off and tossed it haphazardly towards the bed.

He sat, a leg on either side of the stool, and looked up at you, clearly about to say something. But then his expression went thunderstruck and the words never emerged.

You had the same UNSC sports bra that he had to have seen other marines wearing in the gym a thousand times. You'd spotted Kai and Riz in them before, so it shouldn't have been that shocking.

"This all right?" you asked.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Yes." Every affirmative had its own completely separate inflection, from stunned to wonderment to Wait, don't put the shirt back on.

You turned away, hiding your grin as you sat down where directed. Considering that you were hardly in top fighting form at the moment, his reaction was a very nice little ego boost.

His hands settled gently against your back, fingers curling over your shoulders. "If I use too much pressure or there's pain, tell me right away. Is there anything I should definitely avoid?"

"Can't raise the arm like I should" –you gave a roll of your left shoulder– "but it's already much better than it was."

"Copy that, no raising the arm. Anything else?"

No matter how battered and bruised you felt, there was no way you were going to miss this. "I'll let you know," you promised.

"Okay," he said and his hands glided up to your neck, then out, following the lines of the trapezius on both sides. The heels of his palms followed your spine down in a feathery touch, then spread out along your lats like he was smoothing wrinkles out of them before skimming down your obliques to your hips.

He returned to your shoulders again and very, very carefully kneaded into the tightness there. You did your best not to flinch when he hit a particularly sore spot but he jerked back as if you'd screamed.

"It's fine," you said quickly, afraid he was about to end up perched on the back of the couch like a very large, traumatized cat. "This is the only way to get rid of it. Just got to work it out."

His hands settled cautiously on your shoulders once more.

"You're doing great," you assured him, patting his knees on either side of you encouragingly, and his thumbs drew circles over the painful places as if he were trying not to fracture a thin sheet of glass.

The knots relaxed and you exhaled in the closest thing to sheer bliss you'd experienced in a long while. The warmth and gentle pressure had you melting back into him, your head lolling a bit, your eyelids fluttering shut and—

The next thing you knew, you were waking up. "Oh come on, I didn't want to sleep through all the good parts," you mumbled.

John's chuckle rumbled beneath your ear. He had pulled you back onto his lap on your right side, cradled comfortably against his chest. One hand was gently rubbing your back while the other covered the hand you had fisted into his shirt.

"I'm going to take this as a compliment to my therapeutic massage skills," he said.

"And you absolutely should." You raised your head to look at him. "Maybe next time I can even stay conscious long enough to really appreciate said skills. If there is, you know, a next time."

"There will most definitely be a next time," he swore and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I still owe you a proper back scratching."

"And I am absolutely going to collect on that," he returned, his tone unexpectedly husky.

You smiled, straightening up to kiss him. He pulled you closer, then paused and sighed against your mouth.

"I've got to go," he said resolutely right before his wristband chirped.

You looked for a way to roll off of him that wouldn't aggravate your shoulder – or potentially crush any of his, ahem, important Spartan equipment – but he scooped you up bridal style and stood as if you weighed nothing at all.

"I'll meet you for dinner if we're back soon enough," he promised and gave you one more tender kiss then placed you onto the couch. Before he went through the door, he paused, looking back like he was memorizing this moment, then he took a breath and was gone.

It was nearly dinner time when the door chime rang and you went to answer it with as much of a hopeful spring in your step as you could manage. However, this time, it wasn't John holding a tray with your evening meal on it.

"Dr. Keyes," you said in surprise, snapping a salute.

She said your rank and last name. "May I come in? We need to talk."

[luckbealincoln]

Best Kept Secret

chapter two : silent treatment

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 7.4k

summary : you decide to give your bodyguard the silent treatment after a disagreement

warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy

Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. As you stand and exit the closet, tugging on a rope that you know alerts Elaine and Lysa you realize what it is.

You’re excited. 

Everyday has been a slog since your arrival, just another day of aimlessly walking around and sitting mindlessly in the library but today you actually had an agenda. Even if you were to be accompanied by the abhorrent Mandalorian. You had only ever read about gardens, you obviously couldn't have one back on Hoth but you had always wanted to see one, if not have your own. But this was your home now, which made that your garden. You had a garden and today you were going to get to see it. And so, for the first time you summon Elaine and Lysa, instead of allowing them to arrive naturally as they always did. You stand at the mirror, eager to get dressed as the girls rush in, you can tell by the way that they stare at you that they don’t fully understand what's happening as they try to keep the surprise off their faces. Elaine speaks first as Lysa rushes off to the closet to find something for you to wear today.

“Good morning ma’am… you’re up rather early?” The way her voice pitches up makes it come off as a question but you just nod as you begin to undress, watching in the mirror as Lysa brings out a blue gown and you quickly turn around.

“No.” Both girls stare at you with wide eyes and then look at each other as you speak. “I want to wear something else, I’m sick of blue.” Lysa nervously rushes back into the closet but you can see a smile forming on Elaine's face. 

“Seems like someone has finally found their voice.” As Elaine speaks she dresses you in your undergarments. 

“One can only wear blue so many days in a row.” You brush a strand of hair behind your ear as you can see Elaine walking out holding a pale yellow dress in the reflection of the mirror, holding it up for approval. “That will do nicely.” That seems to relax her a bit as they begin to slip it on to you, lacing the back of it up tightly before sitting you down to do your hair and makeup but you gently wave their hands away. 

“Ma’am? Is everything okay?” Elaine says as she holds her hands up, waiting to see what will happen next but Lysa takes a step back as she drops her hands as if she’s been burned and you quickly turn to reassure her. 

“Everything is perfect, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just… I want to do it myself today. You two can have the rest of the morning off… thank you.” You turn back to stare at yourself in the mirror, the reflection actually looks familiar with your hair down like this, the lurid makeup they usually do you up in absent. 

“Ma’am this is rather unorthodox…” Elaine says but she can’t seem to shake the smile from her face. “But if you insist.”

“I do. Insist.” Your lips are also curling into a grin that you’re desperately fighting off as you look at Elaine in the reflection of the mirror, meeting her gaze. “Take the rest of the morning off, I’ll see you in the evening.” Both girls nod as they take their leave, Lysa finds green slippers and puts them on you before darting out of the room. You start to run a brush through your hair and you shout one last thing over to them before the door closes. “Oh! And please inform Leo that I’ll be skipping breakfast, I have other matters to attend to.” Elaine turns to cock an eyebrow at you but nods as she closes the door. 

You don’t bother holding back the grin now as you comb your hair, wanting to leave it down but you’re not sure if that’s proper for royalty so you decide against it, pinning it up loosely and donning a thin band of a tiara to hold it all in place. Now comes an issue you had not accounted for. Do you put on makeup? The girls always put makeup on you, especially on nights where you have dinner with the prince but now that it’s a choice you wonder if it would be weird. It’s not like you’d be dolling yourself up for the Mandalorian, but he really is the only person you see all day, other than Leo, who you only saw when you needed something. 

Well this was starting to ruin your good mood. Would it be weird if you didn’t wear makeup? It might be since up until today every time he’s seen you you’ve been wearing a mountain of it. Maker, what if he doesn’t even recognize you. No, that's stupid of course he’ll recognize you, he spends everyday with you. You can put on makeup, it isn’t weird. You’d just be putting it on for yourself, not him, it isn’t weird to want to look nice for yourself. But he’s a prick. An observant prick. What if he says something about it? That’s stupid why would he say something, you always wear makeup, it would be odd if you didn’t wear it. What if he’s already out there? What if he saw Elaine and Lysa leave? Would he assume you did your makeup yourself? Shit, why hadn’t you asked if he was waiting? Since when do you care what he thinks? When did this fucker get in your head like this? They’ve done your makeup rather garishly every day you’ve spent with the Mandalorian, so you decide to do it, just something simple, not the typical caked on look they give you, just something around your eyes to make them pop. You settle on green, subtle green eyeliner. 

You look ridiculous. He’s going to laugh at you.

You don’t care what he thinks, yet you find yourself reaching into the vanity to find a cloth to wipe the makeup from your face, maybe you should just tell him you don’t feel well and you want to stay in your room today. Gods when did he get in your head like this, one stupid little conversation and suddenly you couldn’t escape him, that stupid, arrogant, cocky, pompous, conceited, ill-mannered, son of a-

“Why are you taking so long?” You drop the cloth before you can clean your face as you catch a glint of silver in the mirror. 

“What is wrong with you!?” You clutch your chest as you turn around to scowl at the Mandalorian. “If you don’t stop scaring me I’m going to put bells on you.” He leans back against your bedpost and crosses his arms.

“Your ladies-in-waiting. They left half an hour ago and you didn’t come out, I thought you might be in danger.” He shrugs as if that justifies him sneaking into your room. Had you really been sitting here that long?

“Why didn’t you knock? For Makers sake, I could have been changing.” You squint at him angrily as you stand, facing him as you match his stance. Something tells you that the way you do it is less intimidating. 

“If I knocked I would have alerted any potential intruders.” 

“You’ve been outside the door this entire time and we’re on the fourth floor.” He shrugs again.

“I couldn’t take that chance. Now are you ready or not?” He stands up straighter and gestures towards the door. 

“Yes. These gardens better be worth it, I have high expectations.” You frowned as you made a beeline for the door, you could feel him following close on your heels. Once in the hall he once again stood beside you, not behind you, you bit back a smile. He takes a slight lead and you follow him through  the maze of halls. 

You want to talk. Now that you’ve had a taste of any sort of companionship you’re ravenous for it. Even if it is with someone as impolite as him, so you keep it light. 

“So… where are the gardens located?” 

“If I tell you, are you going to try and run off without me?” 

“If I tried you would be right behind me anyways so what would be the point?” You grin in earnest as you hear him exhale sharply through his nose. 

“You know about the forest that surrounds the castle?” 

“Yes I know that the castle that I live in is surrounded by trees.” You know he doesn’t see it but you roll your eyes anyway. 

“Forgive me, princess.” Your heart skips a beat, he actually sounds sort of sweet… “You got lost trying to find the fresher three days ago, so forgive me if I assume you know nothing about the grounds.” And there it is. 

“Do you spend all your free time coming up with snarky remarks? Is that what you do when you aren’t actively stalking me?” That gets a scoff from him.

“It isn’t stalking if it’s my job.I swore to keep you from harm and my word is very dear to me.” 

“You’re avoiding the question.” 

“Have you considered that I’m just smarter than you? That I just have a quicker wit?” Gods, you want to rip out the stupid modulator that he speaks through. It has to be altering his voice, no one's voice is always that low and steady. You feel as if the baritone of it soaks through your skin into your bones. 

“Impossible. The only explanation is that you must be dedicating several hours a day to forming new creative insults for me.” You let your fingertips trace the stone bricks as the two of you descend a staircase. He shakes his head no.

“I don’t have the kind of free time for that. You’re a full time job, sarad'ika.” 

Dead stop.

“What the hell did you just call me?” 

He doesn’t respond, actually it looks like he’s freezing up. He better not be laughing under that tin can with his modulator silenced again.

“You can’t just start slandering me in other languages, Mando.” You can’t keep the smile off your face as you reach forward to gently brush your hand against the Beskar pauldron closest to you. You mean it as nothing more than a comforting gesture but he instantaneously recoils from it, you’re surprised he even felt it through the steel and fabric but he takes a sudden step back and doesn’t mute his modulator fast enough for you to miss the beginning of a sharp inhale. There’s a beat of silence where you can feel your heart racing, why did it always get so hot in this stupid castle at the most inconvenient times. 

“My apologies, princess.” He straightens up and starts descending the stairs again, much more rigid than before. 

“Oh come on you can’t just do that.” You have to hike up your skirt to keep up with him now.

“Do what?” His stride doesn’t waver. You have to take two steps at a time to match his pace. 

“Say something and not tell me what it means!” 

“Drop it, princess.” Gods, you hate the way he says it. He makes it so easy to forget that it’s a label, not an endearment. You can’t stop the words that fall from your lips on instinct. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

He turns sharply, doing a swift 180, and you slam into his chest plate but manage to keep your footing. You’re higher on the stairs then him, making you face to face now. Well, face to helmet. 

“You are a princess, princess. I will refer to you as your title, nothing else. There is nothing else that I should be calling you.”

He called you sarad'ika. 

You scowl at him and you’re sure he’s scowling back at you. You’re not sure how long you stand like that, two statues on the staircase until finally you make the first move, brushing past him as you continue down the stairs until you reach a door, you wish you had paid more attention to where he was taking you because you’re caught off guard by the immediate exit from the stone walls of the keep. You hadn’t stepped foot outside the castle walls since you had first entered them.

It took you a second to adjust to the light as you held your hand up to shield your eyes. Once you've finally settled you take another step before you have to cover your eyes again. “Maker!” You take a step back as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You can feel him grab your shoulder gently.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Genuine concern. You’re taken aback by it, he’s never sounded anything but sarcastic and stoic up until just now. You open your eyes to stare into the thin black line in the Beskar. His hand jostles you slightly and you suddenly remember to breathe. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?” You can physically feel the worry coming off of him, both of his hands gripping your shoulders now. 

“I just- I’m okay… it’s just- the- the reflection…” You say it softly and feel his hand drop and he lets out a sigh. “The sun on your armor just caught me off guard…” He turns around and starts walking again and you can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of you, making him stop dead in his tracks. 

“It’s not funny.” His tone has returned to its cold stoic nature but you can’t stop laughing.

“Oh come on…” You make your way over to him, still trembling with laughter. “You’re so sparkly, it caught me off guard.”

“I was seriously worried about you. You do understand that my entire job is to keep you safe right?” He takes long strides and once again you can barely keep up as you follow him to a trail at the edge of the forest that surrounds the keep. You take deep breaths, trying desperately to stop the laughter as you grab his arm. He tenses the moment you make contact with him but at least he doesn’t draw back this time. He won’t look at you, his helmet turned slightly to the right. 

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You mean it but you can’t fight the smile on your face as you hold the fabric between his pauldron and his bracer. “It’s kind of nice, you know, to know you are capable of human emotions.” You don’t realize that your thumb is rubbing small comforting circles into his sleeve, your gaze softening. “I was starting to think you were just a very sarcastic droid.” That makes him look at you.

“I am not a droid.” 

Yikes. Tough crowd.

He says it with such sternness that you don’t follow it up with a joke, you drop your hand from his arm and just stare into the visor. 

You bring your hand up to comfort him again.

“Hey I’m sor-”

“Don’t” There’s that word again, only this time he’s so harsh with it. You take a step back. 

“Well I hardly think this is fair.”

“Excuse me?” He tilts the helmet slightly at you, the annoyance in his voice is still palpable. 

“We have had two conversations since the day I met you and you spent most of those conversations making fun of me and suddenly you get all stiff and upset just because I made one joke at your expense, a joke that might I add wasn’t even all that mean, and you get all short with me? That’s not fair.” He doesn’t speak, you can feel the sharpness of his gaze even through the visor. 

But he doesn’t have a retort, he just scoffs. 

Kriff. 

You had to say something, because now you’re both just standing here on this trail in utter silence. Come on, think, you can’t let one awkward moment ruin this. You can’t have things be weird between you and the only person who will talk to you in this entire fucking castle. Gods, you can’t stand him but he’s company. So, you say the first thing that comes to mind, like an idiot. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“What?” His voice is still tinged with the remains of his anger.

Well now he’s just being unkind for no reason, you apologized, or at least tried to before he so rudely interrupted you. Or maybe you should have chosen a less stupid question but it was too late to be thinking thoughts like that. 

“You know what, nevermind. Go back to the castle, I’ll find the garden myself.” You shove past him, marching down the trail through the trees. Where was this coming from? Why has he suddenly out of nowhere gotten so cold? Whatever, he can go sulk somewhere else. You just wanted to see the gardens and you’re not going to let him ruin your entire day before it’s even started. You can hear him groan as he starts to follow. Of course he isn’t going to listen to you, you turn on your heel to face him. “Stop it.”

“You know I can’t.” Of course he doesn’t sound apologetic, but at least he doesn't sound angry anymore.

“I am ordering you to stop.”

“You don’t have the auth-”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if I do not have the authority to tell you to stop, you will stop, go back to the castle. Now, Mando.” You know he won’t but you’re getting desperate, you don’t care because at this point if you have to feel alone, you want to actually be alone. 

“No.” 

There it is. You knew that you weren’t friends, afterall how could you be, you don’t know each other in the slightest. But a small part of you thought that maybe he respected you, at least respected you enough to not treat you like everyone else does. Like they’re afraid of you, or like you are nothing more than an extension of your husband. Yet here he is acting on your husband's authority, with no one around, just the two of you. In your loneliness you had briefly let yourself get sucked into a reality where the Mandalorian was someone who you could talk to, even if it was only to argue, arguing was so much better then the nothingness that was consuming your bland life, the little feud that the two of you had built up through what short conversations you had managed was all you had. But of course he had to go and ruin it, you hadn’t wanted a friend, you had just wanted someone to talk to. 

You hate him. For getting your hopes up. You hate your husband. For marrying you in the first place. You just want to go home, real home, Hoth, not this unfamiliar stupidly hot planet. It’s all starting to crash down on you. You haven’t cried since the day you found out you were arranged to be married but out of nowhere it was starting to hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes shot daggers at the Mandalorian. You wanted to scream at him, you wanted to stomp your foot and throw a tantrum because in an instant he had ruined what had the potential to be your first good day in weeks, and he had done it within the first 30 minutes of being in your presence. But why give him the satisfaction? Especially if he was only doing all this to be cruel. You had done nothing wrong after all, he was the one who had gotten all uppity out of nowhere and for seemingly no reason. 

“Fine.” At least your voice doesn’t crack.

“Fine?” He sounds truly surprised by the lack of explosion after your minutes of brooding. Maybe he was doing this all because he was bored, afterall he was probably just as alone as you were. But you had thought that maybe you were starting to be alone, together. 

“Fine. You are right. I do not have the authority to dismiss you, I would like to return to my chambers.” He takes a step forward. You can’t look at him anymore. 

“Oh come on, you can’t be ser-”

“Don’t.” You hope it hurts. 

Having the word thrown back in his face with as much venom as you can muster, as you once again shove past him and follow the trail until you are out of the forest and making your way back to the castle. He doesn’t try to stop you, he doesn’t even speak. He just returns to the way he’s always been, deadly quiet, and always just out of sight. Just out of reach. Neither of you speaks as you make your way up the several flights of stairs, in your rage you didn’t realize you were lost until it was too late. 

Stupid enormous castle. Stupid maze of halls. Stupid husband who made this stupid place your home. Stupid Mandalorian. 

You know he knows that you’re lost but he doesn’t speak. Finally you just sit against a wall, the Mandalorian a few steps back, watching you.

“Leodall!” You say it loudly in the noiseless hall, your voice bouncing off the walls. 

“Is that really necessary? If you’re lost I can take you back to your room.” His voice is dripping with annoyance at this point and all you do is glare at him until you see a familiar orange figure approaching.

“Yes princess, is everything well?” His brows furrowed as he sees you sitting on the floor, he goes to help you up but you wave him off, standing on your own. 

“It appears I need your help finding my chambers Leo.” You don’t acknowledge the Mandalorian, keeping your eyes trained on Leo. He on the other hand does toss a look at Mando, the confusion on his face is evident but he senses the tension and decides not to ask, leading you to your room. 

Maker, you hadn’t even been on the right floor. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you ma’am?” Leo asks as he steps into your room after you. 

“No Leo, that will be all, thank you.” He nods as he shuts the door, you see the glint of silver as he does. 

You collapse onto the bed, the real bed, not the one that you found so much more comfort in, kicking your shoes off you curl up into yourself and just lay there. The urge to cry has passed, now you just want solitude. 

You try not to wonder if he’s still out there. 

You don’t know how much time passes but eventually Elaine brings you dinner, Lysa is not with her. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen them separated. 

“They said you didn’t go to lunch ma’am, I thought you might be feeling ill.”

“No. Just tired I guess.” 

She doesn’t press further as she sets down the tray. This is why she’s your favorite. As she goes to leave, you sit up. 

“Is he still out there?” You whisper it, you already know the answer. And you also know he’s probably listening. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

That’s all you needed to know, you nod and she dismisses herself.  ✩

You hate him. 

You have nothing better to do now that you refuse to talk to him. So you hate him, that’s your new hobby. You’re on day three of your strike. You let Elaine and Lysa doll you up in blue gowns again and do you up with over the top makeup and you go back to the library. But you don’t pretend to read books anymore. Instead you sit in a reading nook you stumbled upon, it might be your new favorite spot in the entire castle. Even if you spend all of your time there brooding. You sit with your back to the window and you glare at the Mandalorian, all day. 

He just stands there. 

Sometimes the visor faces you, sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes if you stay long enough he’ll even pull up a chair. You just watch him. And think. 

The first day was spent plotting, mostly. You don’t have a good enough grasp on his abilities to attack him head on. You know that his helmet can do a lot but you honestly have no idea anything past the fact that he can silence himself, it gives him advanced hearing capabilities, and you have to assume night vision because of that night where he found you in the library. And of course there was the lingering issue of him being an ex-bounty hunter. 

So no. No attacking head on.

All this scheming made you realize how embarrassingly little you actually know about him. 

You seriously doubt you could sneak up on him. His neck wasn’t armored but it was covered in layers of fabric. It would be embarrassing if you tried to stab him and got tangled up in his cape. And obviously you didn’t want to kill him. You just… well you don’t really know what the goal is now. Honestly you feel a bit silly over this whole thing. You might have overreacted but he had been impolite to say the least, and you had nothing better to do so why not just be mad. 

Maybe you could ask Kodo to dismiss him. You never asked him for anything during your weekly dinners but you were his bride after all, maybe he would do that for you. Unless the Mandalorian was working directly with Kodo… you’d never considered that he might be reporting back to the prince with information about you.

You rule that possibility out. Kodo doesn’t care enough about you to do that. (You also rule out asking for Mando to be dismissed because as much as you despise him, you can’t bring yourself to do that. You desperately wish you could.)

New plan. Get away from him long enough to explore the gardens without him.

How hard could it be to find out where his quarters are located? Maybe you could ask Leo, would he even know? He has to live somewhere in the castle. There’s no way he could live anywhere else, he’s there day and night watching you… 

Does he even have quarters? He wore the same thing every day, at least it looked like he did, he certainly didn’t have a bad smell to him that would indicate he doesn’t change, although you had no idea what he smelled like, you suppose you had never thought about it. Why do you want to know what he smells like all of a sudden? Nevermind. He had to sleep, right? He wasn’t waiting outside your room the night you had snuck out to the library. If you could find out where his room was maybe you could lock him in… or you would just make him angry, he was so tall, and broad, and you couldn’t tell with all the layers but he seemed muscular, strong enough to break down a door certainly. 

You stare at where he’s sitting, he had pulled up a chair an hour ago and placed it across from your nook, both his legs firmly planted on the floor as you two engage in what might be your tenth staring contest of the day. You bet he could rip a door right off its hinges, he’d probably be outraged if you barricaded his door, he’d hunt you down for doing that. Of course he would know it was you, who else would try and lock him in his own chambers? You wonder what he would do if he caught you. Obviously he would catch you, if he had been a bounty hunter he would catch you with ease, he’d probably just go straight to the garden, knowing that’s where you would hide from him. He would probably be so furious with you that he’d probably throw caution to the wind, disregard the fact that you were royalty, disregard the fact that you were married to the prince, and just take you right there. 

Back to the castle.  

Back to your chambers. Take you back to your chambers. 

Gods it’s hot in this library… you took a book off the shelf just to fan yourself. 

Is he sweating under all that metal?

Stop it. 

You decided to plan more tomorrow. The heat was clearly having some sort of effect on your ability to think clearly.

But day two of your silent treatment came and you didn’t feel all that palpable rage anymore, you were just confused now. So you dedicated day two to figuring out what had happened. Why had things fallen apart so quickly?

It had all started when you made that droid comment. 

Or had it?

Now that you were thinking about it he had actually started to pull back when you’d been on the stair. He had called you that name. Kriff. What had it been? You should have written it down. It must have been pretty bad for it to make him so upset. But why would he be upset about something he said? He had said it so naturally, it clearly had just slipped out. You weren’t even sure what language it had been in. You could look, you were in a library after all, but it would be obvious to him what you were doing and you didn’t want to upset him further. 

What else had happened…?

Shit.

You had touched him, it hadn’t been anything more than a brief brush against his armor. Maybe that was considered offensive in his culture though, maybe you had crossed a line. Your stomach dropped but only for a moment as you remembered your first interaction, you had touched his armor quite a bit that night so that couldn’t be it. 

You hated riddles, and you were giving yourself a headache.

So you spent most of the second day rubbing your temples with your eyes closed. 

And now you’re here. Day three of your strike and you’ve already run out of things to be angry about so now you finally let your mind wander to the one thing you’ve been avoiding since you met him. 

What’s under the armor? 

Or more importantly, who is under the armor? In your previous brief conversations you hadn’t brought the helmet up, they’d been so short there was no way for it to come up naturally. (And honestly you assumed he was sick of being asked about it. Everybody probably asked about it.) For what little you knew about Mandalorians, you knew they didn’t take their helmets off. But he had to at some point right? He was human. Gods, now that you thought of it you never saw him eat or drink. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose as you imagined him drinking through a little straw inside the helmet. He turned in just the slightest towards you but kept his visor trained on a shelf of books that must have been pretty interesting to have been holding his attention for the last several hours. 

He was probably scowling, like, all the time. He probably had a permanent crease between his eyebrows. It would probably piss him off if you smoothed it out with your thumb. Of course that would be why you would do it. To piss him off. 

He had to be handsome. You despised the fact that he had to be handsome. He acted with an air of confidence that only extremely good looking people had. Of course he would be handsome, the gods could not be kind enough to make him ugly. You bet his features are sharp, just like his tongue. Stop. 

Don’t think about his tongue. 

You need to talk to Leo about implementing some sort of cooling system in this dreadfully balmy library.

Think about something else. His lips. That was innocent enough. You would wager that they were chapped, spending all that time inside steel, probably made his lips dry. He was probably always licking his lips. His bottom lip was probably always jutted out in a pout, he’s so stupidly moody. His tongue was probably always poking out slightly, wetting his stupidly plush bottom lip. 

Stop. 

Maker, it’s so warm in here, it’s a good thing you’re wearing such a dark shade of blue because you’re certainly sweating through your gown. Calm down. 

Teeth. Think about teeth. There’s nothing about teeth that should make your heart race, they’re just teeth. They’re probably straight and perfect. He acted so superior, the bastard would have perfect teeth. They’re probably just sharp enough to hurt if he were to bite you, why would he be biting you?

Stop.

When you get him all riled up and simmering he probably stands there all stupid with his mouth open just slightly. You can probably see his bottom teeth when he sits there with a dumb look on his face. You could probably get a better look at them if you pulled his bottom lip down with your thumb.

Stop.

Think about his eyes. Get away from his mouth entirely. His stare has to be as intense as his presence. He could probably lay waste to a bounty with one look if he would just take the helmet off. Nope. Actually, don’t think about how his eyes would feel on your face. Be thankful for the helmet. Just stop thinking about him. How dare he. He was probably doing this on purpose, getting in your head like this. Gods, you detest him. 

He’s probably brunette. He probably keeps it short because he can’t maintain it with the helmet and all. Why does that kind of bum you out? 

Stop.

You don’t care what his hair looks like. He probably had an unkept beard, he doesn’t have time to shave. It probably scratches you as it brushes against your skin. 

Nope. 

Stop. 

You stand up, you need to get out of this horrifically stuffy library. You don’t acknowledge him as you make your way towards the dining hall, you have dinner with Kodo tonight, best not be late to see your doting hubby. Especially if the reason you’re late is because you were off somewhere thinking about another man. You don’t hear him but you know Mando is behind you as you enter the dining room, you take pride in your ability to find it without having to call Leo. (It’s just down the hall from the library but to you it’s still an accomplishment.) Much to your chagrin Kodo is already seated. 

“Wife! Come, join me!” Oh he is already hammered, lucky you. 

You take your respective seat across from him and the Mandalorian takes his place a few steps behind your chair, his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Good evening husband, how has your day been?” You quickly begin to down your wine as he starts to speak, his hair is a mess, you spend nearly an hour getting ready every morning and he can’t even run a comb through his hair. Lovely. 

“Wonderful darling.” Why does he always have to look so satisfied with himself?

Dinner is long. And boring. At one point he starts talking about how unattractive he thinks one of his brother's wives is, laughing the entire time at some joke you don’t get regarding her appearance. You lazily take a bite of the unfamiliar vegetable on your plate as you try to tune him out. After your first day here you stopped questioning the food, it was always good so who cares what it is. He slams back another drink, a servant rushes over and fills his glance once more. He’s had so much to drink at this point you wonder how he’s still sitting upright. It’s quiet for a moment and you realize that he’s waiting for a response to something. Maker, you should have been paying attention. His gaze darkens as he lets out a tsk. 

“I had quite a pleasant time today out in the city.”

“Oh really? What did you do today my prince?”

“They had opened a new pleasure house in the city, and a few of my brothers and I visited for the grand opening.” He starts laughing, slamming his glass onto the table as he shakes with laughter. Your entire body went rigid. You knew he was probably visiting brothels, of course he was, but the way he threw it into your face with no regard for your feelings rattled you enough to make you just want to leave. You took another sip of wine. 

“Did you, my prince? And how was that?” You can feel the tension in the room, every servant is standing a bit straighter, their eyes all forward. 

“Just wonderful.” He clicks his tongue as he picks at his food with his hands. You don’t bother hiding the disgust on your face. He leers at you. “What? Are you displeased, wife? ” You suck in a breath through your teeth. 

“No, of course not, my prince.” You set your fork down, you’ve lost your appetite. 

“No, no, no, if you are unhappy, wife, I would love for you to speak up.” He’s snickering at this point, teetering drunkenly. You want to leave, you don’t like this. He had always been annoying at the worst of times, and dismissive, but now he was just belittling you. 

At least you finally had a valid reason to hate him. 

“I am fine.” You say it as steadily as you can manage. “Just tired.”

“Really? What have you done today that has left you so tired?” 

Gods, you just want to leave.

“I did quite a lot of reading today, my pri-” He bursts into laughter before you can even finish. Your face is starting to heat.

“Is that so? This is why I do not spend more time with you, my nervous mouse.” Gross, you hate that name. “You’re just so… bland.”

Ouch.

“Don’t you agree, mouse?” 

You know he wants you to answer, and something tells you that he won’t let you leave unless you do. So you swallow your pride. And you swallow the lump that is forming in your throat.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Maybe you should put him lower on your list than the Mandalorian.

“Yes. I am bland.”

He leans back in his chair with a predatory smile on his face, like he was the cat, and you were the mouse. The insignificant mouse. 

“That is all I wanted to hear, dear wife.” He flashes you a toothy grin, giving you a wave you know means you’re dismissed. And you stand, rushing out into the hall and storming off towards your chambers as briskly as possible. Feeling the tears that you’ve held in for three weeks now starting to prickle at the corners of your eyes. The Mandalorians pace never falters as he trails after you until you finally find your chambers, all on your own. You wish you were in the mood to appreciate such an accomplishment. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand as subtly as possible, your other hand opening the door, you only get the door open a few inches before it slams shut. You turn around in an instant to glare at him, The Mandalorian was looming over you, his hand just above your head, holding the door shut. You can’t do this right now. You know that the moment he starts whatever snarky comments he surely has about that dinner that you won’t be able to hold back the tears anymore. You can’t do anything other than squeeze your eyes shut to hold back the waterworks as you brace yourself for whatever he has to say. 

The familiar faint crackle of the modulator fills the air, suffocating you. 

“Are you okay?”

Oh. 

You open your eyes and he isn’t looming over you anymore, he’s just standing, notably a few steps back now. 

You wish you could stop what happened next, but it all finally happened. At long last, you cry. You finally break down, the weight of the world collapsing down on you. He doesn’t move, or speak, he just stares. Honestly you’re pretty sure you’ve caught him off guard. 

“No.” 

It’s all you can squeak out, you wish you didn’t sound so pathetic as you said it. 

“I just… I want to go home. I hate this entire stupid planet. I hate this confusing castle and now I hate my husband” Gods you need to stop talking, you’re starting to babble, but he doesn’t speak and you can’t stand the silence so you just keep going. “I didn’t want this. Any of this. I miss my brothers and sisters, I miss talking to people. I miss being alone.” You stare up at him now with big wet eyes, you detest the way your lip quivers. “Like, actually alone. Because now I feel alone, but I’m surrounded by people constantly… and that is a thousand times worse. And I feel like I’m going crazy, like, all the time. And I can’t even talk to you, you’re always there and I can’t say a word. I don’t want to have some deep and meaningful conversation with you for Makers sake. I just want to insult you because that is the only thing I can do when I am in your infuriating presence, and you are the only person I can insult who doesn’t suddenly start to fear for his livelihood.” You stare into that miserably cold visor. “And I don’t know what I did to deserve any of this.” You sniffle as you wipe your eyes again. 

You just stand there. You want him to say something, you don’t even want him to comfort you, you just want to hear the modulator crackle, anything. But he doesn’t. And you can’t take it. So you swing open your chamber doors and slam them shut behind you, make sure to lock them as loudly as possible. 

You cry. You spend the rest of the evening crying, once you get out of that terrible dress you lay on your nest of blankets in the closet in your undergarments, clutching a pillow as you fight back sobs. So much for the silent treatment you’d been giving him. Now he probably hates you even more, he probably thinks you are some whiney, spoiled, coddled little girl who can’t handle royal life. 

It’s the middle of the night and you’ve nearly wept yourself to sleep when you hear the faintest knock on your bedroom door. 

Your heart skips a beat.

It isn’t Elaine, or Lysa, or Leo. None of them ever bother you this late, and you certainly didn’t summon them. There’s only one person it could possibly be and your heart is nearly beating out of your chest. 

Why would he come here so late? 

You don’t know but a part of you that you are really struggling to rein in while you’re still in this sensitive state has an idea of what you want the reason to be. 

No.

You don’t want that. The part of you that is obviously going crazy, that’s who wants it. Not you. You weren’t allowing that part any control, not these last three weeks and certainly not now. Still, you don a robe and rush to the door. You take a moment for a deep breath before you slide the lock back and open the door, slowly, but surely. 

But he isn’t there. 

Stop feeling disappointed. 

You take a careful step out the door, the soft glow from your room illuminating the hall. You look down both passages, searching for that glimmer of silver but you never see it. As you dejectedly go to close the door something catches your eye. A book, on the ground just outside your door. You lean down to pick it up before quickly retreating into your room. You walk over to a lamp to get a clearer view of it. As your eyes scan the title a warmth spreads across your face. 

The Smitten Paladin. 

So he had gone back for them. 

You need to stop smiling. Obviously he did this because he feels bad for you. Or, if you’re lucky, it’s a peace offering. You return to the closet, bringing the lamp over to your makeshift bed as you open the cover, wanting to read a chapter before bed, but your eyes dart to something scrawled inside. The handwriting is small and neat as you read it.

"It’s green." 

You decide that the Mandalorian isn’t your least favorite person here anymore.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Saw your offer and I'm not enough of a horror writer to pull this off perhaps, but you just might be :)

The scene is two field researchers going out to check cameras in the wilderness. It could be day, it could be night, that's up to you. One of them sees a cool plant and pulls out their species identification app to see what it is, as field researchers are apt to do. As a joke, they point the camera of the identification app at their fellow researcher, except it doesn't identify them as human, but rather, some other entity.

That's the prompt! You can take this in any direction you want - maybe the monster eats the researcher, maybe this is news to both of them, whatever you like. I would tell this story to freak out the other field researchers I worked with, so I think having a full version would be awesome :)

You're the best!

Aww, thanks! To be honest, I was inspired by what you did for your 600 follower celebration :)) I do hope I did this justice! It ended up being just over 900 words, hehe

*****

It was a miserable day slogging through the driest bits of the marsh, flies all abuzz around us. The morning had been slated to be sunny, and in preparation of that I had slathered sunscreen all over me and a sunhat besides. Nonetheless, I was drenched in sweat, and all the mosquito repellant in the world couldn't have stopped the army that decided to feast on delicious type AB-.

Pierce was the sole saving grace of it. He might've been a weirdo, at least according to the other interns, but he cracked jokes, helped pull me out of those awful little mires where my foot would get stuck, and hoisted me on his shoulders to grab the cameras. 

All through that walk, we saw not a single bird. It was almost as though they were avoiding something, and in a perverse way, I was grateful for that. In my current mood, I may well have thrown my backpack at any bird I came across, quit my internship, and left to go be a barista.

As we approached the umpteenth camera on our checklist, Pierce stopped me. “Say, what's that little guy over there?”

I stopped and let out a brief grunt of frustration. “Who cares? It's almost the end of our internship anyway- Oh, what is that?”

“It's a plant.” Pierce prodded a leaf experimentally. 

“Yeah, I can tell. What the hell is it?” I'd spent far too much time garnering a reputation for myself as the plant-nerd amongst our group to be confounded by some random little sprout. “Give me a moment, I think it's time to try out that ID app, eh?”

I fished out my phone and aimed it at the plant. “Well, whaddya know? It's not showing. That's odd,” I muttered. “Is it working?”

“Gimme it,” Pierce replies, snatching the phone out of my hands. “Let's see if it can identify you.” 

He froze. A shadow of something flickered across his face, before he plastered a fake smile on. “The latest update must've broken it ,I guess.” 

“Really? Let me see!” I tried to take my phone back, curious. “Did it call me a tree or something?” 

He lifted it up, just out of my reach, and took a step back. His smile grew more brittle, almost as if he were… afraid of me? “No, it's nothing. Ju- Just gonna close the app now, shall I?”

I shook my head. “Tell me what you saw,” I demanded. “What did it tell you I was? I assure you, it was lying.” I don't think my words were very convincing.

Shaking his head vigorously, he shuffled back, before tripping over a root. “Shit!” He scrambled even more, breath coming in little gasps. I could smell the fear in his sweat.

It made me hungry.

“Don't be like that, Pierce,” I cooed, stalking towards him. “It's almost the end of our internship. Be a good boy, and return my phone.”

He tried to struggle, he really did. But I had my hooks into him, and no mere mortal had ever escaped once they were in my clutches. I took the phone and glanced at it.

“Warning: Inhuman entity spotted? Danger level: High? Wowza, these things are getting good.” Mindlessly, I threw the phone into the water. “Perhaps I'll try for a degree in CS after this, get a good look at the insides of software development. At least that way I won't have to go out into the sun so often. Let me tell you: It really does make a girl appreciate her immortality all the more.”

My teeth were starting to protract, the result of being stimulated by- Damn it, the lectures I'd been going to were far too deeply ingrained into me. “Now, before we take down this last camera, let me ask you something: Have you ever seen me in the tapes we took?”

Pierce went still, connecting the dots. I laughed. “Oh, you sweet, sweet summer child. To be honest, I'm grateful you were so naive. I mean- I was certain I'd get caught at some point. A vampire wildlife researcher? That's almost as ridiculous as a vampire retail worker! Oh, but I did it. I think I deserve a treat for that, don't you?”

He struggled against invisible bonds, eyes flitting left and right. His teeth were gritted hard enough to show his jaw muscles, and I patted his cheek.

“Don't worry ‘bout a thing, P. It'll all be over soon,” I told him, baring my fangs. “I'll even make sure to get rid of the evidence afterwards.”

"Don't," he hissed, barely able to get his words past my grip. "Please, Elsie. This isn't you." I showed no signs of stopping, so he played his last, desperate card. "Someone- Someone will find out. They'll catch you."

"We're all alone in the woods, pal. Nobody's gonna find you. Ever." I paused. "Think on the bright side, though. You always wanted to give back to the environment. Now you get to! Your bones will fuel these trees for the weeks to come."

I leaned into his neck, which was already welling up from my little dengue-carrying bloodsucker cousins' bites, and ran my fangs along the artery that popped off out. “I'd say goodnight, but it's still light out. So, good afternoon, Pierce,” I whispered to his neck. “Good afternoon and good bye.”

Then I sank my fangs into his throat and drank him dry.

I think this is worthy of the taglist, so:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @tragedycoded, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @nczaversnick

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[ginalongillustrations]

Vox Machina Details

I realized that now that I've completed all of Vox Machina, I wanted to show off the symbols I chose for each member and their designs as some of them I'm super proud of! If you're unsure what any of the symbols are meant to convey, just read blow the line.

Keyleth

(side note, I finished her original version at like ep 35 and had worked so hard to stay away from spoilers so I had no idea what most of the symbols meant and was struggling to think of things)

Kraken- I included it because the kraken fight will go down in my personal history as the fight that was the biggest... slog to get through. You felt the weariness of it as shit just kept repeating, and unfortunately half the table was slightly drunk making everything worse, and it was so pivotal because Vax died and that hastened his deal with the raven Queen and it was Keyleth completing her journey and it was Tary's first real adventure. It also was right after my Roman Empire Vaxleth quote so it had to have a place.

Goldfish -iconic

Acorn- so this is one that has nothing to do with her journey, but it's something I chose to symbolize what I love about her. I love her passion for life and her willingness to protect it. I chose it after she went against Grog during the Whitestone Arc and ran back to help the townsfolk fight the zombie giant. I loved it because she refused to let those people fight on their own to live, and it really stuck with me. Her unadulterated anger at the death of the fire ashari and so many other times she cares about life and I wanted to represent that, so much that I included it in her personal symbol at the top of the designs.

Fire - obvious reasons

Raven feather - gonna represent the love of her life

Snowdrop- yeah Vax got two but I'm so glad I did because that last episode had me sobbing just like Marisha and it's such a symbol of goodbye and love and stolen time

Vex

She is one of the most straightforward ones, another one that I had help on from the community because I didn't want spoilers but did want to encompass her entire journey and not just what I had seen.

Grizzly paw - for the best companion out there

Gold coins - Her greed is such a defining trait for so much of her journey to the point where it, in part, got her killed by wanting to steal the armour. It is her hating to spend 30 gold on a very useful book, it is so much of her and I love it.

Sun - Paelor, since she was chosen by him

Broom - As much as I wasn't a fan of the broom, it truly is such a big part of her, her fighting technique, and her personality again tied to her greed that I couldn't help but add it.

The gun and the dagger - for the two most important people in her life.

Pike

Her ship - It's cute how often she brought it up even when we never once see her at sea. I think Ashley really enjoyed that part of her backstory even asking about it in campaign 2.

Her holy symbol - Sarenrae is the God who has my heart simply for her kindness to Pike. Her warmth and love and how important that relationship is to Pike. More so than any other cleric, it feels like they get each other and I love that. I'm also sad Sarenrae hasn't been around much in the other campaigns. Someone give this God some love please (I'm on ep 46 of c3 so who knows)

The lute - even if they never go on a date during the campaign, that relationship is super important. It was the first relationship I shipped in VM and how often they look out for each other. I'll always be sad Ashley couldn't be there for ep 85

Grog's axe - adoptive siblings for life

Iris - since it's the flower of Westruun, I thought I should add also because Matt was able to pull that out of his ass when asked was incredible and needs to be remembered always.

Glabrezu claw - even if it's not a death we saw, that death echoed throughout the campaign and it affected Pike so much

Scanlan

Scanlan was harder. So many of his moments are intangible. How do you draw a counterspell? A wish? The hunt for drugs that are actually just cooking spices? the meat man? Modify memory? Scanlan will always be MVP of the VM campaign in my eyes, and so it was so hard to do him justice.

The three eyes of Ioun - No one expected Scanlan to be chosen but chosen he was and the world is better for it.

Triceratops - That fight was the first time Scanlan really showed he could hold his own. Hell, the rest of VM came out worse with 5 people than he did. It was the first time you saw how much of a beast Scanlan could be.

Pike's mace- the woman who made him better

The beret - I had just finished the briarwood Arc what I was working on him and I thought this the best representation of Sam willing to just roll with the stupidest running bits.

The Burt Reynolds mustache - His love of disguises and also one of his most iconic lines

The flute - representing his meeting Kaylie and how that changed so much of his journey.

Percy

I struggled with Percy and his symbols because I couldn't always grasp what was important and what drove him as tangible things outside his family, Revenge, and Vex. I also just have the most trouble connecting to Percy so I think that played a part.

The bird skull - I felt it showed his connect to others? As it passed through his hands it showed a care for others and I dunno, this one just stuck with me. So it's there.

Black powder -no way in hell I'm leaving Viktor out

De Rolo crest - His family and all that he lost

An arrow - his future, his shining north star, his better half

Black smoke - Orthax and how much control it had over him

Vampire teeth - a bit corny I know but had no idea how to represent the briarwoods so I rolled with this.

Vax

Snowdrop - the mirror Keyleth, and if you have the prints next to each other with Vax on the right and Keyleth on the left, the snowdrops mirror. They're the only two of the series to have that (can you tell who my favourite couple is?)

The raven Queen mask - she needed her own spot because she is.. the looming shadow over so much of Vax, his choices, and his story. She is unrelenting, she is ever-present, she is inevitable. And I hate her for it.

The arrow - twins for life

The antlers - This man supports Keyleth's rights and her wrongs and I adore him for it. I love that he says if you're going to your death to fight this dragon then I'm with you no questions asked. He worships her and it makes me weak at the knees.

The feather - those wings become as much a part of his identity as the broom is for Vex.

The belt - his love for that belt but also his use of equipment. Vax, more than anyone I think, has his identity was tied to his equipment and his icknic moments. His boots, his armour, his belt, his daggers. They make up so much of him.

Grog

He's another super straightforward one because we'll, Grog wasn't meant to have a deep and rich and complex character. He has amazing moments but again how do I show them? Craven's edge was something I tried for but it just didn't read as exactly that so I sadly left it out. Believe me, it hurt.

The deck of many things - Those cards were Grog's roman empire and it bit him in the ass at the end and I love it. Also just Travis and his absolute inability to not push the red buttons.

Ale - no group has loved taverns as much as VM, and no one in that group loves a night of drinking as much as Grog.

The Lute - for his best bud

The Mace - for his sister

The shapes - callback to the original audio intro with Grog being first

The bag of holding - few things were as paired as Grog and that bag. No one has their inventory as well organized as that Goliath.

Tary

Blondies - I know he was only a portion of it and I think because he was there for the time they mentioned it the most, I connect Tary the most with the Slayers Cake. It's the friendships he formed in his time with the group.

The list - thinking of him saving Keyleth and getting to mark off rescuing a maiden will never fail to make me laugh

The arrow - his best friend

The gun - his other best friend

The book - his many grand tales all documented in one fantastical book

The helmet - I really wanted it in the original design but it just wasn't going to work with the pose I wanted, so it ended up at the bottom.

Yepp so these are the things I connect with these characters the most. It's silly and so much effort for such a small part of the print, but I'm proud of them.

[meowcats734]

(prompt response) You're the villain that the Chosen One is meant to defeat. Once they arrive, you notice they're just a teenager who barely knows how to swing a sword. Angered by your opponents sending children to do all their dirty work, you decide to help the teen get revenge.

The Silent Parliament may have been ruthless, but they weren't stupid. They knew that Odin was turning their populace against them, and they remembered that Odin's opening move in the war was contacting possible sympathizers through the vehicle of dreams. So they'd taken countermeasures. While I was gone, they'd erected obelisks at the barriers of the city, and although I couldn't make heads or tails of how they worked, it was clear what the end result was. The few times that Odin did try to show up in people's dreams, the reports were that they were fuzzy and incomprehensible, their attempts to reach out to anyone in the Silent Peaks stymied.

But all that changed after our classmate went crazy and tried to blow us off the side of the mountain.

It frustrated me that I not only had absolutely no idea what the Silent Parliament was doing to keep Odin's dreams out, I hadn't the faintest clue what Odin had done to counteract that. Trying to catch any true information about the war through the waves of confusion and propaganda was like chasing my shadow around a dying fire.

But it was undeniable that after Odin played their hand and turned the Silent Academy's mind-wiped soldiers against them, the dream-wards on the outskirts of town were no longer effective.

So when I went to sleep next, something touched my soul, and I was no longer Cienne, witch of six magics, a student of the Silent Academy who was just trying to survive the war.

I was Odin, Demon of Empathy, and I had come to expose the Silent Peaks for their hypocrisy and lies.

###

"Prepare to meet your end, foul demon!" The slim, wobbly-kneed teenager tried to swing her blade at me. Unimpressed, I simply took a single, surefooted step back, navigating the corpse-strewn, muddy battlefield with ease. Nobody had taken the time to teach the poor girl the importance of a good pair of boots, and her pitiful slog through the mud would take ages to catch up with me.

"I have a name, you know," I said mildly.

"The only name you deserve is barbarian, you monster!" The girl shrieked as she charged at me. One of my soldiers appeared, brandishing a ball of fire, but I shook my head. This was the fourth would-be hero the Silent Parliament had thrown at me, and I'd given all of the first three a nice pat on the back, a reassuring pep talk, and in one case taken in a runaway who had no stomach for the churn of endless violence that made up an active battlefront.

I may have been a demon, but I was a Demon of Empathy. On occasion, I let others into my heart—which was more than I could say for my enemies.

"I recommend you stop following me," I said, taking another calm step back.

"Never!" The girl snapped. "They said you would try to sway me from my path with your wicked words of deceit!"

"Actually, I'm just trying to point out that you've been following me into enemy lines for the past two minutes." The girl froze as she looked around and realized that the black-and-white emblem of the Silent Parliament was nowhere to be found. "On the plus side," I mused, "it's not exactly as if you can get any more surrounded than you already are."

"Then I shall go down in a blaze of glory!" The girl leapt at me, blade crackling with heat, and I raised an eyebrow. This one knew some magic, evidently. Nevertheless, it was fruitless; she'd misjudged her leap and landed in a sprawl on the floor.

I sighed, walking towards her—ostensibly to give her a hand, but this was the fourth time I'd played out this pattern, and my enemies would be predicting me. I kept my eyes on the sky, watching for the telltale flash of—

There.

Quick as a flash, I slashed one hand through the air, tearing open a rift between here and the Plane of Elemental Darkness. A fraction of a heartbeat later, an eerily silent column of holy light struck the ground around us, crisping the mud into brick and setting the corpses aflame—but beneath the shelter of the rift of darkness, the girl and I were kept safe.

"That was an artillery strike," I gently explained, "ordered by your army's commanding officer on your position, in the hopes of taking me out while I gave a fallen child a hand. Scorn me all you like, but do yourself a favor."

The girl's eyes were wide and shellshocked as they met mine.

"As long as you continue working for the Silent Parliament? Don't think of yourself as the hero."

I stood, leaving the shocked girl staring at the destruction her own commander had wrought—the destruction that I had protected her from—and went to exit the battlefield.

But before I could return to my warcamp, the girl croaked, "Wait."

I stopped, then turned, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I..." The girl swallowed. "This can't be right. They wouldn't just... they wouldn't just throw me away..."

"But they have." My gaze was not unkind as I knelt by her side. "Would you like to see how?"

The girl got to her feet, sword abandoned in the mud, and mutely nodded.

Then I closed my eyes—trusting her not to strike me—and reached into my soulspace, delicately carving away a portion of my memories. The memories of the first three heroes who had come to stop me, who I had spared, and who had been quietly vanished by their superiors without a trace.

The first one, of course, didn't believe me. Neither did the second, even when I presented him with the memories of his predecessors. The third simply broke down when I showed him the names and faces of the previous "heroes" who had challenged me.

But the fourth?

The fourth grew angry.

"This... this isn't right." The girl clenched her fists. "The Silent Parliament—they can't get away with this."

"They have so far," I gently said. "And they will, if nobody stops them."

The girl trembled with fury. "You told me that I could not call myself a hero, so long as I worked for the Silent Parliament."

Slowly, I nodded.

"Then let me call myself a hero." She held on to the fragment of my soul that I had gifted her. "Let me show everyone what happened here, so that another child like me is never tricked onto this battlefield again."

A quiet, fierce grin spread across my face, and I squeezed the girl's arm.

"I will remember you," I said. "My name is Odin, and I am the greatest Demon of Empathy to walk this world."

"My name is Haionn," she said, "and I am a hero."

Then Haionn strode to her own side of the battlefield, wielding memory and truth where once she held a blade.

###

"I don't buy it," I said the next morning.

Lucet, Meloai, and Tanryn were the only ones in earshot, but Lucet still reflexively looked around with her soulsight. We were alone in the strange vault that Lord Tanryn had built to keep his daughter safe from the last war the Silent Peaks had waged. I found it ironic that we were using it to the same end.

"What don't you buy?" Meloai asked.

"The dream," I said. "The Silent Peaks are fucking awful, but for all their evils..." 

“I left a child in a warzone,” Witch Aimes snarled, getting to her feet. “A helpless, imbecilic child who it is my job to re-educate and protect from the Redlands. To protect from monsters like you, in body and idea.”

"They don't use child soldiers," I said. "And they protect their young."

"I mean, how would we know if they did?" Lucet asked. "What are we going to do, ask around if anyone had any missing children as of late? The watch would wipe our memories of the last week just to be safe if they thought we were questioning them."

"That might very well be Odin's aim," Meloai pointed out. "The watch's stockpiles of liberosis are already running low; they don't have enough resources to keep everyone safely mind-wiped. Having them waste resources on debunking an unfalsifiable accusation might be the sole goal of their broadcast."

"Well, hang on." Tanryn hopped into the conversation. "I don't know about this Odin fellow—"

The three of us chuckled. It was sometimes... endearing, how out of touch with current events Tanryn was.

"—but you said they sent you all a soul fragment, right? If it's a memory, it has to have some grain of truth to it, even if it's carefully chosen."

I shook my head. "Odin can do nonsense with soul fragments that I didn't even know was possible. Case in point: none of us have any idea how they sent the exact same soul fragment to the entire city, simultaneously. I wouldn't put it past them to be able to just... completely fake a memory. And some parts of it have to be fake. I've seen Odin fight personally, and if they had the power to casually open rifts of that size, I'm certain they would have used it against Witch Aimes. I don't know if it's, like, an intimidation tactic, or a tutorial on how to counter light magic, but it's definitely not real."

"So we're left with two competing sources of obviously false news," Lucet summed up. "Well, I suppose that's better than one."

"Not strictly true," Meloai pointed out. "I could add as many sources of obviously fake news as you want, and the situation wouldn't improve." At our blank looks, she elaborated. "As some examples of unhelpful false reports: bees are fish, snow is hot, and Iola is a good person."

I couldn't help but giggle at that. Meloai's sense of humor took some getting used to, but... I was glad we had her, during these times. I could use a smile every now and then. "Odin's lies are a little more subtle than 'bees are fish', but I take your point. We shouldn't take *anything—*either from the broadcasts or the dreams—at face value."

"So then... what do we trust?" Lucet asked. She folded her knees inwards, hugging her legs as if she was a giant egg. Tanryn gave her a scandalized look for putting her shoes on one of House Tanryn's precious chairs, but Lucet didn't even notice. "I mean, for all we know, we've already lost the war and Odin's about to kill us all. Or we won yesterday, and the only reason the Silent Academy is still showing those broadcasts is to fuel some completely unrelated conflict. And I hate that. I hate that so much."

I bit my lip, thinking. "Well," I slowly said. "The last time I didn't trust the Academy's narrative on things..." I almost laughed from how much simpler those times were, when all I had to worry about was what counted as Academic and what counted as Fell magic. "I asked someone who had been there personally."

Meloai and Tanryn gave me confused looks, but Lucet straightened up. "I thought you said Jiaola hadn't come back yet."

"He hasn't," I agreed, "but there's one person with oracular powers and a highly motivated interest in knowing what happened to him."

I stood, stretching my back, and prepared to open a rift back to realspace.

"I think it's time I paid Uncle Sansen a visit," I finished, and tore open a gate back into the Silent Peaks.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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