#but I did manage three small yet significant tasks

[neutron-stars-collision]

I love those incredibly rare and unexpected moments when depression eases and I get inexplicable desire to tidy up my room. I wish they happened more often

[lelengerine]

pairing. sohee x reader

synopsis. it’s difficult to keep your feelings to yourself, especially when it starts ticking like a bomb that's ready to explode any minute

genre. royalty au? (more like dukedom…), wonbin is reader’s older brother, insecurities on being less favored, reader is described to be fem-bodied however there’s no specific pronouns mentioned, a lot of pining, mentions of food, lmk if anything else was missed <3

wc. 2.3k words

notes. have a small sohee oneshot because i wrote this after seeing him live and he was so good like ahhh i love him sm sm i could ramble about him all day TT likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

one step.

two steps.

three steps.

the echo of your heels clattering against the polished marble of your chambers filled the air as you paced back and forth, your hair slightly damp from the bath you had just taken, and your corset still unfastened at the waist. despite the myriad tasks that awaited you in preparation for the evening, an unmistakable restlessness gripped you. the dinner that loomed ahead was no ordinary family gathering. no, this was something far more significant—at least, to you.

tonight, you were to dine with the lees.

the lees were esteemed members of society, the custodians of one of the rare grand dukedoms in the kingdom—the only other belonging to your family—thus, it came as no surprise to anyone that your estates were nestled side by side. though the vast expanses of land surrounding each manor often made them feel worlds apart, this proximity led to spontaneous invitations like the one extended to your parents earlier that day.

nervousness always accompanied your encounters with the lees, not because of unfamiliarity, but quite the contrary. they welcomed you warmly whenever you visited, their kindness unwavering. you held their family in high regard, but a certain kind of affection lingered in your heart for their only son.

lee sohee.

your first encounter unfolded in the tulip gardens of your estate during one of your mother’s monthly tea parties. as a child, your preference laid in frolicking outdoors rather than sitting still at the adult table, sipping apple juice as they chattered on matters that did not concern you one bit. clad in a sundress made of flowy material and carrying a dainty parasol—as your mother had insisted you take with your person—you wandered off to the gardens as if it was routine.

there was a particular spot at the far end of the garden where a grand peach tree stood, and you often found solace beneath its branches. it was there you discovered him, a stray leaf caught in his hair as he slumbered in the shade. yet, as if sensing your presence, his eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light. he rubbed them gently before bestowing upon you a wide, toothy grin.

you stood captivated, unable to move at the sight before you. could someone radiate such sweetness that it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach? your younger self would have answered an unwavering yes.

sensing your surprise, he rose gracefully and approached you. “hi, i’m lee sohee!” he said before gesturing back toward the lively party you had come from. “my mom’s attending the tea party over there—i hope i’m not intruding over here…” although you were both young, an innocent and gentle aura surrounded him, making you feel light and giddy.

“not at all,” you managed to whisper, offering a shy smile. “my mother is hosting the tea party, you see.”

“oh, so you’re one of the park children?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide and glossy with curiosity.

“yes, my brother is wonbin. though many say we don’t look much alike,” you confided softly, recalling the times your brother’s looks were praised while you stood quietly beside him during the few times you attended galas in which your whole family’s attendance was required.

“but you’re really pretty,” he blurted out, quickly covering his mouth with the palms of his hands. subsequently, his words left you flustered, your cheeks warming at the unexpected compliment. you weren’t used to such remarks. how were you supposed to respond to such praise? noticing your silence, sohee worried he might have said something he shouldn’t have. “sorry, i tend to speak my mind too often. my father says it’s a bad habit to be a blabbermouth, but—”

“thank you.” your soft reply halted his apology, and he smiled as your face brightened with a smile and light laughter bubbled forth. “no one really ever tells me that, so i truly appreciate your kind sentiment.”

from that day on, a close bond formed between you, the memory of your first meeting remaining a cherished treasure even as the years passed. you liked to think that your feelings for him had taken root since then, though the exact moment they blossomed into your consciousness was difficult to pinpoint. still, they say timing is unimportant; what mattered was the certainty of your feelings—and you were more than certain.

“y/n! mother says we ought to leave soon!” your brother’s voice seeps through the crack in your door. “please tell me you’re nearly ready.” he sounded as if he were pleading, though you knew he was simply being his dramatic self.

“just five minutes, bin! i promise!” you chuckled at your brother’s antics, rolling your eyes at him. 

“good. that’s all the time you’ll get from me anyways.”

“alright, you grumpy old man.”

“i heard that! i’m merely two years older than you are!”

if anyone were to overhear the conversation between you and your brother, they might’ve scolded you for failing to uphold the decorum expected of those in your social standing. yet, the very act of defying such constraints made your sibling bond all the more liberating. neither of you gave much thought to the rigid social hierarchy anyways, preferring the comfort of each other’s company instead.

stepping out of your room, you found wonbin waiting, his arm offered for you to take. together, you made your way out of the estate, joining your parents as you headed towards sohee’s family home. the walk was far from lengthy, and soon you were a few steps before the grand entrance.

a staff member ushered you to the main dining hall, where you were guided to your seats. sohee’s family appeared shortly after, and pleasantries were exchanged among the parents, their voices filled with warmth as they caught up on each other’s lives. your eyes met sohee’s, and he gifted you that familiar smile, with a touch of boyish charm now that he’s grown older.

after greeting your parents, sohee made his way straight to you. “i missed you,” he murmured softly in your ear, his warm breath sending a gentle shiver down your spine. had it not been for the tight-knit relationship between your families, outsiders would have already put you both to shame—two diamonds of society spending time together in broad daylight without actual affirmation to be wed in the near future? the ridicule you would both receive was bound to be tremendous, and you’re not sure if sohee simply chooses for ignorance to plague him. you’re no stickler to society etiquette either, but you were still taught the ropes of how to survive the eyes of many should you be put in the spotlight nonetheless, and this was on top of the list of things you shouldn’t even have thoughts of comitting.

you could only nod, nervous about responding and fearing that your voice might betray you. “what’s with the mundane response? aren’t you glad to see your best friend?” he asked, a playful pout on his lips as he leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand.

“no, that’s not it!” you quickly shook your head to dismiss his worries. “i missed you too, i suppose.”

“you suppose?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “would it hurt you to be direct for once?” though his tone was light-hearted, his words planted a seed of hurt and frustration within you. how could you be direct with him when you feared your tongue may accidentally slip your feelings for everyone to hear? you were only but a cherished friend whose company he enjoyed when time would allow you two to meet. how could you hope to speak the truth that lies beneath the surface when your heart yearns for more than what your words could imply?

sohee wore that familiar expression again, the same one he had when he first saw you all those years ago in the garden, standing frozen in place. “are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

“i’m fine. sorry.” your voice was barely audible, mentally chiding yourself for dampening the mood. this was precisely why you felt so nervous earlier–the last thing you wanted was to ruin dinner–and yet, here you were.

he nodded gently, choosing not to press for answers, offering you a quiet moment of understanding instead which you silently thanked him for.

the rest of the meal carried the same atmosphere, an awkward tension flooding your senses with every bite of food you took. your mind was busy with thought after thought. perhaps sohee wouldn’t like to meet with you as often anymore after your not-so-pleasing attitude tonight–you wouldn’t blame him. you’ve been nothing but tongue tied around him, not only during this specific dinner but even during the last meeting that was organized by your families as well. perhaps, after this, he would start to avoid your gatherings altogether—the very idea made your stomach churn, and the platter of food before you suddenly seemed far less appetizing than it originally was.

you abruptly stand up from your seat, surprising everyone as you politely excuse yourself from the table before rushing out to find the nearest exit.

fresh air. that’ll definitely easen up your mood, you repeatedly tell yourself as if trying to console whatever you’re feeling.

you approach a nearby balcony and decide to lean on its railings, taking in the peaceful view of sohee’s estate it offers from its height. you start feeling a little better, till you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. you assume your brother was sent to check on you, turning on your heel. “bin, i’m alright-” oh, it wasn’t your brother. instead, it was the last person you wanted to see at the moment. 

sohee’s standing in front of you. the realization hits you a little later than you would have liked, leaving you with no room to try and escape your best friend’s clutches. “can we please talk?”

“what’s there to talk about?” this was the first time sohee had been exposed to this side of you. the you who was dismissive and gave out curt, uninterested replies. “i have nothing to explain.”

he’s a little taken aback but decides to stand his ground. “but you do. look- if it happens to be something i’ve done, then-”

“you’ve done nothing of ill interest.”

“then pray tell what’s bothering you.”

“…how would you describe someone who so desperately wishes a certain person would look their way no matter what, even for the slightest bit?” you start off, facing him properly as you try reading his reactions, “that the simplest of gestures make their heart burst out of their chest to the point the sound of their heartbeat envelops them whole like a never-ending mantra? that their thoughts are constantly filled by that certain person, whether that be in the most inconvenient times or not? that they’d pray to the gods above for an inkling of reciprocation, even if it seems almost delusional.”

“then… i’d say they’re in love.” he breathes out his answer after thinking it through and you take a deep breath in return–preparing yourself for whatever may come after your next few words.

“i suppose that means i’m in love.” and for the first time tonight, your chest feels the burden slowly lift off like it was never there in the first place–the feeling of relief slowly but surely filling the hole that was once there. “and it just so happens that the person my heart yearns for is you. i understand if you’d like to maintain a certain distance from me after this.”

his eyes grow wider as you continued on, lips parting ever so slightly as he takes in your words. it’s the first time you’ve seen him rendered speechless, by you no less, but you suppose it’s only natural after hearing someone pour their feelings onto you out of the blue. you wait for him to recollect himself, exercising patience, but your habit of biting your lower lip had sohee knowing you were sitting in a pool of nerves.

curiosity peaks his interest and before he could stop himself, he’s already asking questions with doe eyes, ones you can’t deny even if that wasn’t his intention. “...since when?” 

“i’m not exactly sure,” you admit, your cheeks puffing up as if caught in the act of a secret.

“why?”

“i just do. please don’t make me say it again,” you plead, beginning to feel as though you were under the gentle scrutiny of an inquisitor.

“this isn’t some jest, is it?”

“does everything seem like a jest to you, lee?” you respond with a soft smile, tilting your head slightly.

“no, no!” he quickly counters with a small laugh, hoping you wouldn’t misunderstand. “i just needed to be certain.”

now it’s your turn to inquire, “because?”

“so i can say with certainty that—” you place a hand over his mouth, your face blooming with a deep blush as you turn your gaze away. “don’t… my heart can’t bear to hear you say it now. i’ve already reached my limit long ago,” you murmur with a pout, slowly lowering your hand. sohee takes this as an invitation and gently places a kiss upon your lips and despite it being brief, it was enough for you to understand his intentions.

a swirl of emotions rushes through you, bubbling up like tea in a pot. “h-hey! what if someone sees?” you exclaim in panic as you struggle to process the public display of affection. sohee simply regards you with the shrug of his shoulders. “then let them see?”

“you know that’s rather taboo in our society,” you remind him, touching your lips with a finger as if still in disbelief from earlier.

sohee stifles a laugh, though it escapes him in spite of his efforts. “since when did you care about the opinions of society’s circles?”

“be quiet, you,” you scold him gently, giving his shoulder a playful punch before he pulls you into a warm embrace. for a moment, you savor his closeness, though it's short-lived as it’s just in his system to tease you further. “to think this is what made you so moody,” he murmurs, leaning toward to bury his face in the crook of your neck before you pull away with a frown–much to his dismay.

“that’s enough! we’re heading back to the dining hall,” you declare, dismissing his attempt at further affection as he whines at the loss of contact, already walking away.

“hey!” he calls after you, taking quick strides to catch up. “one more kiss before we go in?”

you only shake your head with a smile, “okay, just one kiss.”

[neartheeasternfence]

The Yakuza Prince

Impressions; Chapter 55

Since there are three or more intermittent panels in which Doumeki is wide-eyed, he looks appreciably astonished to hear that Yashiro is impotent. He tries not to divulge the privacy of Yashiro that he knows, even though he is virtually ‘sharing’ Yashiro with Inami. But Inami must have caught it on. I like the way Doumeki described that Yashiro’s body cannot be helped (lustful) (ch.50, vol.8). He does not attribute Yashiro’s ‘lustfulness’ to a matter of personality. More precisely, I like the prudence of this author in these details. Doumeki would have thought that Yashiro’s body needed constant care for its ‘lustfulness,’ and he has taken on that task, and done it. And then he might well have realized that he did not want any other man to do it.

Inami also offers some business information. The two almost have reached the same view that Kai may have had something to do with the Niki kidnapping. And that about Okuyama, it appears he has been reclusive recently.

Hirata had temporarily occupied the position of a deuteragonist during his conflict, and from now on, it seems Tsunakawa will be so. He is an intriguing type of yakuza in this work. Yashiro, Nanahara, Sugimoto, Hirata, Doumeki, and probably even Misumi drifted into the yakuza world as outcasts with nowhere else to go, and then, they formed a pseudo-family there. But for Tsunakawa, it is the family business. He was born into a declining family as a scion. The baby grew up and undertook both obligations imposed on him and promised privileges without being daunt. Young Tsunakawa was an irreverent yakuza prince, radiating a glistening ambition to rebuild the small kingdom he was to inherit.

10 years later, he still “has forced himself” from the corresponding need (ch.37, vol.7), and the Sakura Family has many enemies. At the same time, he appears to be a pretty good family man. Since the Family has survived through a system of hereditary succession, it is likely that their patriarch, the clan leader for generations too, has managed to balance the family business and family life. At a very young age, Niki understood the significance of Doumeki’s missing small finger (ch.37). It is natural for her that men who serve Papa would attend to her as well. Do not know what kind of life she will choose for herself after she grows up, yet for now she has accepted the fate of the yakuza little princess. It was Tsunakawa himself who cut Kai’s left eye. Then it looked like Kai lost his left small finger and was excommunicated from the Family. When Okuyama-gumi became independent, he must have settled there. Indeed, Okuyama seemed to be calm, or “a man who does not know what he is thinking (ch.49, vol.8).”

Doumeki bowing to Tsunakawa, replying, “I understood,” it feels like all the more ‘manly.’ It would be partly because his neck looks thicker, but also because it can be figured readily that he is in control of his swirling emotions for Yashiro under the equable attitude he shows to his superiors. The car on the next page would be parked near the gate of the Tsunakawa house. Doumeki has the media in his hand, putting a pained expression on his face. Then he drives to Yashiro’s high-rise condo.

Four years ago, when Yashiro took a cigarette out, it was one of Doumeki’s functions to light it (ch.15, vol.3 or a line drawing end of vol.3). Yashiro neither asks, “Are you back?” nor “Why do you take it away?” He might have been surprised, otherwise centers on this moment. He must feel reluctant to let go of what their reunion and the ensuing concerted action have brought.

Yashiro and Domeki seem to be getting closer emotionally, not only physically. Concomitantly, Doumeki has been in a dilemma between his loyalty to the Sakura Family and his private emotions toward the former boss. On the other hand, Yashiro’s trauma has never been unresolved. That is why he has needed Inami for the last four years.

What Yashiro had undergone was too relentless to overcome as if nothing untoward had occurred. It should be impossible to do such. By all means, however, I do hope his severe psychological load due to the profound devastation to his fundamental sense of safety, security, and faith in others -- his anxiety and fear of his existence -- will lessen, and he will be able to deal with them more moderately. Expect how further the work explores it...

[mccdreamys-writes]

smiles for miles – 24. forty-five-and-a-half

we can let them wonder; everyone thinks they know the truth. - Keaton Simons, Nobody Knows

N O V E M B E R   9 T H   2 0 1 1

For the past three days, life had been a whirlwind since I brought Maile to live with me. It felt like a major milestone, almost as significant as the day I decided to reconnect with her after our past parted ways.

As I walked into the office, Reid greeted me warmly. "Hey, Alex! Welcome back."

I had deliberately taken three days off, fully dedicating myself to being with Maile. Every moment was spent getting to know her better, studying her habits and idiosyncrasies. It might sound a bit voyeuristic, but my aim was to truly get to know her, all of her.

I couldn't help but notice how she cradled her glass with both hands, a gesture that echoed innocence, like a child holding onto something precious. And the way she drank, taking small, deliberate sips instead of the usual gulps, was incredibly charming.

"It's good to be back," I replied, my words filled with genuine warmth.

As I made my way over to my desk, I spotted Morgan, JJ, and Garcia already there, their laughter and chatter filling the air. It was like they had their own little bubble of camaraderie, and privacy was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, hey, turtledove," Morgan greeted me with a grin, mischief dancing in his eyes.

Finding my desk occupied, I settled for perching on the edge of Reid's desk, joining the lively group.

"Come on, spill the beans," Garcia urged, leaning forward eagerly. "Did anything juicy happen while you were away?"

Yep, privacy wasn't exactly on the menu. But in the midst of all the banter and teasing, there was a comforting sense of belonging with my team. I knew behind their playful jests lay unwavering support.

Putting on a facade of innocence to mask my racing thoughts, I casually asked, "What should have happened?" It wasn't just a casual inquiry; it was a subtle way to gain more understanding in what they wanted to know.

But before anyone could respond, Hotch briskly walked past us, his expression serious and focused. The file in his hand hinted at the urgency of the situation. "Four homicides in Colorado Springs," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility as he headed towards the conference room.

After we hashed out every detail of the case in the conference room and combed through it again on the plane, we found ourselves with a solid three hours of travel time left before landing at our destination.

During this downtime, the three youngest members of our team wasted no time in bombarding me with questions. They were like eager detectives, hungry for every scrap of information. But I managed to dance around their inquiries that tiptoed into personal territory, skillfully deflecting without giving too much away.

Meanwhile, Hotch and Rossi remained focused as ever, absorbed in their own tasks and discussions. Their quiet efficiency stood in stark contrast to the lively chatter that surrounded them.

Morgan's question hung in the air, wrapped in a mix of curiosity and mischief. His playful yet persistent tone hinted at the burning desire to know more. "So you were going to tell us what happened between the two of you," he prodded, his eyes sharp with anticipation.

With a subtle shake of my head, I pushed back gently against the inquiry. "No," I responded, a wry smile dancing on my lips as I sought to maintain a sense of mystery. "You simply asked me 'if' something had happened. I never said anything had." Despite my attempt to deflect, I couldn't suppress a flicker of amusement at the exchange.

But JJ, always quick to pick up on things, chimed in with a knowing grin. "Oh, come on. Your face says it all," she teased, adding a playful twist to the conversation. "Something definitely happened."

"And what would that be?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow at the mysterious exchange unfolding before me, eager to hear their theories.

Their eyes met, passing silent messages like telegrams filled with hidden secrets. Morgan leaned in, whispering something to Reid, his words veiled in secrecy. Reid, in turn, shared the confidential message with JJ, their heads close together in a secretive huddle. As they murmured among themselves, I watched, anticipation growing, wondering what bombshell would come from their covert conversation.

Finally, they broke from their huddle, faces displaying newfound determination, tinged with mischief. With a playful nudge from JJ, Reid stepped forward, ready to deliver their collective conclusion.

"Alright," he began, voice laced with mischief. "After some intense deliberation and analysis of all the facts, we, well, mainly these two," he gestured towards Morgan and JJ with a sly grin, "have come to the conclusion that there must have been... some form of coitus."

I nearly choked on my drink, caught off guard by Reid's bombshell. "And how did you arrive at that conclusion?" I managed to splutter, disbelief evident in my voice.

Once again, my coworkers gathered closely, heads bent as if sharing some secret scheme. Reid stepped forward, taking on the role of spokesperson with a mix of amusement and a hint of embarrassment.

"Considering you two have been living together for three days," Reid began, his words cautious, "it's possible you've had some... opportunities." He shot me a knowing glance before adding, "And Alex, it's been a long time since you were last with someone."

His words hit me like a sucker punch, making me cough on my drink. Morgan nudged Reid forward, silently signaling him to get to the point.

"Yeah, yeah," Reid said to Morgan before turning to me. "And let's not forget, you two are head over heels for each other, like a couple of horny teenage boys ready to jump at anything that moves."

I stayed silent, refusing to give their comments any acknowledgment. Frustration hung heavy in the air as I got up from my seat and moved to the far end of the plane. There, I sought refuge in the quiet corner, determined to distance myself from their teasing and gossip that seemed to fill the cabin.

N O V E M B E R   1 0 T H   2 0 1 1

In a remarkable show of teamwork and clever thinking, we cracked the case in just two days. It was a real testament to our skills and dedication. But even as we celebrated our success, I knew better than to get too comfortable. Experience had taught me that triumphs often meant tougher challenges ahead. So, despite our recent win streak, I braced myself for whatever tough case might come next, knowing it could drag on for weeks, testing our patience and brainpower.

As the clock struck 9 PM, signaling the end of another long day, the office buzz quieted down. My desk was buried under a mountain of paperwork that seemed to grow by the minute. Looking around, I noticed the usually bustling office was strangely empty. It was just me and Reid, his presence standing out in the deserted workspace. It was unusual, and I couldn't help but wonder where everyone else was.

"Hey Reid, do you know—" I started, but he cut me off, seamlessly blending the end of my sentence into his response.

"Blake, could you hand in my case report?" His voice was urgent as he dropped a stack of papers on my desk and dashed off before I could even react.

"Yeah, sure," I muttered, though inwardly, I felt a twinge of annoyance at being saddled with yet another task. It seemed like the endless pile of work was something I couldn't escape, no matter how much I wanted to.

As I weaved through the office, dodging desks and cubicles, the weight of the reports in my arms felt heavier with each step. It was like the air itself was conspiring to make my burden even heavier.

Approaching Hotch's office, I was stopped before I could even knock. Hotch stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, his demeanor as solid as the walls around us.

"You can take those to Strauss," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument as he handed me another stack of reports. "She wants to review them herself."

I nodded silently, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as I thought about the endless stream of tasks waiting for me. Duty called, and I had no choice but to answer.

Turning on my heel, I headed towards Erin's office. We had a history. There was a time when our connection hinted at something more, a potential for romance lingering on the edge of our professional partnership. But that fragile thread snapped when Erin betrayed my trust, leaving me to fend for myself during a critical moment in one of our cases.

As I stepped into Erin's office, I found her deeply immersed in scrutinizing case files, her brow creased with concentration. "Thought I'd add to your stack," I quipped lightly, placing the files on her cluttered desk.

She looked up, exhaustion evident in her face, and gave a brief nod of thanks. "Appreciate it."

I hesitated, ready to leave, but her next question caught me off guard. "How are you holding up, Alex? After everything?" I assured her, hiding any vulnerability behind a calm facade.

"I'm heading home to her right after this," I announced firmly, turning to leave without waiting for a response. "Take care." I glanced back briefly before stepping out of her office.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I felt anticipation building inside me. Home was calling, and I was eager to embrace it with open arms.

Feeling utterly drained yet excited to finally reach the comfort of my home, I trudged up the familiar path leading to our house, my bag hanging heavily from my shoulder. Despite the fatigue weighing me down, the thought of reuniting with my favorite person pushed me onward with a newfound determination.

"Hey, I'm back!" I called out as I pushed open the door, anticipating Maile's cheerful response. But to my surprise, the house was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere I had expected.

"Maile?" I called again, venturing further inside, a sense of unease settling over me as I scanned the rooms for any sign of her. Then, I spotted the colorful balloons scattered throughout the house, hinting at Maile's activities during my absence.

Intrigued yet cautious, I continued exploring, unsure of what surprise awaited me. Suddenly, Maile's voice rang out, breaking the silence and making me jump in surprise. As I turned the corner, I was met with an unexpected sight.

The room was filled with the cheerful chatter of my entire team, each one wearing festive party hats that Maile must have persuaded them to don. Even Hotch, known for his serious demeanor, couldn't hide the hint of a smile as he joined in the festive celebration.

I stood there, eyes wide with disbelief, taking in the scene unfolding before me. The table was piled high with delicious snacks and refreshing drinks, all meticulously arranged by Maile. Balloons of different sizes hung from the ceiling, forming the numbers '45 ½' in a playful nod to the occasion.

Baffled by the unexpected celebration, I couldn't help but ask, "What's this?" My voice held a mix of surprise and genuine curiosity.

Maile beamed with warmth as she approached, gently taking the weight off my shoulders and guiding me towards the gathering. "We're celebrating," she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious as she led me into the midst of our friends.

Confused but intrigued, I looked around at the smiling faces, each one filled with excitement and anticipation. "But what are we celebrating?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued by the mystery that surrounded the occasion.

Maile's smile widened as she explained the reason behind the surprise party. "I couldn't be there for your 45th birthday, or for many before," she confessed, her words carrying a heartfelt sincerity that touched my soul. "And I thought you deserved a celebration. So, we are celebrating your 45-and-a-half-th birthday, which just so happens to be today."

A soft chuckle escaped me as I soaked in Maile's thoughtful gesture. "My 45-and-a-half birthday, huh?" I mused, feeling a surge of affection for her. It was moments like these that reminded me of just how wonderful she was, her creativity and kindness never failing to warm my heart.

"Absolutely," she affirmed with a playful glint in her eye. "I couldn't let such a milestone pass, now could I?" Her words were filled with joy, echoing the festive atmosphere that surrounded us.

A rush of laughter bubbled up from deep within me, spilling out in waves of pure joy as I leaned in to share the moment with Maile. Pulling her close, I wrapped her in a tender embrace, feeling the warmth of her against me as I pressed my lips to hers in a sweet, gentle kiss. In that fleeting moment, amidst the laughter and celebration, I felt a swell of emotion rising within me.

It wasn't just any kiss; it was a milestone, a symbol of how far we'd come together. Sharing that kiss openly, in front of our friends, felt like a true achievement—a testament to our journey and the newfound freedom and authenticity we'd discovered in our relationship.

Though my team already knew about us, their reactions were filled with genuine excitement and happiness, as if they were witnessing our love unfold for the very first time. Their collective gasps and cheers filled the room, creating an atmosphere of warmth and camaraderie that surrounded us all.

In that moment, I was reminded of the unwavering support and friendship I found in each of them. They were more than just colleagues; they were my true cheerleaders, always ready to lift each other up and celebrate life's milestones together. It was moments like these that made me grateful for the bond we shared, a bond that went beyond work and touched the depths of our hearts.

"Time for cake!" Maile's suggestion of diving into a sweet treat was met with a gentle reminder from me about the late hour. Glancing at my watch, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern as I noted the time.

"It's almost 10 PM," I remarked, subtly expressing my hesitation about indulging in cake so late.

But Garcia, always one to champion the joys of life, quickly dismissed any worries. "Who cares about the time? Cake is always a good idea!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious.

With a grin echoing Garcia's sentiment, Maile nodded in agreement and playfully nudged her in camaraderie. "Exactly," she chimed in, her tone lighthearted as she acknowledged Garcia's unwavering love for life's little pleasures. "That woman knows what she's talking about."

Then, with a playful tease, Maile turned to me. "Now, malady," she continued, "you're going to sit back and enjoy the cake I ordered because the one I made was definitely not edible without a heavy case of food poisoning."

[thetoxicgamer]

Wild Hearts Improves Monster Hunter, and That’s Great News for Both

Wild Hearts, a fantasy game from Koei Tecmo's Omega Force division that will be distributed by EA and is already looking like a formidable threat to Capcom's crown, is about to debut. It may seem a little crazy to think that one game could out-monster Monster Hunter, but Wild Hearts makes several significant advancements for fans of the series in general and Monster Hunter fans in particular. I’ve played over 2,000 hours of Monster Hunter World. That’s a lot of time, and not something I say lightly – but I say it with confidence, because it’s a game that earns your attention. I didn’t play it for that long out of some weird obligation or because I was adamantly stuck in a grind, I was simply having fun. I’ve also put several hundred hours into Monster Hunter Rise, a game that’s even more impressive than World in some ways despite its intentionally smaller scope. After all that time, you notice the small things – and Wild Hearts is set to make some key improvements that Monster Hunter would do well to learn from in the future. Among these is fully fledged crossplay for players on PC, PlayStation, and Xbox – including the option for in-game voice chat along with the text chat and emote options you’d expect in line with Monster Hunter’s stickers and shoutouts. That’s a very welcome change, especially as my gaming friends are somewhat spread out across platforms nowadays. Hunts in Wild Hearts – much like their Monster Hunter equivalents – will fail after three faints. However, the ability to revive teammates and salvage yourself one of your three chances makes the appeal of tackling the hardest Wild Hearts monsters in a group much more enticing. Some of the toughest fights in Monster Hunter World and its Iceborne expansion almost felt easier alone, because you weren’t sharing that failure counter across a wide group that could see the entire hunt end with one devastating attack. Also a welcome improvement is the way Wild Hearts camps work. Much like Monster Hunter, you’ll be able to build additional camps as rest points around the world. However, as demonstrated by YouTuber ‘Ms 5000 Watts’ (seen below, at the 9:33 mark), you can place these down anywhere you like and can then build out on them as you see fit, including the likes of ziplines and other Wild Hearts tools to help get to and from them quickly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSJQZ6FUlfk Once again, that’s a nice evolution of the systems seen in Monster Hunter World and Rise. In addition to this, you can eat food at any time to gain stat buffs, as long as you aren’t in combat. The most recent Monster Hunter games did make improvements to allow you to eat at camp once out on a hunt, but being able to do it anywhere is an even nicer feature. Changes such as this let you focus on your task at hand without being punished for forgetting the perfect order of activities – something that comes easily to veterans, but can prove yet another stumbling block for newcomers. On a similar note, Ms 5000 Watts shows off the Wild Hearts training area (at around 6:28 in the video above), which gives you complete, step-by-step guidance to your weapon alongside adopting the Monster Hunter World moveset in the corner of the screen (something notably absent from Rise). Along with aiming to ease newer players into the experience more smoothly than Monster Hunter has ever quite managed, Wild Hearts promises more direct accessibility settings including a screen reader, text-to-speech and speech-to-text options, and other settings such as colourblind tools to help players enjoy the game as intended. Wild Hearts - a giant Kemono that resembles a stone monkey bares its fangs in angerAs a Monster Hunter diehard, it won’t surprise you that I also ploughed quite a lot of time into Dauntless – a more arcadey spin on the format from Phoenix Labs and Epic Games. While that game was a pretty solid take on the genre, it definitely leant hard into the faster, simpler side of things, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that it had some influence on Capcom making the notably nippier Monster Hunter Rise next. Wild Hearts, by comparison, seems to be angling much more directly for the scale, scope, and spectacle that World gave us back in 2018. There’s no word on Monster Hunter World 2 yet, but it feels like a fairly safe bet that Capcom will want a direct follow up to its best-selling game of all time. Hopefully Wild Hearts proves to be just as good as it’s shaping up to be. Whether it does that or falls short, however, its very existence should drive Capcom to make Monster Hunter even better in the future. Competition ultimately benefits us all, in the end. Wild Hearts releases on February 16 on Steam, the Epic Games Store, and the EA Store. In the meantime, check out more of the best games like Monster Hunter, along with more of the best co-op games if you just fancy a good time with some pals. Read the full article

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Meadows

--

Requested: @tropodyn

Than you for the request! I took some creative liberties, hope you like it! 😃

Pairing: Obi wan x reader

Contents: Angsty Obi wan and sharing a shower, need I say more? 😌

Warnings: none.

Word count: 3300. Yup three thousand words about taking a shower 🤣

--

You hold tight to the sides of the speeder as he drives through Mos Eisley, the dust and sand sticking to your skin under the heat of the two suns. The small outline of the town ahead came into view as it broke through the mirage of silver sand. The mission at hand was nuanced, a bounty hunter was carrying classified information on an escaped prisoner. You were tasked by the council to retrieve this information while pretending to be a bounty hunter yourself. The task by itself was easy but it was the person you were assigned with that presented an issue.

All of this was new, the irony was that you had known him since you were in your early teens. That by itself should warrant you to say that you knew everything about him but the reality of the situation was that you avoided him at all costs. He was dressed like a bounty hunter, same as you but you were only used to seeing him in his robes. All this was stemming from the fact that he could change. You did know everything about him and so you knew how incapable he was, to change. You leaned away from him, leaving a gap between your seats, choosing to hold on to the warm metal side bars when your mind was telling you to wrap it around his waist. That even though the sun beamed down on you, you still wanted to feel the warmth of his skin.

For years, this feeling in the pit of your chest plagued you. The problem was you didn’t want to contemplate it’s significance ever since that day in the fields. As a Jedi you were taught to detach yourself from your emotions and yet you were never able to conquer this particular feeling, that propped up anytime you saw him. In the fear of anyone finding out, it was for the best that you distanced yourself from him.

As inconvenient it was he preferred the dust blowing against his face than having to deal with the fact that you were seated behind him. He tried to convince the Jedi Masters to let him do this on his own but his request was denied and the one person they chose had to be someone from his past. Someone he had a hard time forgetting although he was acting like he did. The cloth and goggle covered his face and his the rubber gloves held tight to the speeder’s handle bars but even through the layers of his jacket, in some whimsical teenage dream, he wanted you to loop your arms around his chest. He was the top of his class and being Qui Gon’s Padawan, he knew all about feelings and how to handle them. But the one he had for you, well he knew that best because for years, he had been trying to get rid of it.

The moment the vehicle stopped you hopped down. The faster you finish all this, the less time you would have to spend with him. He was the one assigned to collect the info disk, so you chose to stay outside with the speeder to make sure no one would steal it having known about the reports from this area. But the suns began to sink lower and there was still no sign of him. The heat died down and a brutal chillness began to set it. The cantina bubbled with soft music and warm light but it only made you impatient. You wanted to march in and pour out your frustration that you’ve managed to store up over him all at once. You turn and see two silhouetted figures walk out. One was supporting the other, who was swaying around his arm. Great, he was drunk. This was the last thing you needed. Only when you got closer you realized that it was the bounty hunter who was counting stars while the other seemed to open his mouth to warn you about something. “You must be the missus eh.”, the bounty hunter slurred. You clicked your tongue and looked at the fellow Jedi. “What did you do?”, the words escaped like daggers. “He doesn’t have it with him.”, He spoke through his teeth faking a smile. “Its over at the motel he’s staying at.”, he continued and you looked over at the man who was moments away from passing out. “Fine. Try to get it before he passes out.”, you fold your hands. “I told his crew I was here with my ”, his blue eyes catches yours and even in the dim light you could sense something hidden beneath, “wife.”, he said quietly. “You what?”, your voice rose but quickly sensed the others who were walking out the establishment.

 “Everything alright?”, a member asked and you straightened up. “Yes, everything’s fine.”, you smiled and watched relief flood his face. Handing over the drunk individual, he fell in step next to you. “The disk’s in a safe, the code needs to be entered by each one of them and some of them aren’t convinced.”, he whispers quickly glancing back at the crew. But it’s when he slips his hand around your waist and pulls you closer that it sinks in, what the new stakes were. This task was getting to be more difficult than you had imagined.

Cautious. He felt the panic rush through his veins. This could make you push him away further with all the added unnecessary complications. He wasn’t a great liar, all of this was going to come crumbling down. He knew they were watching and you were chiding him. Your eyes, blazing pots of coal every time  they looked at him and it made him wonder if that was reserved only for him. He wanted to know if they could ever be simmered down like when you were a young padawan, your eyes held a certain golden hue filled with something that made him feel on top of the world any time he caught a glimpse of it. That too was reserved only for him but some where along the way he had lost the privileges to being the apple of your eye. Before he could think this through, his hand slid around your waist and there it was. For a brief second, the fire vaporized and he saw honey. But now he didn’t know who he was trying to convince, the crew that you both  were in love or to himself, that he had forgotten you.

The disk was finally in your possession. Now you could go home and wash away the burn from your skin from where his hand grazed your skin. It had opened the box you had kept sealed. The desert vanished and you were sixteen again laying in the grass mesmerized at the sound of his voice. You blink and it vanishes. This torment was why you stayed away. He unraveled you like pulling away a ribbon. “We can get back home now.”, he walked up next to you and it brought you away from your thoughts. “Right, let’s get to it.”, you couldn’t look at him. But from across the street, you came to realize this day was only focused on worsening because your speeder wasn’t there anymore.

He stopped as soon as he noticed. “Another surprise.”, you heard his response. But you felt defeated. “Any shop in a walkable distance will be closed at this hour.”, you told him and he hummed in response. “I’ve got us accommodation for the night here.”, he spoke with hesitation. “I will get you home at the earliest tomorrow and –  “Obi wan, you don’t have to worry about how I get home. We both know you don’t remember where I live or anything about me. So save the pleasantries.”, you cut him off and march in, leaving him on the street.

He pushed the door with his shoulder to release it. The room was small and the moment he saw the bed, he wanted to collapse on the sheets. But staying in the same place as the bounty hunting crew meant he had to keep up his performance. It was unfortunate he had to drag you along, he knew you best, so he knew how much you hated surprises. The room felt even smaller when you entered, he could sense the weight of your thoughts and your aversion to him. The truth was, he knew why you were guarded around him. The memory plays in his head every day, any time he sees you. He’s laying next to you in a grassy field, the smell of wild flowers and the sweet summer breeze. He was in love, still was. The sun being more kind to you than it was to him by giving you a golden glow. In that moment, you had confided in him. That you had feelings for him and all he did was lie to you about having to go back. The memory fades and he pushed back his hair. This day was being unpredictable.

Opening your vest caused for loose sand to spill to the floor. Your hair was matted by the dust, your skin felt clogged and the sand seemed to have gotten everywhere. But you had not planned for this, so you didn’t have an extra set of clothes to change into. The presence of a single bed and the tight space meant the distance between you and him could not be more than an arm’s length. You look over your shoulder to keep a tab on his movements to see him sit by the water heater and tap the glass display. “It looks like it’s broken.”, he broke the silence that seemed to exist between you. “What do you mean?”, you ask him as you peel away your jacket. “It means there is only enough water for one person to take a shower.”, he explains and you feel frustrated.

 “Great.”, you comment and pull away your boots to have more sand fall to the ground. It was clear you could not sleep at this state and neither could he, he looked worser with his lustrous hair now looking dull and his face smeared with dry sand. As though he could read your thoughts, he moved around you to retrieve his bag. “I’ve got another tunic with me and we might be able to use the shower together without having to see each other.”, he starts to explain and you move away from him.

It was bad enough when he rejected you all those years ago, now peeling away your clothes only to have him be repulsed was starting to open old wounds. “Can you stop.”, you ask looking out the window and he pauses. “I’ve had the worst day possible and I can’t deal with any more of your lies. The current one being that you act like you care.”, you trail a finger over your collar bone.

That feeling was back, the one you tried to forget, the one that made him reject you and the one that broke your friendship. “I’m sorry.”, he said softly. But you knew he wasn’t apologizing for any of the recent events. So he remembers. “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you.”, you could hear the sound of his footsteps getting closer. “But the truth is, I miss you.”, his voice gets louder. “I can’t ignore you in the hallways. I want to talk to you about my day. I miss the sound of your laugh and the way your eyes turn darker every time you look at me.”, he spoke but you could feel the pain in his voice. “So please tell me there is some way I can earn your forgiveness.”, he pleads and the ribbon is pulled free. It tugs your heart and in that moment it all fell into place, the past and the present, that you were still in love with him.

“Where do I live?”, you asked. It was a property that included the meadows, a place that held so many memories of you and him. “Sector H-46.Unit 15.”, he said without missing a beat. “How can I forget the fields?”, he questions but instead of giving his an answer you turn around and wrap him in a hug. His arms wrap around you the instant he understood what had happened. “How can I forget you?”, he says softly into your ear and you feel the heaviness in your chest had disappeared. But the dust from his jacket makes you sneeze and so you make up your mind. “Fine, we share the shower space but we never speak of it again.”, you pin him with a stare but the a smile breaks out on his face. “This has my dignity on the line too.”, he laughs. “I never took you for the virtuous type. After all you kissed all the girls in our class, except me.”, you shoot back as you peel away your layers. “I did not.”, he flares, his eyes turning dark blue and his cheeks flushing a deep red.

He enters the bathroom and you pull away your pants. You stand behind the door, reluctant to enter. “Close your eyes.”, you instruct him and he laughs. “Need I remind you of the crystal lake incident?”, he asks to which you gasp. “You said you saw nothing.”, you yell and he laughed. “Fine, my eyes are closed and I kept my word then. I didn’t see anything.”, he says and you enter. He stands facing the wall, he wore his dark briefs and his hands over his eyes.

His heart was beating so fast, his mind reminding him of that summer in crystal lake. He came in search of the group but instead saw you take a swim. It was the first time he’d seen a girl in a swim suit and since then no other woman had been able to erase your impact. But things were different now, that happened ages ago. Now you were a woman and he was a man. The innocence wanted to break away to reveal desire. So he kept his eyes covered and fought the urge to see you. He heard your footsteps and a shiver ran down his spine. This seemed impossible. But then it hit him. “Wait you have your eyes open. How is that fair?”, he asked. “Like you don’t enjoy the attention you get from all the women on Coruscant.”, he hears you snicker and all he wanted was to turn to hold you by the shoulders and say no. That the only one who had a hold like that over him was you.

“How does this work?”, you weren’t able to get the water running so he tried to do it without turning around but instead he tipped over the soap and shampoo bottle. So he bent to grad a hold of the bottle when he saw your foot and as he straightened, he took in the length of your leg when he heard you gasp. He took in the patterns that marked your body, up your leg and over the curve of your waist. Your deep purple bikini set contrasting your tan skin. The wisp of black ink traversed the surface of your skin. It hit him, the water. Right on his face making him stagger back like a punch to the gut cause he was never going to recover from this and no other woman was going to compare. He wiped the water from his eyes and caught your eyes.

The water ran drenched him and dripped down his nose. It wiped his clean and his skin gleamed, his chest broad and firm. His shoulder lean and sculpted. He looked like a marble statue that had been wiped clean. But the reality was that he wasn’t the boy you once knew, he was …

Your words died were they were beginning to form when he ran a finger over one of your tattoos, following it’s shape over your abdomen. “You’re a work of art.”, he whispered and it was all the courage you needed to forget the past. You took a step forward and grabbed the shampoo bottle from his hand. Taking the liquid in your hands you split it equally in your palms and ran your finger through his scalp. His eyes widen but soon after they darkened. “I didn’t kiss all the girls in our class.”, he told you like it had affected him deeply. “It doesn’t matter.”, you ease him but his hands settle on the curve of your hips. “It does because I’ve only wanted to kiss you.”, he stands beneath the water to wash away the foam but his statement made you feel grateful for the steam around you, he couldn’t see your cheeks turn red.

“Says the kid who ran away.”, you tell him and he catches your wrist preventing you from taking the soap. He takes it in his palm and works up a lather. Tilting your chin up he applied it carefully over your face, making it impossible for you to move away. “I’m not a kid anymore.”, he holds the side of your face as he wipes away the dirt, the water feeling pleasant on your skin. You keep your eyes closed, “So you’re a man who knows what he wants?”, you ask as you feel him push your hair away. “Yes.”, he says and you feel his lips on yours. The water runs over your faces but he kisses you soft and slow, his lips feeling warm and fresh. He pulls away and you see his blue eyes glimmer. He was gauging your reaction and you had to let him know that you were waiting for ages.

“Good.”, you respond and pull him back. Now, there was the passion that he had kept hidden behind those eyes. He moved with a force, his arms holding you close as he breaks for air. But he doesn’t stop, like all these years of being apart made this moment possible. He supported your neck as he kissed the length of you neck down to your collar bone, finally placing a tender peck on your forehead, you rested your head on his chest and heard the way his heart hammered.

 You laid down by the fire to dry the innerwear you had on but he never left your side. He asked you the meaning behind some of your tattoos while he drew over a few other by tracing his finger over the pattern and you knew it was time to show him the one that belonged to him. You took a hold of his hand and placed his pointer finger over the underside of your rib, where his name was. “The first one I ever got.”, you told him and he paused, the edge of his eyes glistening. He bent over and kissed the spot the tattoo was. His hair was lustrous and golden in the warm light, it dried with great volume while being light and fluffy. He always wore it down with hair gel, so now you ran your fingers through his silken strands and watched as it shimmered gold. He moved around to grab you his tunic after he wore one. Pulling the fabric over your head, it smelled liked him with a hint of detergent. The fabric stopped short over your knees and it was soft to touch. He took your hand and walked you to the bed before flopping down, taking you with him. You laughed as he settled into the pillows while wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t run away this time.”, you pause, “Obi.”, you whisper to which he chuckled and nuzzled into your neck.

“I’m not planning to.”, he responds and laying in the warmth of his arms, sleep took over sooner than you thought.

[irradiate-space]

The Mardi Bash, 1984, and SAC_2045's Sustainable War: How do we achieve peace if the Mardi bash' is right?

I'm going to put most of this under a spoiler, but this is inspired by a tag I once saw from @isaacsapphire: "the mardi bash was right". It stuck with me because it's an apt condensation of Great Powers diplomacy-via-proxy-war, and because I've seen more fiction recently that deals with the perpetual wars.

Spoilers follow for Ghost in the Shell: SAC_2045's second season, and basically the entire Terra Ignota series starting with Too Like The Lightning. Spoilers also for the endgame of Worth The Candle and the early settings of The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect and The Matrix.

The Mardi bash was a think tank whose working theory of war was that the longer a period of peace there was, the more horrible the next war would be. They spent their lives to answer the question: How do you prevent the next war from being apocalyptic?

I. A list of solutions in Minecraft

SAC_2045's second season reveals that the first season's "sustainable war" — a Great Powers conflict managed by AIs and fought primarily with robots and mercenaries, to relieve international conflict via the minimum of violence and destruction necessary — was created and orchestrated by an American Empire AI called 19A4. 19A4's tasking included the requirement for world peace and a benefit to all humanity, but the American Empire should benefit the most.

Terra Ignota's OS Conspiracy is revealed to be a hereditary band of assassins who relieve inter-Hive (read: international) conflict via deaths chosen by human computers who can find the one person on Earth whose death will resolve the conflict. Their choice of whom to kill is subject to practical and political restrictions: only someone whose death will have a significant impact, only an unpromising person (no members of OS' own Humanist Hive), no one whose death will expose OS, no member of the European or Mitsubishi Hives.

Also in Terra Ignota, the Mardi bash' is a family group like OS, but rather than maintain peace in our time via assassination, they studied war. They concluded that long periods without armed conflict mean that technology advances beyond the knowledge of weaponization, and when a war occurs after a long period of peace, not-yet-weaponized technology is quickly weaponized in unanticipated ways. Too long without war, and we may end up with humanity-extincting weapons being used because no one knew that they would cause extinction. Therefore, says the Mardi bash', let us have a small war. A war which is not too extreme. A minimal number of deaths, to prevent more deaths.

OS says, let us kill this one person, so that interhive conflict does not result in a greater number of deaths.

JEDD MASON says: if we are to have war in the future, let the laws of war be the same as the laws of daily life, which means no killing now that we have nonlethal methods of making war.

19A4 and the sustainable-war AIs say, let us fight over here, because these deaths and destruction will maintain the greater international peace.

Did the wars in 1984 actually happen? Or was the description of the distant wars enough to relieve the population's need for war?

The culmination of these different technologies is the doublethink of The N in SAC_2045: Each person lives in a bubble which makes them content, as they carry on in a shared physical reality with every other person on the planet. This solution was set up by Takashi Shimamura, a high school student and programming prodigy interested in perceived-reality hacks.

Now for three other simulated-reality peaces:

The final Heaven of Worth The Candle, where a benevolent god helps you do whatever makes you happy. The world runs on narrativium now; what the new god says is what happens.

The initial setting of The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect, where a Three-Laws god helps you do whatever makes you happy. Your reality is implemented through physics hacks and the power of distributed computing.

The Matrix and The Animatrix use that same simulated reality, but put humanity in pods to support it. Their Earth is trashed by apocalyptic wars; the pod people provide the compute while the pods provide them life.

These benevolent gods tend to partition people off in their own realities, physically disjoint from the fantasies of other people. Not so for The N: their benevolent implementor has no godlike abilities. The N's doublethink software can only manipulate the Cartesian theatres of people who use cyberbrains. Their different perceived realities still overlap physically with each other and with the offline, so the doublethink has to make sure that no N actually takes action which destroys the world. Sisyphus' body rolls the rock up the hill each day; we must imagine his cyberbrain is happy.

II. Solutions in Minecraft

If the Mardi' bash is right, if a longer war makes the next war more terrible, how do we prevent that war's terrors? Indeed, how do we prevent the terrors not just of any particular future war, but of all wars?

A summary of answers:

OS puts off the war indefinitely, one murder at a time.

The Mardi' bash plans a small, safe war to interrupt the current happy peace, so that there may still be people left after the war scheduled for 300 years in the future, but they do not prevent the war.

JEDDM allows that there might be war, so let's make illegal for war to be lethal.

19A4 and the American Empire fold the upcoming war into the eternal, forever, small-scale conflicts called "sustainable war", which is more about stroking the AE's military-industrial complex' collective dick than it is about uplifting the rest of the world.

1984 tells people about all the successes they're having in the big war, but doesn't actually make their lives better or pleasant.

The Matrix gives people a happy life, so long as they're in pods hooked on to 1990s Simulator: Beige Edition.

Takashi Shumamura set up the software which links The N together, sharing a physical reality but perceiving whatever makes them happy.

Prime Intellect and the ascended Juniper Smith solve the problem by ending the world, but they're benevolent omnipotent gods, so they can do that.

III. But we're not in Minecraft, are we?

We don't seem to have a benevolent omnipotent god handy, and we don't have cyberbrains. We don't even have reliably-nonlethal weapons. Is the best solution to the problem of war the current status quo (ignoring Ukraine) of small lethal conflicts, or is there a better way to solve the tensions which give rise to war?

1984 proposed state control of the media environment in order to deceive a populace into a state of complacency. Would the information environment of 1984 work if people self-sorted into their desired filter bubbles, not just in the Internet, but in meatspace as well?

IIII. A preview of coming attractions

It looks like speculative fiction has caught up with the war in Afghanistan. But now I'm wondering about filter-bubbles, and the things which pop them. The neo-Victorians' media environment in Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age and the social filters in Charles Stross' Accelerando come to mind as examples of the genre, but

What other stories address the effects of living in your own media environment?

How would the third season of SAC_2045 play out? I have my thoughts, but I'd like to know yours.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 3

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon rewrite, canon-typical violence, cursing Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: In my head, Cara Dune is Katy O’Brian.. Yes, I’m ignoring the fact that she plays one of Moff Gideon’s officers lol Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​​ @honey-hi​​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​​ @red-leaders​​ @zoemariefit​​

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter​

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The three of you sat in the cockpit—Mando piloting the ship, you in the copilot seat behind him, and the kid perched on the console. He had slipped out of his own seat, waddled to the front of the cockpit, and managed to grasp the edge of the console with his tiny hands and scrabble his legs against the front of it to shimmy all the way up there. Honestly, it was an impressive feat for such a small being. Mando pretended not to notice, keeping his visor trained on the viewport.

You’d been sitting in silence for a while, watching the stars streak by. It was a fairly comfortable silence, considering you were complete strangers and still trying to feel out the limits of your tenuous alliance.

Looking at the back of Mando’s helmet, the surface of which reflected the bands of hyperspace that surged around the Crest, you thought again about how challenging it was to read him: there was so little to go on. No facial expressions, no significant looks, and very few gestures—even the cadence of his breathing was largely disguised by the helmet and modulator.

That was definitely part of his appeal: the mystery. He was an almost blank canvass where others were open books. Because your survival had hinged on your ability to read people, you had gotten so good at it that the task lost its fun rather quickly. Mando was an interesting new game.

In some ways, the armor forced the Mandalorian to be much more straightforward. Because it obscured his features, he had to ask for what he wanted outright—unless it was from a bounty. He could easily communicate threat with just his stance. Anything else, though, he had to verbalize. You were interested to see how this would play out in his interactions with you. You weren’t a job or his enemy, and you were really hoping that meant he’d eventually be slightly less withholding with you.

The baby, looking around, cooed quietly and reached over to flick a random switch on the panel to his right. Mando disregarded the action, pressing a few buttons in front of him. You stifled a chuckle.

The kid, clearly testing his boundaries, leaned over to flick another switch. It turned green when he activated it, and the sound of a machine whirring kicked in.

“Stop touching things,” snapped Mando, frustrated, turning to look at him. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, grateful that Mando couldn’t see you.

The child lowered his ears and trilled sadly in response to the admonishment but recovered quickly: his ears pricked back up, and keeping his eyes trained on Mando in what seemed like a purposeful act of open rebellion, he leaned over slowly to flick yet another switch. This one turned red, and the ship rattled in response. You let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother the rest of your reaction.

This time, Mando pushed one large gloved hand past the baby to deactivate the switch and picked him up to set him on his lap. You smiled again, knowing this was likely what the kid was trying to achieve anyways. He wanted attention.

“Do you know his name?” you asked. You assumed he didn’t because he always called him “the kid”...but it also wouldn’t be a surprise if Mando did know his name and just chose to call him that instead.

“No,” he replied. “You ready to pick a planet?” Mando changed the subject abruptly as he reclined to look at you over his shoulder.

“Sure,” you agreed, standing to lean over the back of his chair so you could see the screen in front of him.

After some discussion and research, toggling through the nearby planets on the nav, you decided on Sorgan as your place to lay low. It was a rural planet, sparsely inhabited and undeveloped. Mando described it as “a real backwater skughole.” But there were some small settlements, so there would be food and fuel.

Your stomach gurgled loudly.

“I’m going to go eat,” you said, standing to leave the cockpit.

Mando, still holding the baby, stood to follow.

You moved toward the door just as Mando did the same, both attempting to walk through it together. He paused and stepped back, pressing himself against the wall as far as he could to let you by, gesturing you forward with his free hand.

Without thinking, you touched his arm lightly as you slipped past him in the tight doorway, and he flinched away, wrenching his arm back. You withdrew your hand quickly and looked up at him.

“Sorry,” he explained gruffly, visor tilted down at you. “Reflex.”

“I get it.”

He twitched his hand forward like he was considering reaching for you then decided against it, clenching it into a fist by his side.

You stood in the confined space for a moment, pinned by the mesmerizing void of his visor. Inches from your chest, he was so tall and imposing, somehow equally menacing and alluring as he towered over you. It was hard to ignore his intoxicating magnetism when you were this close to him.

He cocked his head the tiniest bit, and you realized, with a rush of embarrassment, that he was waiting for you to move.

Flustered, you turned and climbed down the ladder to find your pack. Mando followed and sat across the hull from you, after settling the kid into a makeshift crib—a storage box lined with blankets—on the floor beside his feet. He busied himself adjusting something on the complicated armor that covered his forearm, as you ate one of your ration packs.

You studied him as he worked. As far as you could tell—with the glaring exception of the presence of the child—Mando was the definition of a bounty hunter. He worked alone, and all he did was work.

He was clearly not used to casual, nonthreatening human contact, aside from that of the child.

You felt a deep, cutting sadness when you really pondered the solitude of his existence. The bulk of his interactions were violent confrontations. He had the child, but for how long? He seemed a recent acquisition. Did Mando have friends? When was the last time he felt at ease around another adult person?

When was the last time someone touched him, other than a bounty during a fight?

You’d been on the run for years and, at times, it had almost killed you—not the running itself, but the loneliness. No matter how much time you had to adjust, it remained a draining existence. You maintained only loose contacts and casual, fleeting relationships. How long had his life been exactly the same? Decades? Had he ever known anything different?

You looked down at the baby. The presence of the child spoke to the possibility that he at least wanted something different for himself.

The kid seemed to feel your gaze and turned his head to train his huge eyes on you. You smiled at him. He grabbed the edge of the box with his tiny three-fingered hands to haul himself over the side and toddled his way over to where you sat. He hugged your calf, looking up at you expectantly.

Mando was busy fiddling with the controls on his vambrace and didn’t notice.

“Can I?” You gestured down at the kid. Mando’s head flicked up.

“I guess,” he acquiesced hesitantly. He watched as you reached down to pick up the kid.

The baby settled happily into your lap, looking up to reach a hand toward your face. You met his hand with your own, and he was content to latch his little fingers around your much larger one and sit back. He babbled and wiggled the tiny green toes that poked out of the bottom of his outfit, which appeared to be made out of the altered sleeve of an old beige flight jacket.

Despite the fact that the child was more than happy cuddled in your arms, Mando was visibly uncomfortable. Abandoning his task completely, he sat forward with his elbows propped on his knees and watched you tensely.

He didn’t relax until you set the baby back down, turning him toward Mando, and he toddled his way back across the floor. Mando took the kid with him into his bunk when he disappeared to eat.

***

From the ship, Sorgan looked inviting: lush greens and blues, the landscape broken up by winding rivers. Clouds swirled across the atmosphere. Mando touched the Razor Crest down in a clearing of a pristine forest.

Mando wasn’t about to leave you behind with the kid—or with the ship, for that matter—so he informed you that the two of you would set out to the nearest village to find lodging, and he would leave the child behind. You understood that he didn’t have a lot of options, but leaving a toddler alone on a ship seemed like a terrible idea. You decided not to question it for the moment.

It was abundantly clear that Mando was accustomed to running the show and operating alone. He was used to making unilateral decisions...and that was going to have to change if the two of you were ever going to get to a place of easy coexistence. As someone who was also used to making unilateral decisions, you didn’t take well to being told what to do without even being consulted. You figured you’d give him some time to adjust to your presence before bringing this to his attention. You reminded yourself that this was a temporary arrangement.

Before leaving, Mando gave the baby a very serious, very stern talking-to about not touching anything and staying put. This was another instance that made it clear that he hadn’t been in charge of this kid (or any kid) for very long. You tried your best to conceal your amusement while Mando lectured the child. When he started to wag his finger dramatically to punctuate his points, you coughed to cover a laugh that escaped your lips.

As you both gathered what you needed in the hull, you asked, “How effective are your lectures usually?”

He let out a tired sigh, shoulders dropping slightly: “Not very.”

You laughed.

Sure enough, the baby shuffled up behind the two of you as the ramp of the ship lowered.

Mando looked down and sighed heavily.

“Oh, what the hell? Come on.” He strode forward decisively without a backwards glance.

You bent down to scoop up the child, not sure how Mando expected this tiny creature to keep up with his long strides, and followed Mando into the verdant forest.

***

The village was made up of a collection of circular wooden structures with pointed roofs. You ducked after Mando into the public house, the largest building in the small cluster. Good-natured conversation and the smell of something delicious permeated the air. You set the baby down on the floor to walk beside you.

A lothcat curled underneath a table hissed loudly at him as he waddled by, and he cowered in fear. You scowled at Mando, who didn’t react besides tilting his helmet down, and picked the child back up, patting him lightly.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you murmured reassuringly. Mando paused to watch you comfort the kid. You waited for him to pull the baby from your arms or say something to discourage you, but he didn’t. When you looked up at him, he continued forward to find an empty table.

Mando scanned the room carefully as he strode between the tables. You noticed an intimidating woman surveying him as he passed. You seated yourselves, and a woman in an apron approached with a friendly smile on her face.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one,” requested Mando. Then he turned to look at you.

“One for me too, please.”

“Very well,” replied the woman.

Jerking his head towards the intimidating woman, Mando asked, “That one, over there—when did she arrive?”

The woman hesitated, and then said, “Uh, I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business here?”

You studied the woman in question, noting her piecemeal armor and tattoos. She looked like a war-hardened soldier.

“Oh, well there’s not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say,” the server responded noncommittally. “She doesn’t strike me as a log runner.”

Mando reached into his belt and threw some credits toward her on the table. She brightened.

“Well, thank you, sir. I will get those broths to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

The server left, and the unobstructed view revealed that the woman he’d been asking about had disappeared.

Mando stood quickly.

“Stay with the kid?” he asked, looking down at you.

You hummed your assent, but he watched you for a long moment, as if assessing whether or not this was a safe idea. He was weighing the risk of leaving the kid with you against the risk of not neutralizing the possible threat of this stranger.

“I’m not going anywhere. We agreed to stick together for the time being, remember? Relax,” you assured him. It wasn’t much of a commitment, but what else could you say?

He nodded decisively and turned on his heel.

You and the kid watched him leave. The baby made a small whimpering sound as Mando disappeared through the curtain that hung over the exit.

You considered the baby as you waited for your food. He looked around, curiously taking in his surroundings.

What species is he? You’d never encountered anyone like him. Despite the fact that he was clearly a toddler, he looked a bit like an old man. And a tortoise? And maybe a frog? Whatever he looked like, he was really damn cute. Those big eyes and huge, expressive ears were undeniably adorable. You’d never felt a maternal instinct in your life, but in that moment, you wanted to pick him up and snuggle him again. You resisted the urge.

The server returned with two steaming bowls of broth and a flagon of electric blue liquor. The child immediately reached out for the broth, letting out a string of gibberish.

“It’s too hot. Let’s let it cool.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and let out a disapproving huff.

Despite his protests, you waited until the broth cooled a bit before setting it in front of him. He picked up the bowl and slurped happily.

You didn’t start to worry about Mando until you’d finished your own broth and the drink—you’d figured Mando wasn’t about to drink spotchka—and he still hadn’t come back. You scooped up the kid, who was still holding his little wooden bowl of soup, and slipped out the exit to look for Mando.

The loud sounds of a brawl made it easy to locate him.

He was locked in an intense hand-to-hand fight with the woman. They were both on the ground, Mando on top of her briefly until she used her strong legs to launch him over her body onto his back. He landed with a thud.

Ouch.

You set the baby down on the ground, but neither Mando nor the woman noticed. The two of them seemed fairly equally matched. To be safe, though, you eased your blaster out of its holster and held it loosely by your side.

Before you’d decided whether or not to intervene, the fight ended in a stalemate, both of them flat on their backs, having drawn their blasters simultaneously.

They panted on the ground, until Mando lolled his head to the side and saw you and the kid watching them, the baby slurping his broth loudly.

“You want some soup?” Mando deadpanned, looking up at the woman. You let out a sharp laugh at the unexpected question.

The tension dissolved, and they both brought their blasters back down to their sides.

You sheathed your blaster and offered Mando a hand, and—to your surprise—he took it without hesitation.

“Thanks for jumping in to help,” Mando grunted as he got to his feet slowly and dropped your hand to dust himself off.

“Hey, I was ready to step in,” you held out your blaster pointedly. “I probably wouldn’t have let her kill you.”

The woman chuckled as she straightened up then turned to walk back to the public house.

“Good to know,” retorted Mando, fixing you with an exasperated head tilt.

***

The four of you sat down together and talked for a while, sipping broth. Mando introduced himself to the woman, ignoring you and the kid. His manners seemed to come and go.

The woman shared that her name was Cara Dune.

“And who is this?” Cara inquired, eyebrows raised, looking from you and the baby to Mando.

Interested to hear how he’d explain your presence, you waited to see what Mando would say before answering.

“Long story,” replied Mando. Yep, that seems about right.

You introduced yourself, offering a fake name and sticking out a hand to shake Cara’s hand.

Mando’s head snapped to you: “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“You never asked,” you shrugged.

If Cara was confused that Mando didn’t know your name, she didn’t say anything about it. She shared that she had been a shock trooper in the Alliance, but she was trying to make a new life for herself, away from all that.

When she inquired, you shared a carefully curated set of details about yourself: born on Naboo, studied on Coruscant, now a freelance programmer with a diverse set of clientele and therefore stayed off the grid as a rule, with Mando at the moment to get from one place to the next and find more work—Sorgan was a temporary stopover.

You figured Mando didn’t love the idea of being described as a glorified taxi service, but it was better than disclosing the truth.

Mando leaned forward slightly and fixed you with his unwavering gaze while you spoke but questioned nothing. You knew he likely recognized the gaping holes in your story, considering he’d witnessed firsthand how well you could hold your own in a fight.

He shared little about himself, aside from the fact that he was in the Guild but not currently in pursuit of a bounty. Cara explained that she’d thought Mando was hunting her and that was why she reacted so defensively.

Understandable. That’s a much more reasonable reaction to his attention than flirting with him from afar liked I’d done in Nevarro. Whoops.

Finally, Cara stood: “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you want to go another round, Mando, either you or I are gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She turned to you and added: “You, on the other hand, are welcome to stay.” She winked at you and sauntered away.

You let out a surprised laugh, and Mando swiveled his head from Cara to you so fast, he probably tweaked his neck.

You couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or frustrating (probably both) that Cara had warmed to you over the course of a twenty-minute conversation while Mando remained aloof after more than twenty-four hours together.

Mando shook his head like he was willing away an unwelcome thought and leaned an elbow on the table: “Well, looks like this planet is taken.”

“Technically, that only applies to you.”

“You want to stay here?” There was a hint of unease in his otherwise even voice.

“No, Mando. You’re stuck with me for now, remember?”

“Right.”

You leaned forward and placed both your palms on the table: “But before we leave, I would like it on the record that I watched the kid for a full ten minutes without running away or harming a single hair on his wrinkly head.” You reached over to rub one of the child’s ears briefly, and he cooed up at you. “And I am electing not to ditch you and stay here with Cara even though she seems much more fun than you.”

A sound that might have been a laugh crackled through the modulator.

“So maybe you don’t have to breathe down my neck every second when we’re on the Crest?”

“You did almost let Cara kill me.”

You leaned back and laughed. “So, you admit it—you needed help.”

“No—I...That’s not the point.” You enjoyed how easy it was to agitate Mando.

“You’re right, it’s not. The point is that if I’m going to stick around for a while, you’re going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, this doesn’t make sense.”

He hummed noncommittally and rested a hand on the tabletop, gloved fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm.

“I could have abducted the kid and stolen the Crest while Cara took her time kicking your ass, but I didn’t.”

“It sounds like you considered it.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Mando.” 

You fixed him with an impatient stare, and he met your look with his impassive visor.

You huffed, and letting the levity fall away, so he knew you meant it, you asked, “Maybe it would just be easier for me to find some other way out of here?”

His fingers stilled. “No.”

“Okay... so, you’ll lighten up?”

In a well-timed interruption, the kid quirked his head at Mando and let out a string of nonsense that had the upward cadence of a question.

“He’s wondering the same thing.”

The child stretched his arms out toward Mando and wiggled his fingers. “He just wants to be picked up.” Mando scooped him up and tucked him under his arm. “But, point taken. Let’s get out of here,” he said, lifting his hand to flag down the server.

Mando seemed surprised when you reached into your bag and pulled out a small pouch of credits to pay for the food. In reality, it was one of three that you had on you at the moment.

You were a professional at disappearing. You always had a blaster at your back, a knife on your belt, another knife strapped to your ankle, and plenty of credits on your person. Plus, the roughly hewn necklace tucked under your shirt looked unassuming but was worth a small fortune—though, you’d have to be in a really tough spot to ever consider selling it. You were used to leaving places at a moment’s notice. Being prepared for anything was your default state.

Mando should understand that better than anyone.

***

When you returned to the Crest, Mando mumbled something about routine maintenance and disappeared outside with a heavy metal toolbox in hand. The kid was asleep in Mando’s bunk, and you were sitting in the hull, reading about potential planets on your datapad, when you heard strange voices approaching.

Setting down your datapad, you stood and walked down the slope of the ramp at the back of the ship quietly. You peeked your head around the side, staying out of sight, and watched two men speaking to Mando’s back as he continued working at an open panel on the side of the Crest.

The men didn’t look threatening, and Mando was clearly unconcerned. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Our whole village chipped in,” explained one of the men, a touch of desperation in his voice. The other man, who had longer hair, held up a pouch of credits.

Mando turned to face them. “It’s not enough,” he answered simply.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is?” the man with short, curly hair continued.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.”

Rude.

The men were insistent, pleading. Mando’s harsh rebuff surprised you. He seemed to flip flop between being decidedly cold and cautiously warm with strangers, and right now he was the former. You weren’t fooled though. With a little more prodding, you were sure they’d convince him—well, you hoped they’d convince him to take the job and stay.

“This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest,” promised the second man.

The side door of the Crest hissed loudly as it opened, and the two men jumped back in surprise. They looked at each other, resigned, when Mando walked up the ramp, ignoring them.

“Come on, let’s head back.”

No, don’t give up yet. He’s secretly soft. He adopts stray babies, protects complete strangers, and offers soup to people who have just thrown him on his ass!

They turned to leave, mumbling sadly to each other. You hurried back up the ramp to meet Mando in the hull. You stopped, settling your hands on your hips.

“What?”

“I mean... we were looking for a reason to stay, and they just gave us one. We were looking for a place to stay middle of nowhere... they just happen to live in the middle of nowhere...”

“Cara—,” he started.

“She seems like a reasonable enough person.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh then turned to lean out the open side of the ship. “Where do you live?” Mando called after the retreating men.

One of them called, “On a farm. Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

“You have lodging?” Mando clarified.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

“Come up and help,” he said to the men.

The two men paused when they saw you.

“Hi,” you greeted, turning to pull on your boots and grab your bag.

“Hello,” they both replied tentatively.

“She comes too,” Mando stated, jerking his head in your direction, as he began to pack up a chest of weaponry.

“Sure, that’s fine,” one of the men responded.

“And we have to make a stop.”

***

You waited with the two men—they introduced themselves as Caben and Stoke—at their speeder while Mando took the kid and tracked down Cara. They shared that they were krill farmers and needed help because Klatooinian raiders had been terrorizing their settlement.

Mando located Cara quickly, and they met you at the speeder, the back of which was full of weapons. You scooted over to make space for them as the speeder stuttered to life. It was cramped and when everyone was seated, your side was pressed into Mando, the kid settled on his lap.

Mando and Cara talked quietly while you laid your head back to watch the stars. You looked down when you felt something gently press on your thigh. The kid had climbed off of Mando’s lap and was looking up expectantly at you, as if asking permission to crawl into your lap.

You smiled at him and looked up at Mando, posing a silent question.

He nodded once, and you pulled the kid onto your lap. The baby cooed happily, wiggled around to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. You rested your head back again and let the movement of the speeder lull you into a light sleep.

Before you were totally out, you felt Mando adjust beside you, leaning back and stretching an arm over your head. Instinctively, you lifted your head so he could settle his arm down behind you, and you relaxed back so your cheek rested on his cold shoulder.

In a sleepy haze, you decided to capitalize on this opening and let your hand rest on the beskar plate covering his thigh.

***

You woke up when the speeder stuttered to a stop and opened your eyes, rubbing them in the brightness of the morning. You sat up and Mando did the same beside you, moving his arm from where it had been supporting your back. He hadn’t moved all night.

The scene before you was nothing if not idyllic: green and peaceful. Wind whispered through the tall grasses that lined the village, forming a natural buffer between the settlement and the forest. Circular wooden structures, the same pointed shape as the public house, were clustered at the middle of the clearing. Villagers, catching flopping blue krill in flat baskets, waded through square ponds that encircled the small community. Children giggled and called out, running toward the speeder.

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us,” observed Mando.

“Looks like,” agreed Cara.

The children flocked toward you to see the baby in your arms, and you hopped down to greet them.

***

You spent the morning meeting people, learning the layout of the tiny village. The children took to the kid immediately, following you wherever you carried him. Apparently, Mando had accepted the fact that the child was safe with you because he didn’t object.

The gaggle of children showed you around excitedly, even demonstrating how to expertly sift krill from the ponds. They brought you to the long hall where food—stew and spotchka—was served. You sat on the ground outside, eating and enjoying the sun, with the children and the kid. They watched in enthusiastic disgust as the child caught and ate a live frog.

That afternoon, you and Mando followed the woman who introduced herself as Omera to your lodging. Though there did not seem to be an official leader of the small community, Omera clearly garnered respect. You watched as she gave easy instruction to those around her, and they complied reflexively.

She led you to one of the wooden buildings on the edges of the settlement. You noticed the way Mando stopped in the doorway to admire Omera as she raised a window covering and the afternoon light illuminated her beautiful face.

“Please, come in,” Omera invited warmly. 

You set the baby on the ground, and he waddled a few steps before plopping down to lean against a crate, his eyelids heavy after a full morning of play.

“I hope this is comfortable for the three of you,” Omera continued. “Sorry that all we have is the barn. There is a spare crib for the child.” She gestured at a well-made looking crib. You wondered when the last time the child had slept in a proper bed was.

You picked him up from where he sat dozing on the floor and settled him into the crib.

You looked around the open space of the barn. It was clearly used for storage: it was lined with baskets, furniture, crates, fishing equipment, and more, but a large space in the center of the room was clear. You hadn’t considered until this moment that you might be sharing one room with Mando. Neither of you would be comfortable in these close quarters.

“Oh, we’re not—,” you started.

“This will do fine,” confirmed Mando, cutting you off mid-sentence. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, surprised that he seemed okay with this sleeping arrangement.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” Omera pointed to a stack of quilts in the corner.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” replied Mando as he turned to unstrap his rifle from his back.

A little girl crept up to the open doorway, looking down at her feet with her hands clasped behind her back. You recognized her from the gaggle of children. She was one of the quieter, shyer kids.

Mando, who was facing the back of the room, whipped around defensively at her movement. His hand hovered threateningly over his blaster.

The little girl gasped and jumped back, disappearing from view. Omera turned to follow her out the door.

You stepped toward Mando and put a steadying hand on his elbow in the space between his armor, drawing his arm away from his weapon. He looked down at where your hand gripped his arm.

“Are you okay?” you asked, under your breath.

He gave you a curt nod and exhaled loudly through the modulator.

You dropped your hand to your side when Omera returned, the little girl hugged tightly to her.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she explained in her dulcet voice. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.”

Neither is Mando.

Mando stood awkwardly and said nothing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Winta,” you greeted gently. She smiled timidly against her mother’s stomach.

“These people are going to help protect us from the bad ones,” Omera said.

“Thank you,” replied Winta quietly.

“Come on, Winta. Let’s give our guests some room.” Omera took Winta’s hand and lead her away.

As soon as the two of you and the baby were alone, you turned to Mando. “How are we both going to sleep in here? You can’t sleep in your helmet.”

Mando stood frozen, staring at the doorway. He seemed not to have registered that you said anything.

“Mando?”

He turned to you. “I—uh, it’s fine. I didn’t want to inconvenience them any more.”

“But how is this going to work?”

“I can sleep in my helmet.”

“No way, that’s ridiculous. I’ll ask if I can stay with Cara.” You took a step toward the door.

He looked down at the floor. “I’d rather you stay here.”

“Ah...okay. I thought we were past the stage where you felt the need to babysit me,” you joked, hoping that wasn’t the reason for this.

“No. That’s not...” he started to explain but trailed off.

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, and, despite the prickle of irritation you felt at the confirmation of his mistrust, you felt compelled to fill the uneasy silence that followed.

Avoiding his gaze, you looked over to where the kid was snoozing in the crib. “It’s fine. I’m going to go out for a bit if you want to take it off now. I’ll let you know before I come back in.”

“Thank you.”

You dropped your bag onto a crate and slipped out of the room and into the soft sunlight that shone through the sparse clouds.

Unwittingly, Mando seemed to know how to give you just enough reassurance to keep you around and just enough doubt to keep you guessing about why you were here with him. He was holding you at arm’s length, but not letting you go.

The potential between you was as enticing as it was confusing.

The more time you spent with Mando, the more of a paradox he seemed to be. He was constantly torn between a need to be hard and his instinct to be soft. You had an inkling that at heart, he was soft through and through. How else could you explain the presence of the baby?

His literal and metaphorical armor were clearly worn out of necessity—for several reasons, you guessed: to be successful in a brutal profession, probably as a result of past trauma, and simply because life is just fucking hard. You barely knew him, but you couldn’t help but want to be someone with whom he felt comfortable letting his guard down.

You pushed these thoughts from your mind as you stepped into the dappled light that filtered through the canopy of the forest. You were happy to explore the woods on your own, enjoying the serene atmosphere and natural beauty. It had been a while since you’d been on such a lovely planet. It reminded you of home.

***

When you returned a few hours later, all the villagers were gathering around the barn where Mando and Cara stood on the porch. You walked up to join the crowd and Mando’s visor followed your movement. You smiled at him, and he looked away abruptly, turning to Cara. They exchanged a few words then Mando stepped forward to address everyone.

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore,” Mando announced. He declared this in an infuriatingly neutral, straightforward way, the same way you’d tell someone there was going to be rain.

They must have seen the same tracks in the forest that I saw.

The villagers broke out in surprised chatter: “What?” “Why?”

Cara and Mando muttered to each other. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you hoped Cara was explaining how callous he’d sounded.

Cara started forward, “I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

Despite her slightly better manner, the villagers broke out in angry protests again.

“You took the job!” Caben cried.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST!” exclaimed Cara.

Your stomach dropped. You had hoped you were somehow wrong about what those tracks belonged to. It would take serious preparation to successfully take on a band of raiders and an Imperial walker.

“What is that?” asked Caben.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t mention,” said Cara indignantly.

That is a pretty important piece of information they had chosen to leave out.

More protests erupted. The villagers shouted pleas over one another. Mando was surveying the desperate villagers, saying nothing. You had a feeling that despite his initial refusal and these adverse circumstances, he would elect to help them anyways. Eventually one of the many heartfelt appeals was likely to sway him—listening to their pleading voices, you knew you would find it hard to refuse them.

Omera’s plaintive voice broke over the crowd, and you suspected she’d be the one to convince him.

“We have nowhere to go,” she entreated.

Mando met your gaze, where you stood silently at the back of the crowd. He cocked his head, and you knew what he was asking. You gave him an understanding smile, nodding your agreement. He bowed his head slightly in response.

You turned and walked away, not needing to hear the rest of the conversation to know that Mando had already decided to stay.

***

Chapter 4

[tinyinvadr]

Here’s Chapter 2! Told ya I was invested!

Ch. 1/Ch. 3/Ch. 4/Ch. 5/Ch. 6

Petal in the Audience

Chapter 2

“I’m just saying, I wanna make out with a clown. Is that so wrong?”

I was watching from the crack again. Logan was going into another one of his bits again, and I was trying not to laugh too hard. He’s been coming over to this house for so many years now, and somehow I never got tired of his bizarre sense of humor.

“Yes, yes, you and your clowns. So, are we going to the boardwalk?” Kira asked.

The three of them grabbed their bags and headed out. I was disappointed there wouldn’t be much of a show, but I’d still have some time with them. Not much, but at least the rest of the month. It would take a while for my parents to pack all our things.

With a sigh, I headed back to my room.

My room didn’t really have a lot in it. I had the necessities, a bed, clothes, a few plush toys that Mom made, but that was about it. Even though I was 14, my parents still didn’t want me borrowing yet, so there wasn’t really much in our home that I could call my own.

I didn’t really mind that, though. My room was just where I went to sleep. I spent most of my time at the crack.

It was right then and there when an absolutely crazy idea came to mind. The sane part of me wanted to dismiss it, but the part of me that wasn’t ready to let go yet took control, and soon enough, I was sneaking off to my parents’ room to grab the borrowing gear.

While I couldn’t reveal myself to the humans or properly say goodbye, the least I could do was bring a little bit of them with me when we moved. All I had to do was venture out, find three things that were significant enough to them, but small enough to carry and wouldn’t be missed.

I figured a pencil from Kira would probably be good. She had plenty, and they all had fun, colorful patterns on them, so one would definitely look cool in my room.

Randall had a cup of board game dice on his desk, so that would also be an easy borrow. He likely wouldn’t notice just one missing, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Logan would be the hardest, since he didn’t actually live at the house, but he was notorious for accidentally leaving stuff behind. I’d just have to hope he left something that I could easily take with me.

Soon enough, I arrived at the small hole in the wall, hidden underneath Randall’s bed. The coast looked clear, so I ran out and headed for the desk.

Even though there was no one around, I felt very exposed. After all, this was my first time borrowing, and I was out in broad daylight.

Not only that, but it was very easy for me to forget just how small I was when I was just watching from the walls. The crack was at an elevation, so it was easy for me to imagine that I was the same height as them. But actually standing in the room, on the floor… everything was gigantic.

I shook those thoughts aside as I tossed Dad’s grappling hook at the desk. It took a couple tries for it to catch, but I managed to climb up. It was kind of terrifying, but I just kept my mind focused on the task at hand so I wouldn’t be tempted to look down or think about how high up I actually was.

Finally, I reached the dice cup. It was about as tall as I was, so I couldn’t really see inside, so I just blindly reached in and pulled one out.

The one I got was pretty cool. It was a green, transparent one with white dots. I think it came from that pirate board game they used to play all the time when we were little.

From my place on the desk, I scanned the room to see if I could find any of Logan’s belongings. Laying right in the center of Randall’s bed, I saw it: Logan’s iconic black coat.

Of course, I couldn’t take the whole coat with me, but maybe a button. The thing was already pretty old and beat up, and Logan always had that “I don’t care” attitude, so he probably wouldn’t miss it. I decided to get the button on the way back, though, because I still had to venture off into Kira’s room, which I wasn’t as familiar with.

I ran across the hallway, and thankfully, her door was just on the other side. In comparison to Randall’s room, Kira’s was much neater. While Randall wasn’t super messy, his room was very much “organized chaos.” Kira’s was just plain organized, and also very pink and pretty and cute.

Similarly to what I did back in Randall’s room, I used the grappling hook to climb up the desk. There was an assortment of pencils in a metal container. I wasn’t sure which one to take, but I eventually decided on a light pink one with white cats on it, since Kira has a cat ear headband that she wears sometimes.

So, with my pencil and my die, I made my way back to Randall’s room so I could get my button.

Getting a good grip on the sheets, I climbed up onto the bed, and headed for the coat. Unfortunately, none of the buttons were loose enough for me to just pull off. I’d have to cut it.

I swear I could hear Dad lecturing me about only taking what’s lost, and that this is technically stealing, but pretty much our entire way of life is technically stealing, so I don’t really think there’s much of a difference as to HOW the stuff is acquired.

So, with Dad’s little blade, I cut through the string, and released the button. With a sigh, I plopped down on the bed, and took a moment to admire my treasures. I still wasn’t ready to move, but at least I didn’t really have to say goodbye to my “friends,” I could take them with me. There was no doubt Mom and Dad would notice this stuff, but I hoped they would be understanding. This would also prove to them that I’m ready to start borrowing. After all, I went out on my own in the middle of the day, got all this stuff, and did it all without getting caught!

…Or so I thought.

I didn’t even notice the sound of his footsteps. He moves so quietly, it’s really strange. It was like Randall just appeared in the doorway. I sat there, dead still, my gaze locked onto him.

To my relief, he didn’t seem to notice me, and instead just sat down at his computer. This was my chance to escape! I just had to be very, VERY quiet.

I tucked the pencil under my arm and clutched the die and the button to my chest as I made my way to the edge of the bed so I could climb back down. I only wish I realized beforehand how much harder it is going down than it is going up.

I was doing okay, but the pencil proved to be a problem. It was starting to slip out from under my arm. I kept trying to tighten my hold on it, but it was no use. It dropped, making a noticeable “clunk” sound when it hit the hardwood floor.

I didn’t have to turn around to know Randall was staring at me. I held my breath and clung to the blanket like my life depended on it, and there was a good chance that it did.

“What the…? What is that?”

No. Nononononono!

Just like before, I could barely hear his footsteps. But I knew he was getting closer, judging by the massive shadow falling over me. I tried to hold on tighter, but I could feel my palms getting sweaty. My heart was beating at a rapid pace, it almost felt like it was going to explode. There was no way out.

And just like that, I lost my grip, and I started to fall. To my surprise, I didn’t hit the floor, but instead landed on a softer surface.

“Whoa… you’re a… person?”

I didn’t dare move. I knew exactly where I was, and I didn’t want to make myself feel worse by looking. I was in his hand. He was holding me. My entire body, he could just… pick me up and do whatever he wanted with me.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked in a soft voice. “I know, I must be scary, I’m sorry. But I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

I wanted to be reassured by his words, but I was still terrified out of my mind. As much as I knew about him and his friends, I still didn’t KNOW any of them personally. I had no idea what was going to happen to me.

“Please… don’t tell anyone, Randall.” I said, forcing each word out despite how shaky my voice was.

“Huh? How do you know my name?”

At that, I started crying. I couldn’t control it. There was way too much happening at once and I couldn’t process it.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. I won’t tell anyone. But… can you at least tell me what’s going on? Or, if not, is there anything I can do to help you?”

“C-Can I go home?” I asked.

“Of course! Uh, where’s home?”

“No, I can’t tell you, just… leave the room and let me get back on my own, okay?”

He tilted his head and frowned, his dark, messy hair covering his eye a bit. “Yeah, that’s fine. I understand.”

At that, he gently nudged me off his hand, and I was back on the floor. He scooted back, giving me space, but he didn’t get up to leave yet.

“I’m… guessing you’re not coming back after this. I’m really sorry.”

“N-No, it’s fine, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just stupid. I shouldn’t have come out here. Thank you for catching me. But… you probably won’t see me again after this. Things are really complicated back home, and… I’m just really glad I got to meet you, Randall.”

He chuckled. “Heh, thanks. Though, I don’t really know why you came out here to see me. My sister’s the popular one.”

“Well, I mean, I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone. I just wanted to borrow a few things to remember you guys by. I know you don’t know me, but I kind of grew up with you, Kira, and Logan. I always wanted to meet you all in person, but I was too scared. And… I might’ve just said too much…”

Randall smiled, and all my fears melted away. I remembered why I liked him so much in the first place. He was always so sweet and patient, and just seeing him like this, as terrifying as it was, it felt good that he was confirming in a sense that we’re actually friends.

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, before you go, did you wanna meet Kira, too? She’s in her room right now.”

“Uhh… maybe tomorrow. Not sure I’m ready yet.”

He nodded. “Okay, no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow then, too. Oh, one last thing. What’s your name? I mean, you know mine, so, I guess I should know yours.”

Feeling more confident, I stood tall and proud, smiling up at him. “I’m Petal!”

“Petal? Like a flower petal? Heh, that’s cute.” He said, gently scratching my head with a finger. “See you around, Petal.”

At that, he got up and left the room like I asked him to, leaving me to return home without him seeing. I gathered my borrowings and ran under the bed, then went into the hole leading back to my house…

…and I ran right into Dad.

“Petal? What do you think you’re doing?”

[brattyfics]

Savage

Summary: Miguel Galindo’s wife accidentally shows off her new lingerie set to Nestor and other members of the security team. Inspired by @sheeshgivemeabreak head cannon of Miguel’s significant other being seen by Nestor in her lingerie.

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Black!OC

Warnings: Some cringy use of the word savage, Miguel Galindo quoting Beyonce and Megan Thee Stallion, exhibitionism (sorta?), rough sex.

Word count: 2K+

Placing the Chanel #5 perfume on the vanity, Ava, leaned back to admire her handiwork. 

Her normally big, thick hair had been pressed and curled to perfection, falling down into beautiful barrel curls past her shoulders. Long-lashed eyes blinked back at her in the mirror, glossy, pink lips gleaming despite the low lighting. 

Ava’s eyes trailed down to her breasts, shifting and adjusting to make sure everything was perfect. A white lingerie set from Agent Provocateur’s latest line clung to soft curves. The set was see-through for the most part, exposing her chocolate nipples and brown mound. Lace frilled the edges of the bra cups and panties, completing the naughty angel look. 

Satisfied, she turned from her reflection to strap on a pair of vintage designer heels, one of many gifts from her fiance, Miguel Galindo. She spared one final look at herself in the mirror before embarking on the mission to get her man in bed.

It wasn’t unheard of for him to spend long lengths of time in his personal study, the nature of his business called for it. Ava understood, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She tried to let him work uninterrupted for the most part, but sometimes he needed to be reminded of what was waiting for him in bed.

The short silk robe that covered her body did very little to preserve her modesty, so she was extra careful when scanning the hallway for bodies. Miguel normally kept his men off the second floor. It was hard for her to adjust to having someone watching her at all times, and this compromise did give her a small semblance of normalcy.

Confident no one would see her, she crept towards the office door, wanting to maintain the element of surprise. The two of them understood that she should know everything or nothing at all. Before getting married, they agreed on full disclosure. Still, Miguel didn’t want his two worlds completely fused together. Ava could tell he didn’t like her to be in the office, but she figured she would quickly be forgiven. As soon as the ties of her robe opened, Miguel would be focused on one thing.

Ava had seen Marcus leave earlier, it was rare that he did so. Being Miguel’s advisor meant he needed to be accessible 24/7, but everyone needed a break sometimes. For that reason, Ava was confident the two of them would be alone when she twisted the door knob and entered.

As soon as the door closed behind her, her fingers went to work at undoing the silk ties, and with a quick shrug Ava let gravity do the rest. Miguel’s head lifted from his papers in just enough time to watch it hit the ground, his mouth falling open, eyes widening in surprise.

Then movement to her right caused her to shriek and stumble back into the door. It was Ava’s turn for a surprise. 

Her own mouth fell open in horror. To her right stood a stunned Nestor, who had previously been occupied with something on the bookshelf.

“Shit!”

All three of them seemed to curse at the same time. Nestor scrambled to cover his eyes, books raining down with a thud in his haste. Eventually, he managed to turn so his back was facing Ava. Miguel dropped the papers he had been holding, locking eyes with Ava, communicating without saying a word. Your ass is in big trouble, missy. 

That tore her out of the shocked, frozen trance she had been in. She spun to open the door, her palms sweaty and clumsy, making the task ten times harder. Her heels clicked against the floor as she shuffled her feet impatiently. The tops of her ears burned, the thump of her heart sounding off within them.

The door opened, but not because of Ava’s doing. Hearing the scream and thump had caused the security team to run up the stairs. 

“Shit!” She shrieked again, bending down to scoop up the silk robe. Her nipples pebbled against the thin fabric as the gust of air from the door swinging open hit her. 

Nestor took that as his opportunity to make a dash for it, Miguel right behind him to slam the door in everyone’s face with a swear.

Harsh breathing were the only sounds to be heard on their side of the door, sounds of dress shoes clicking away on the other side.

Without a doubt, this was her most embarrassing moment. Ever.

The two of them stood there, Miguel’s hands above her head on the door, trapping her against it with his body as a gate. She tried in vain to calm herself and she was sure her man was trying to do the same. Waves of anger radiated off of him, and she knew there was an epic punishment coming her way.

“I-I’m sooo sorry, babe.” She apologized, slowly turning so she was facing him. 

He reminded her of an angry bull in that moment-- full of rage with a clear (and easy) target in front of him. Unfortunately, she happened to be the target stupid enough to provoke him. His eyebrows pinched together, lips downturned in that dangerous scowl he usually reserved for employees that disappointed him. The dark look in his eyes told her to stop while she was ahead, but she felt the urge to break up some of the tension.

“I didn’t--” His hand rose, and there was no more room for explaining. She gnawed on her gloss covered bottom lip.

“You are without a doubt the most disobedient, infuriating person I’ve ever met. I deal with bikers, drug traffickers, hitmen, all kinds of fucking degenerates and yet no one manages to piss me off more than you.” His hand found its way back to her collarbone, tossing her hair back behind her shoulders.

“I give you everything. Try to treat you like the princess I know you can be, but you insist on being an insolent brat. I give you free reign of this house-- this fucking city, but you have to show up in the one place you shouldn’t. Why is that?” He leaned down to look in her eyes, fingertips ghosting over her neck until she shifted to stare up at him. 

Miguel watched, fascinated as she transformed into the most demure version of herself, one she reserved for times like this when he was really angry. Her arms left her sides to lock around his neck, batting her eyelashes in hopes of a little mercy.

“Don’t act like a good girl now.” He scoffed, enjoying the closeness despite himself. He leaned in to nibble at her neck. “We both know you’re not.” She hisses at the sting, fire back in her eyes as if she was telling him she would bite back.

“You’re a bad bitch, right? A savage— or whatever that damn song you’re always singing says, right? So act like it.” He always acted as if he was annoyed by her mini-concerts, but she knew he was secretly her biggest fan. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. He didn’t allow her amusement to distract him. “Get on your knees. Now.”

Back in submissive character, she dropped to her knees.

“Now you listen.” He tsks, hands moving to unbuckle his pants. “Probably because you think there’s something in it for you. Sucking cock is your favorite pastime. Isn’t that right, sucia? You get off on being on your knees but I can promise you, this isn’t for your pleasure.” 

Ava tried her best to look disappointed. No matter what he said, there absolutely was something in it for her. They both knew it. She resisted the urge to help him undress and instead watched him, resting her weight on the backs of her legs. He finally stepped out of his dress pants and underwear, tossing them to the side.

He stood in front of her, stroking his thick cock in her face. Her eyes watched him stroke, back and forth, milking it until precum puddled around the tip. She leaned forward, her lips puckered to give it a kiss, only to be pushed back into position. 

Ava gave him a cross look. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t decide. I do. It’s time you learned that.” She felt hypnotized as he continued to pump his hard dick. She felt like a puppy, eager, desperately wanting to drool and wag her tongue. Her eyes darted back and forth between his beautiful brown dick and his face, squirming and shifting her knees.

“Open your mouth.” She presented her long, pink tongue to him.

He teased her with the tip at the opening of her mouth, tapping it on her tongue. She begged him with her eyes to continue. 

“Take it as deep as you can.” He used that firm tone that always made her pussy throb, the fat tip invading her mouth. She sighed in relief, her tongue softly massaging the bottom of his dick as she struggled to take it all with no build-up. When he hit the back of her throat, her eyes closed, concentrating on controlling her gag reflex.

He withdrew from her mouth, causing her eyes to snap open. “Look at me while you suck my dick.” Ava nodded in understanding, letting the storm brewing in his eyes egg her on. She let him feed her dick, her eyes trained on his.

More often than not, Miguel was soft with her. She was always mi amor or bebita, perched in his lap while he read the newspaper or holding his hand across the table while they breakfast. He loved to shower her with expensive gifts and lavish trips. In return, she was his oasis. She navigated the duality of her complex man with grace, always managing to be exactly what he needed. Still, she lived for the moments where she could get under his skin.

He groaned as he watched her gag around his dick, water welling up in her pretty eyes. She pushed herself further, thick lips moving up and down his length. Her face alone could do him in-- but the looks she gave, the sounds she made, the way she expressed her love all over his dick had him ready to melt. He could barely breathe from trying to hold his moans in, stroking the top of her head with affection.

Her hands went up to rest on the tops of his legs as she throated him to the best of her ability, moaning and making it as wet as she could. Tasting him, breathing him in, swallowing him, and looking at him all at once overwhelmed her. Her panties flooded, eyes fluttering closed again.

She heard the sound ricocheting off her ass before she felt the sting, hands going back soothe her ass cheek with a whimper. Her mouth fell open in surprise.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” 

“No, sir.”

Miguel’s hand gripped her neck firmly.

“Did I tell you to take my dick out of your mouth?”

Another negative. “No--”

“You can’t do anything right.” Her eyebrows pulled together, lips falling into a pout. “Don’t worry, princesa, I’ll do it for you.”

He guided her by the neck, pushing her back towards the door, reaching down to pull her legs from under her, so her head could rest flush against it. The only way his dick would leave her mouth would be if he took it out. 

He used her mouth like a pussy, pumping in and out to soothe his temper. Ava was sure to maintain eye contact this time, even as spit dribbled out of her mouth onto his dick and down her chin. Down it went and Miguel didn’t let up, watching it spill between the valley of her breasts. 

She tracked his eyes, reaching up to pull down her bra straps to free her breasts. He could see the mischief in her eyes as she jiggled them at him.

He slapped her hands away with a grunt, replacing them with his own. He tugged on each nipple, loving the feeling of her moaning around his dick.

Her drenched panties clung uncomfortably to her womanhood. She needed him to take his frustration out on her pussy next.

Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, but she refused to look away, telling him with her eyes how much she wanted his release. I want that big load so bad. Come all down my throat, daddy. Feed your princess. 

Miguel cursed under his breath, thrusts faltering as he looked up to the ceiling. Relishing in his moment of weakness, she hummed around his length. “Fuck…” He pulled out immediately. “Get up.” He grabbed her up by her shoulders, spinning her so she faced the door. 

He clawed at her panties like a lion with its prey. The mushroom tip poked at her entrance, further coating the tip in the moisture. “You’re so fucking wet.” He slid himself between her fat lips, trying to prepare himself before he came prematurely. 

Ava jumped forward when his tip met her clit. “Stop moving.” He hissed as she rocked back against him, begging to be put out of her misery. His hand rained down smacks in retaliation.

She tired, but couldn’t stop her wiggling, desperately needing relief. She felt near tears. “Please.” She whined.

With a forceful thrust in, he knocked the wind out of her, giving her no time to adjust. “So fucking hardheaded.” Ava bit her lip, turning to look at him only to find his eyes focused on her ass, watching it ripple with each thrust in. 

“Fuck me.” She whimpered, using the door for leverage to push back against him. Ava fucked him the way he liked, making it nasty while looking at him innocently. “I’m sorry for being bad, daddy. I wanna be your good girl again. I wanna be daddy’s princess--” His hand came up to cover her mouth, silencing her before she made him bust. 

“Shut. Up.” He breathed harshly, whispering dirty words in her ear. “Just do your job and fuck me. Shake that fat ass.” No, you do your job and fuck me. She couldn’t talk so she licked the palm of his hand in retaliation.

He rained down slaps on her ass until he could see a red undertone on her brown skin. 

She wailed his name and he did his best to muffle her screams, but there was no doubt everyone in the house knew what they were up to.

“You want everyone to hear you being a desperate slut?” He pounded into her, no longer caring about the sound of her hips thudding against the door. “You’re the most cock-hungry bitch I ever met. You don’t care who knows as long as I pound you the way you like, baby?” 

She tried to deny his accusation, shaking her head. There was always someone around to watch their backs so being heard and occasionally walked in on didn’t bother either of them much. 

But men that worked for Miguel, amongst them his very best friend had seen his wife practically naked. He poured his anger into every stroke, pulling on her hair until it rested on his shoulder. His fingers snaked down to massage her soaking clit, sending her over the edge. 

“Fuckkkkkkkkkk.” She cried out as he continued his assault, more frenzied than ever in his movements. Her legs shook as she tried to remain upright, her pussy walls clenching and pulling him in even deeper. 

“Fuckkkk.” He groaned his own release, strokes slowing as he filled her pussy. 

Ava’s head fell forward out of exhaustion but before she could lose her balance, his arms wrapped around her midsection. He pulled her into him, peppering kisses on her neck, behind her ear, and finally in her fruity smelling hair. 

Even as he held her up soothing her, Ava worried he would hold onto his anger as he sometimes did because of pride. Her worries dissipated when he spoke. 

“I’m definitely the savage in the relationship.”

[pallasperilous]

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him  like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 

 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

[sadoeuphemist]

Stories I thought about writing, but didn’t:

my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.

A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.

Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.

I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment 

The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?

There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.

A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2)  to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.

Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.

The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.

“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”

This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?

They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?

They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.

You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.

Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.

Me? A sadist? Hardly.

You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.

They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.

You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!

(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)

He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.

Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.

None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order. 

Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.

When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.

Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)

I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.

After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.

The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.

Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.

Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.

I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:

Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.

They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.

More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?

At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.

After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.

Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.

And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”

[shaydeoffical]

Multi-Ending Haikyuu Camping Trip, Soulmate Au, Chubby/Insecure Reader!

Bio: In a world where your soulmate’s name will randomly appear on your wrist during a full moon. (Y/n) discovers that, not only does she know her soulmate, but he’s on the same camping trip with her.

Author’s note: Thank you to @alesipanic​ for helping me edit this one <3 . Also any tw are in the tags. 

Series Masterlist

Start Here

 “This was a great idea,” Kuroo finished staking down the tent, and I let the peg go. What was going to be Kenma, Kuroo, and I going on a small camping trip turned into a massive party. Kenma invited Hinata, Kuroo invited Tsuki (who has to bring Tadashi), and Bokuto was coming if Hinata and Kuroo were here, so of course, Akaashi also tagged along. I invited my best girlfriend from college who, wisely, declined. Bokuto and Hinata were on a small break from their team, and classes weren’t in session, so it made sense for us all to hang out. Though camping might have been a more significant task than we initially planned, it'd be fun.

   “I just hope we packed everything.” I stood up and wiped my brow, sweat pooling down my forearm. While I wasn’t in the position to complain, considering that Kuroo and Bokuto carried my bags up the mountain, the hike was grueling. Even Hinata was strained after dragging Kenma the second half.

   “Well, I did make a list,” Tsukishima pushed up his glasses and grinned. “If we don’t have something, it's not my fault. You’re the forgetful one here, (Y/n).” My mouth fell open, and I sputtered.    

   “Tsuki, don’t start a fight this early in the trip.” Tadashi sat down the firewood. The two soulmates were balanced out for sure, Tadashi kept Tsuki in line, while Tsuki kept him fired up. Still, Tsuki wasn't so easily persuaded.

   “Remember what happened the last time you made (Y/n) cry.” Kuroo draped his arm around my shoulders, squeezing my speechless frame to him. Kuroo's sweat mixed with mine, at least I wasn't the only one overheating.

   “If you are proposing a rematch, I’ll win this time.” Tsuki crossed his arms and was enjoying the banter. While they did that, I was mentally going over everything I packed. Of course, I remembered the bug spray, sunscreen, medicine, and extra batteries….my power box for my phone.

   “Just apologize, and I’ll school you after dinner.” Kuroo purred, squeezing my arm, resting his head on my shoulder.

   “I’m sorry, your Highness.” My eyes widened, sweat reappearing on my forehead. Tsuki conceded, but I didn’t care at that point.

   “Thank you, but I did forget something,” I admitted, biting my lip, looking at the dirt. “I need to check my bags.”

   “What was it?” Tadashi asked, following me to the pile.

   “I brought extra sunscreen, that’s the most important thing,” Kuroo assured me, helping me dig through my bags.

   “I forgot my charging bank. But I remembered all the stuff on the list.” My clothes were strewn all over the tarp we laid out for the bags. “Shit, I’m so fucking stupid,” I growled at myself undoing my nightgown, my undies rolling out.

   “Granny panties uh.  So you already gave up on finding your soulmate.” Tsuki loved to get under my skin, while Kuroo, Akaashi and Bokuto schooled Tsuki in my honor, I was his favorite target. Tadashi hit his chest, folding my clothes back as I rummaged deeper.

   “If my soulmate wants to buy me lacey panties, I’d still wear these. I’m Top enough to be proud of my undies. We all know Tadashi tops you when the doors are closed, so that doesn’t give you a right to judge.”  I smirked, twirling my panties around my finger before shoving them back in my bag.

   “Roasted,” Kuroo backed me up, shifting through the cans of bug spray, hoping to find my box.

   “At least I’m getting some,” Tsuki huffed, not letting it go.    

   “I could get it if I wanted,” I lied. Not only was I plus size, but I was awkward around strangers. This didn’t mean I couldn’t get some, it just was hard enough when I had to find a chubby chaser, someone willing to date before finding their soulmate and not be a shy mess. Being around Kenma and Kuroo brought my confidence as a child, and it opened the doors for me to have so many friends. Yet, I wanted affection and attention in that romantic way.

   “It’s fine, we are supposed to be disconnecting from tech. I’ll turn my phone off to use for emergencies.” Tadashi reasoned, changing the subject.

   “I’ll do the same,” Kuroo set up the cans of spray and sunblock on the little table we brought to make things easier. Before Tsuki started annoying me, he was setting it up in front of the tent. “(Y/n), do you want to go check on Kenma and Hinata?”

   Silently I thanked Kuroo for an out. “Yea, those two are probably halfway down the river right now.” Dusting off my knees, I adjusted my shorts and held my head high, walking into the woods.

   “Other way,” Kuroo giggled, knowing I was beyond hopeless.

   “I was just testing you two.” I fired back, keeping my hands to my side. “Ah, forget it.”

   The best part of camping in this spot was that it was secluded. Most people didn’t bother trekking up the mountain when there was a road a few miles down. That was the plus of having athletic friends, they were able to be workhorses and carry our stuff. While we hadn’t been camping together before, I knew that if Kenma and Kuroo could do it, the others could too.

   We were on the flat part of the mountain top, but down the other side of the mountain was a river. Kenma and Hinata were sent to get us some water for washing up and doing dishes. When I finally skid down the hill, I saw Hinata swimming and Kenma on his game station, the buckets filled with water on the side.

   “It’s not time to goof,” I caught their attention, giggling as Hinata jumped on the dock, his clothes swallowing him like a drowned rat.  

   “Hey, (Y/n),” Kenma motioned for me to look over his shoulder. He was playing Animal Crossing. “Where should I put this bed?”

   “I like the bed in the center of the room, it makes me feel rich.” I put in my two sense, squatting down and resting my head on his shoulder. He put the bed down, then went to another empty room.

   “That won’t go with the flow of the bedroom. But that gives ideas me an idea for your room.” He explained, opening the design tool going to the side room. He pulled out an elegant bed and sat in the middle then put down some pastel wallpaper and flooring.

   “Now look who’s slacking.” Hinata wrung out his shirt and joined me in watching Kenma decorate.

   “It’s not slacking, it’s interior design,” I giggled, loving how Kenma was adding my favorite in-game animals to the table. “Besides, what the other’s don’t know won’t hurt them.”

   “Don’t know what?” Someone leaned their head on my shoulder, and I bounced up and around, knocking into them.

   “Bokuto, eh we were,” I covered Kenma with my body so he could save and hide his game. Hinata scurried over to the buckets.

   “You three were playing video games while we were gathering supplies.” Akaashi clicked his tongue, but I could see the slight smirk on his lips. He was standing up on the incline and definitely had the high ground.

   “We got water,” Hinata shot back, pointing to the pails. “We were just helping Kenma design.”

   “It’s going to evaporate if you don’t get it back to camp, the sun is almost at its highest point.” Akaashi had a bundle of wood under his arm, and Bokuto had the ax leaned up against a tree not too far from us.

   “Not to mention you’re drenched.” Bokuto laughed, hands on his hips. There was a thick layer of perspiration all over his body. He was one to talk about being wet.

   “I was supposed to keep them in line, but I got distracted,” I admitted, helping Kenma to his feet. “Let’s all go back together, yea?”

   “Yea,” Akaashi agreed, eyes lingering on me for some reason.

   “Oh yea, yea.” Bokuto grabbed the ax and a bucket of water. The focus shifts from me to finish the trio of yea’s.

   “Oh yea, yea, yea.” I sighed, resting a hand on my hip. “I’m not Kuroo, but I tried.”

   “Let’s hurry back,” Hinata changed the subject, grabbing two buckets. Kenma took one, and I grabbed the last pail. They were three-gallon buckets and not easy to manage.  Still, we had to get it back to camp.

   As we commenced going back uphill, I began to fall to the rear, as usual, it was either that or start to pant like a dog. I wasn’t the only one struggling, but I was the slowest and most unsure of where I was stepping and what I was stepping on.

   “We don’t need to rush,” Kenma slowed down to be beside me and nodded in solidarity. Bokuto and Hinata were racing to the top, spilling water as they went.

   “You are wasting it.” Akaashi reduced his pace to walk with us. “Those two have one brain cell between them.”

   “That’s a fair assessment,” Kenma shifted his bucket the other hand, and I did the same. The plastic around the wire handle not doing much in terms of ergonomics.

   “How was the advanced lit class?” Akaashi and I were in a similar field of study in school, and we had classes together often. So we were regular study buddies, but not this past semester.

   “It’s was challenging but not as hard as 396.” I could see the camp just ahead of us. Taking a deep breath, I pushed harder.

   “So less papers about unrequited love.” Akaashi determined, pushing his hair back. A bead of sweat sliding down his chin.

   “In essence, but to be fair, the 396 professor was just bitter, their soulmate rejected them.” I sat the bucket down with the others by the table.

   “Who rejected their soulmate?” Hinata piped up, handing me one of the bottles of drinking water.

   “Our professor.” Akaashi also got a bottle and downed it with one long swig.

   “What a nightmare,” Tadashi chimed in, holding Tsuki closer on his lap. They both were cuddling by the fire pit.

   “Was he mean or something?” Hinata pushed it further.

   “From the rumors, it was a petty reason like he was already balding or she was in love with a model.” I summarized, applying more sunscreen to my shoulders. “It made him a bitter man, who had an affinity for assigning tragic readings. In one semester, we read more books about soulmates never meeting or breaking up, to make up for a lifetime.”

   “Hamlet was a hard one,” Akaashi added, stretching his back.

   “Ophelia deserved better,” I sighed, remembering Hamlet being too preoccupied with other things to love her. “To be or not to be my ass.”

   “Let’s have happier thoughts.” Tadashi clapped his hands, going over to grab the fire starting kit.  “How about we celebrate setting up camp by lighting the fire and cooking up some lunch?”

   “Sounds like a plan,” Kuroo grabbed the hot dogs from the cooler.

   “Let’s get a seat.” Kenma tugged me to the logs that had been left by other campers, and we took our seat. Kuroo sat by Kenma, both of us leaning over his shoulder to watch him fish in animal crossing.

   “So when are we setting up the net?” Hinata picked up the volleyball and swirled it between his hands.

   “After we eat, we can go to the river and work on that.” Kuroo was always worried about us, making sure we were eating and staying hydrated. Even as a child, he’d often split his lunch with me when my mom would ‘forget’ to pack one for me. Later on, he just started to bring another bento for me. He always had my best interests at heart. He also worried over Kenma, that’s why I hoped he’d be my soulmate. Kuroo cared about everyone and took excellent care of me. While I wasn’t stereotypically beautiful, he always made me feel that way.  

   If my soulmate wasn’t Kuroo, I’d want them to be someone like him. I’d be okay if my soulmate was Kenma too, we’d get along just fine and play games all day. Or Akaashi, he was a little shy like me, but I could learn to be the outgoing one. Bokuto would be an okay spouse, he had a lot of energy, and definitely made for an excellent dance partner, he was just passionate. Hinata, well he was the one I knew the least, but he reminded me of Bokuto, but stable. Why did this turn into me thinking about my soulmate among my single friends? It didn’t matter; my soulmate was probably miles away, dating a pretty girl and living their best solo life.

   Deep inside my gut, I knew I’d be single for life. Kenma or Kuroo would take pity on me and let me live with them and their partner. I’d grow old and write the tragic books I spent all last year reading. Still, there was a flame lightly flickering in my chest, I could still keep dreaming for a better ending. It didn't have to be so tragic.

[aimeelouart]

I’m stress writing again, but this time I got a little distracted from 7C9S.

From @im-totally-not-an-alien ‘s  Final Fantasy 7 prompts # 45:

8. Time traveler Cloud casually curing Angeal and Genesis's degradation with vials of Aeriths holy water.

He feels betrayed when they try to drag him to Shinra, despite their benevolent intentions.

“Hey, Asshole!” - 1368 words, pairings open to interpretation

“Hey, asshole!”

Genesis turned instinctively at the shout, Angeal pausing along with him. Verbal abuse from the public wasn’t exactly unknown to him⁠—no one with significant notoriety will ever be without their detractors, deserved or not⁠—but he was a little startled to have someone shouting at him so brazenly, in broad daylight, in one of the more affluent sectors, while he and Angeal made their way back to the Tower after having lunch.

He opened his mouth to respond, zeroing in on an approaching blond man. A very quickly approaching blond man. “Wh⁠—”

Genesis never had a chance to finish the question. With the speed only an enhanced person can have, the blond seized a fistful of his hair, yanked his head back, and poured a small vial of water into his mouth. He swallowed out of sheer surprise.

Angeal made an alarmed noise, immediately lashing out to get the blond off of Genesis, and was deftly flipped into a headlock for his troubles. Genesis was still regaining his balance as the blond man tipped a second vial down Angeal’s throat.

Then the man unceremoniously released him and left.

The whole thing had taken place in the span of maybe ten seconds. Angeal touched a hand to his mouth as he straightened, bewildered. Genesis ran his tongue over his teeth. If there had been anything but water in that vial, he would have been able to taste it. But why in the Goddess’s name would someone assault two SOLDIERs to…, what, hydrate them? Why would someone enhanced⁠—

Someone enhanced.

Genesis looked at Angeal. Angeal looked back. Without a single word, they both took off after the blond man. 

He’d managed to get a fair distance away, but he also seemed fairly unconcerned with any kind of escape. He was just... leaving. Fortunately for them, his shock of bright gold hair was unmistakable (and about as ridiculous as the wild mane of Angeal’s student, thought Genesis).

“Excuse me!” Angeal called, his tone somewhere between bewildered and angry. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Genesis was a little surprised when the blond man actually turned toward them, even if he did keep walking backward. He had a preternatural ability to dodge oncoming pedestrians without actually looking back. “What?” asked the man, seeming genuinely shocked to be questioned in such a way. “I’m solving problems before they escalate. Can’t you feel the difference?”

Then he pointed to Genesis’s shoulder⁠—the shoulder that wasn’t healing, which he hadn’t told anyone about yet, though he had decided to go to Hollander tomorrow. The Commander barely kept himself from bristling defensively, which was absurd because how could this random whelp off the street know something he’d never even told Ange⁠—

Wait. 

His shoulder.

His shoulder. 

It wasn’t hurting. One hand shot up to grab it while the other gripped Angeal’s bicep, just for something to anchor him as he reeled in shock. Had the little blond actually healed him? How? It was impossible for some stranger to even have known there was a problem, much less how to solve it!

The blond cracked a grin, apparently following Genesis’s train of thought perfectly. “Yeah, see? ‘S all good now. Bye.” Then he offered a sloppy two-finger salute and turned back around, apparently intent on continuing his departure to parts unknown.

Genesis dropped his hands and closed the distance in three long strides, seizing the blond’s arm without a thought. “My friend, do you fly away now?” he quoted breathlessly. It wasn’t quite the proper context, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He needed the man to come with him, back to ShinRa, just so he would have enough time to wrap his head around the whole thing and offer an appropriate response. “Please, hold for a moment, stranger.”

“Genesis?” Angeal asked cautiously. 

But the blond frowned at him, slowing to a stop. The crowd flowed around them like a river around and boulder, though the three hardly paid them any mind. “Why? Take it and go. I’ve got important things to do.” This close, Genesis could see the gleaming mako blue of the man⁠’s eyes. There were even unmistakable strands of green threading his limbal ring.

“I don’t recognize you, but you must be a SOLDIER,” Genesis said contemplatively, keeping his grip firm. “Who are you? What rank? I suppose you must be one of the ones who are overly fond of those ridiculous helmets.”

The blond looked at him strangely, and as Genesis became less distracted he started to notice how wild and unkempt the man looked: dirt-smudged, hazy-eyed, and standing still Genesis could pick up the faint tang of blood, both dried and fresh. Honestly, he looked like he’d just returned to Midgar from a month-long solo extermination mission in the wilderness. The circles beneath his eyes were deep and dark. 

“I’m not a SOLDIER,” the blond said, as if such a suggestion was absurd on its face.

Genesis frowned at him. “There’s no use in lying, dear. I can see the mako in your eyes. I know my reputation likely precedes me, but I swear to you I’m not angry. I don’t know how you...well, suffice it to say, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Angeal shot Genesis a very pointed look⁠—the one that said we’re going to be talking about this later⁠—but he turned his attention on the blond and seemed to see exactly what Genesis did. “Are you alright, SOLDIER?” he asked, putting his hand on the arm opposite to the one Genesis was still holding. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

The blond blinked slowly, glancing down at the hand on his arm. He seemed to know exactly what Genesis did: that it was there both as reassurance and in preparation for restraint. He was certainly a SOLDIER if he knew Angeal that well, most likely one of the SOLDIERs in Angeal’s section.

“Oh,” he said after a second’s delay, sounding oddly surprised. “Sleep. I knew I was forgetting something.”

Genesis and Angeal exchanged another glance. “Ooookay,” said Angeal, drawing the word out. “I’m still not entirely sure what’s happening here, but why don’t we all go back to the Tower and get you seen to?”

“No thanks,” said the blond. “Let me go, please. I’m busy.”

How precious. He thought they were going to let it slide.

Genesis smiled charmingly. Anyone who worked with him for any length of time knew to be afraid of that smile. It meant, quite plainly, that Genesis had decided on something and there was not a thing anyone could do to dissuade him. “I’m sure you are, dear, but believe me when I say that you’ll feel much more capable once you’ve had a chance to rest. Why, you may even accomplish your...tasks...more efficiently!”

With Angeal’s help, he started to drag the squirming man back toward the Tower. SOLDIER strength or not, it turns out to be quite difficult to run away when your feet aren’t touching the ground. Who knew?

“Put me down!” the man demanded, though he sounded far more offended than truly angry. “I’m busy, you assholes!”

“Of course,” Genesis agreed pleasantly, his grip like iron. The man was very sturdy for someone of his stature and build, but keeping him from getting any leverage to squirm free took only a fraction of the Commander’s strength. He really was quite small. Come to think of it, Genesis didn’t know of any SOLDIERs who were quite so...fun sized. “We won’t take up much of your time, I promise.”

“This is what I get for doing Zack a favor,” the blond muttered irritably. Angeal shot him a sharp look. Genesis made a mental note. One of the puppy’s many friends, perhaps? But a favor? How had Zack known? Had Zack known?

Genesis shook his head to dismiss the thoughts for now. He didn’t care if he had to let the mysterious blond crash on his couch and use his personal shower. Hell, he didn’t care if the had to cook the man a meal himself⁠—one way or another, Genesis wasn’t letting the man who’d miraculously healed him out of his sight until he got answers.

[soukokuwu]

i live for aku angst. could you please write a scenario where he develops feelings for a fem reader during the dark era, but watches as her & dazai fall in love together? he wouldn’t be able to do anything since he’s dazai’s subordinate. but imagine them having a significant friend (ish) relationship, so when she disappears along with dazai he gets left utterly heartbroken and alone, wishing he would have said something to her when she was still with him. thank you! i love your writing

➥ genre: angst

➥ pairing: akutagawa x crush!reader, dazai x reader

➥ synopsis: akutagawa watches as you fall in love... but not with him.

➥ word count: 2k

➥ a/n: and i live for angst 😼 i really really loved this idea & i really hope you’re still here — tried a certain theme for this, hopefully you like it!! and tysm kind anony ^.^

Black and blue

You came out of the blue.

In the form of medicine for his wounds, and a cure for his aches. You were his superior, but you were unlike a certain other superior he knew. You radiated warmth and comfort — something Akutagawa didn’t know he craved. And yet you managed to instil that feeling in him within a matter of seconds.

“Dazai did this to you again?”

What was that he heard in your voice? Was it pain? Disapproval? Sadness, maybe? He was too detached from any emotion to be able to tell. Everything he knew, he learned from Dazai himself. All he wanted was the man’s approval. That was all he worked for. But you ignited a conflict in Akutagawa that he didn’t bargain for. One that he didn’t know would lead to fireworks instead of just a single spark.

“Yes,” was all he said. Was there any other way to respond? This was the first time you spoke to him, was he supposed to continue the conversation? A part of him wanted to. This was the only time a superior has shown any sort of care to him after all. So why couldn’t he get anything out?

You pressed your lips into a firm line, and he couldn’t help but notice how soft and pink they looked. You didn’t wear a lot of makeup, and his opinion was that you didn’t need it anyway. You already looked... pleasing enough to the eyes. Was that how people described someone they found... good-looking?

Endless questions darted across Akutagawa’s mind that day. But none were answered. Because how could they be, when the one questioning didn’t have the guts to say a thing in the first place?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Akutagawa knew.

He knew you didn’t mean to. But you did it anyway. He knew why, too. Because he let you. And just like that, his walls came down. No, they didn’t crumble — he wouldn’t let them fall that easily, but still you were the only one who could take the bricks out piece by piece until the barrier was almost nonexistent.

It was like demolishing a house and rebuilding it again — just better, stronger. You painted over his grey with your red. It was your favourite color, and fitting enough; it was the color of his feelings for you.

Since that day you were always there for him. You had your own tasks, sure, but you always looked out for him when you could. And he found that days when you were especially busy were the days he felt most blue. Akutagawa found it strange though — why did you care? What did you have to gain?

And he found the answer one night, a conversation with you by the bay. You had invited him to take a walk with you, to get some proper fresh air and let off steam. But Akutagawa had read way too much into it, that he knew. Why else would he feel disappointed that there wasn’t so much as any physical contact with you? He merely stayed at a distance as he always did, and you never tried.

One fruit bore out of that night though. He learned more about you than he thought he would. You were much like him; joining the mafia because you had nowhere else, you accepted an invitation from a senior in the mafia, wanting to prove that you weren’t worthless, that you could produce something of value to someone. No wonder you looked out for him. You saw a part of yourself in him, didn’t you? You knew how lonely it felt. That night, Akutagawa felt something he never thought he would — a sense of belonging.

The longer you spoke to him that night, the larger that feeling grew. And somehow he looked at you in a way he didn’t before. It confused him, disgusted him. No, correction — he disgusted himself. Not his affection for you. Why did he feel like pursuing this; you? That night, he denied himself the chance to let you in on his feelings.

A useless kid like him doesn’t deserve you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke was a black sheep. But you were the golden girl.

Should he be surprised then? As he watched the way his mentor interacted with you, should he be worried? No, did he even have the right to be? But then he saw him smile at you, a smile he’d only seen formed when he was around that other guy — Oda Sakunosuke. You were... another exception? Yet again, many questions raced through his head. But one thing he knew for sure — he was turning into the green-eyed monster.

He started to notice how you reacted to Dazai. He hated how you always seemed so mesmerised whenever he walked by. He hated how your eyes twinkled whenever you talked to him — where’s that sparkle in your eye when you talked to Akutagawa? He hated how one day you just showed up with Dazai’s coat wrapped around your shoulders. He hated how much he was affected by it. It really wasn’t unexpected — next to Dazai, who would take a second look at him anyway? He wished he could be him. Then maybe you’d... He shook his head. No, maybe not even then.

What he hated the most? He couldn’t even hate the guy. He yearned for Dazai’s respect; approval, and that never changed. But then the upset dissolved into an understanding. Something in his head clicked. You belonged with Dazai. He knew next to nothing about your relationship and how it worked. But what Akutagawa did know? Dazai was a revered member of the Port Mafia, one likely to take Mori’s place as the big boss in the future. He couldn’t even lay a hit on him with Rashomon. Dazai wasn’t a formidable fighter like Chuuya either, and still he managed to beat Akutagawa into the ground. That man... was exceptional. You deserved that. You deserved the best.

That’s what Dazai was. He was the black that would take no other hue, and fittingly so he was the Port Mafia’s great white hope.

“Devour space? That sounds cool,” you had commented one day while bandaging up the cut on his wrist, one inflicted on by Dazai himself. He noticed how you didn’t comment on his barbarism as you usually would, and the usual concern in your tone never appeared. As it never did ever since the first day he saw you talk to Dazai.

“I still can’t do it.”

“If you try to imagine you’re protecting me, could you?”

You see, Akutagawa knew it was just a joke to you. And yet? His heart started pounding so fast, so loud in his chest the moment he heard it. It was a tiring dance — feeling so happy about a tiny comment and then feeling a heartache after realising your smiles, even then, were never as sweet as the ones you flashed at Dazai.

Did Dazai even love you? Or was he playing some sort of game as he usually does with women? He hated how he was praying for the latter. Hated how he wished that things would crumble for the two of you so that he could be the one to help you pick up the pieces — to be the one. Akutagawa sighed, knowing he could never get inside his head. Anyone who tried would fall into a cognitive prison. But even these selfish thoughts couldn’t last long, because Akutagawa got his answer later that day when he overheard his mentor talking to his friend.

“Odasaku, how vulnerable can humans get?”

Akutagawa is shocked at the depth of the conversation. He didn’t know Dazai was capable of talking about... emotions. He didn’t think he had any. The other man mentioned something about it being to a big extent, Akutagawa let it slip past his ears. He was more interested in what Dazai had to say.

“It’s weird. It’s like finally being seen after having lived in perpetual darkness. The light she holds, it’s small... but is it wrong of me to hope that it will grow with time?”

Was that... hope he heard in his mentor’s voice? ‘With time’? That meant the future... for all his suicidal thoughts, because of you, was Dazai really considering living? Akutagawa sighed in exasperation as he quietly walked away from the spot he eavesdropped from. He would never understand Dazai.

He never did. Especially not when the same Dazai who spoke so fondly of you was the same Dazai who shot three bullets at Akutagawa for killing the enemy. You were a saviour in more than one way. Your words echoed in his mind, and his shield came out of his will to protect you, an imaginary you. That’s why Dazai didn’t manage to shoot him dead this time. Because of you.

“Oh? See? You can do it. How many times have I told you? Cutting open unfortunate hostages isn’t the only thing you’re good for. You should be able to use your powers for defense too.”

“I’ve never been able to successfully do that before this.”

“But you just did. Isn’t that great?”

Akutagawa wanted so badly to argue back in an act of rebellion, to yell out that it was only because of you that he was able to do it. But the words got stuck in his throat. And Dazai’s threat embedded themselves in his brain. He always wondered if Dazai knew his subordinate harboured feelings for his partner. But Akutagawa already knew the answer. Nothing escapes that man. But he’s sure that he doesn’t view him as a threat, not even as competition, no.

To Dazai, it was probably just another reason to hate him; another reason to justify why he was in Dazai’s black books.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was a complete bolt from the blue.

Akutagawa remembered the day he realised he had lost two important people in his life. He thought that watching as you fell in love with Dazai was the most horrible emotion he could feel. He was wrong. Losing the two of you, not even being able to see either of you, not knowing where either of you vanished to — nothing could top that agony.

The day Oda died, the two of you disappeared along with him.

You took down his walls, painted the insides red, furnished it and made it vibrant again and then suddenly you were gone. You left him in the dark. You invaded his solitary space — slowly, ironically without any violence, and yet the moment you left, it was anything but peaceful for Akutagawa. No, you and Dazai left him even lonelier than before. You graced him with your presence and healed him, only to break him down even more than he already was before he met you.

Everything he heard about love after you left just seemed like everyone viewed the world through rose-coloured glasses. Nothing he found could describe the anguish he felt over losing you; or the regret he held for not telling you how he felt — the remorse that he knew wouldn’t change a thing, and yet wished he did anyway.

Because who knew when he would ever see you again, if he would? What if he never did? Yet ironically, your memory is always there — you’re sitting at the edge of his periphery, taunting him with your smile, tempting him to go and find you. And Akutagawa thinks of it everyday; what it would be like to find you, to hold you, to tell you everything he should have when you were still there.

However, a part of him nags at him not to. After all, the grass is always greener on the other side — maybe because Akutagawa isn’t there. And as an image of you flashed in his mind yet again, he scoffed at himself.

Beautiful. That’s the word he was looking for that first day you touched his soul.

You’re beautiful.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[songbirdsingingthings]

Chapter Six - Skipping to First in the Ever Growing Line

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

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Word Count: 2.5K

You hadn’t left your father’s side for a week and counting. Every waking moment was spent fretting over him - whether he was warm enough, whether he had enough to eat… whether he ate at all. You no longer made much of an effort to attend balls, much to Nemuri’s chagrin, and it had been a few days since you took a proper bath. Izuku was feeling just as drowned as you were - while you were serving as a caretaker of sorts, Izuku took on all of the work your father had to do on a daily basis; check the budgets, arrange business meetings, manage the family’s finances… it was just so much to do. Every time you heard your father croak or make a move to get up, you were always on your feet to aid him with whatever he needed. This kept you up late into the night and into the wee hours of the morning. You busied yourself with reading whatever you could to keep you awake. They whirled you away into their worlds of fantasy, romance, and adventure so rich and lovely that you wished to be swept up and dropped right into them. 

It was late, very late, and your nose was buried into the latest novel you had come across all the while making note of every time your father’s breathing was irregular and shallow. That’s why it surprised you when Mei stepped in quietly to say that you had company. You peered over at the little clock that was sitting atop the nightstand and looked back at her with a “are you serious?” look. She merely nods and motions with her head to follow. You don’t budge from your seat, instead pointing at your father who was asleep. With a silent motion, Mei pointed at you and then out of the door, then she pointed to herself and the chair that you were sitting in. You understood and, unhappily, rose from the wooden chair, patted her shoulder, and made your way down the long sweeping staircase. You were sure your hair was a mess and that your dress was all wrinkled, but you didn’t care. It was almost 1’oclock in the morning after all. What surprised you was that you didn’t have just one visitor, but four. All dressed in sharp suits and looking fresh as a daisy, the four young men looked up at you and gained a different response. There was Lord Iida who not only carried a briefcase, but also a vase of beautiful flowers. Well, his butler held that. Your gaze flickered to Shouto’s, and for a brief but fleeting moment, held them. And then there was Lord Kirishima and Lord Bakugou - the boys you had known for almost forever. Katsuki would tease Izuku relentlessly when you were younger, so he did the same with you, but it was all in good fun. Lord Kirishima became Lord Bakugou’s closest confidant - and you did expect that there was more to that relationship than they were letting on - and another one of Izuku’s friends. You cleared your throat as you stopped in front of them, gaining their undivided attention.

“Gentleman, to what do I owe the pleasure of this… lovely, yet early, meeting?” Your words come out a bit more harshly than you intended, but nevertheless you continued to stare the four of them down without your confidence shaking.

“Deku mentioned that he was in need of some help, Half-pint, ” Katsuki said, stepping forward. Katsuki had always been taller than you, hence your loving nickname that left his mouth so often. “Y’know where we can find him?” You didn’t have the urge, nor patience, to listen to why your brother needed four of them exactly, so you just led them to the study instead. You knocked twice and opened the door, revealing a frazzled Izuku sat at his desk, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows and his hair a frizzy mess. He looked up and his weary eyes met yours, and then the rest of your company.

“Midoriya, it’s been a while!” Kirishima said gallantly, walking over to him and putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Seriously Deku, no words for a couple weeks and then we get a letter saying ‘need your assistance’? It would’ve been a shame if that got into the wrong hands and rumors started to float around.” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. While the three of them conversed, Lord Iida stepped towards you, his butler in toe.

“I thought that you might be under a significant amount of stress lately, so I offer aid in any way necessary. He explains, earning a soft nod for you. “I also thought you might enjoy these flower arrangements - shall I have my butler place them in your parlor?”

“Yes, thank you Lord Iida. They’re lovely.” You decide not to mention how the arrangements were made up of white lilies, the flower that represents death. Lord Iida bows before you and in return you give him a quick curtsy. You slowly begin to step out of the room and you almost make it down the hallway before Shouto stops you.

“Y/N,” He breathes, his voice light but heavy with concern. You don’t correct him when he uses your first name. Instead, you turn to face him slowly. You see him open his mouth to talk but then hesitates.

“Would you like me to fetch a servant for tea? Because other than that, I genuinely do not know how I can be of service to you,” You sigh, bringing up one of your hands to daintily rub your eyes. I need to get back to reading, otherwise I’m going to fall asleep, you think to yourself. Shouto frowns and takes a step towards you.

“I want to be of service to you.” He admits. His eyes are soft and tender as they look at you, making you wish you had the strength to turn around and march back upstairs to your bedchamber. However, you were running on almost no sleep and hadn’t eaten in awhile, making you weak to his pretty face. Despite your fatigue, a small laugh escapes you.

“I’m not quite sure how that might work,” You say, letting one of your hands settle on your hip. “The young gentlemen of your social class, to my knowledge, have never been subjected to the studies of taking care of someone. That task normally falls upon the women of the household. And, from what I was able to see at your estate,” Shouto tenses at your words, remembering how your whole relationship dynamic swiftly changed when he brought you to his home, “you are up to your knees in servants awaiting your beck and call.” While your words might’ve seemed severe, they were true in all stances. Shouto knew this.

“I’m aware, I still want to help you.” His voice is no longer hesitant, but earnest and insistent. You give in.

“Alright then,” you murmur, motioning with your head that he could walk beside you. He took that opportunity quickly and the two of you settled into a comfortable pace, taking your time walking down the long hallway that ran through the left side of your house. The two of you are silent for a minute before Shouto decides to speak up.

“How much sleep have you been getting?” You expected this question, but that didn’t make it easier to answer. I should just tell him the truth, the bags underneath my eyes are evidence enough you think.

“Two, maybe three hours a night.” You hear Shouto suck in a breath and you peek over to see his eyes widen in concern.

“How much have you eaten today?” He asks more quietly, like he’s scared to hear the answer.

“Enough,” you say, hoping that will quell his questioning.

“Y/N,” He breathes, grabbing hold of your arm. Your nonchalant look seemed to cause exasperation from him. “You need to take care of yourself.” You shrug his grasp off.

“I need to take care of my father.” You say instead.

“Where are your kitchens?” He asks, provoking confusion to flash across your face.

“Is there a reason to visit them?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“We can get something to bring to your father.” And with that, the two of you began the ‘journey’ to the far corners of your home.

“Do you happen to know where everything is kept?” He asks you, peering over pots and pans that were hanging on the wall. You stifle a laugh at his incomprehension of how a kitchen works.

“The utensils and cookware resides there,” you point towards where Shouto was standing. “There is dried fruit in the cupboards over there and next to them are the fresh vegetables,” you motion to your left. “And the ice house is outside, which stores the milk, butter, and other perishables.” Shouto nods as he looks to where you had motioned, taking note of where everything was located.

“Perhaps we should bring him some dried Y/F/F,” He suggests, strolling over to the cabinet. With a small smile on your face, you shake your head.

“I have to disagree, Father can’t stand the taste for some reason,” You explain. Nonetheless, he digs through the cupboard and finds a little basket of dried Y/F/F. He places them in front of you on the small table.

“But you can. They’re your favorite.” He says, causing you to fluster.

“How did you know that?” You wonder, eyeing him.

“I would’ve loved to say intuition, but Izuku had mentioned it when I came into your parlor. That day when you so charitably entertained Lord Mineta?” A wistful smile fell across your face, thinking back to that time. Shouto had saved you from what would’ve been a most horrendous outing with that suitor, if you could’ve even called him that. “He said something about the fruit tarts on the table he and your father were sitting at, and mentioned how Y/F/F was your favorite. So, eat up. Then we can take something to your father.” You obliged his wants, taking a dried slice of fruit out of the basket and biting into it. The flavors seemed to wrap your taste buds in a warm, and much needed, hug that prompted your smile to grow bigger.

“Thank you,” you say genuinely. A small smile flickers across Shouto’s face at your words as he leans back on a countertop.

“Lord Iida’s flower choice was certainly interesting.” He says bluntly. You bark out a laugh and make haste to quickly cover your mouth, but the damage was done.

“I’m sure he meant no ill intent,” you try and reason, causing Shouto to roll his eyes.

“However he managed to become the suitor at the front of your ever growing line of them is beyond me.” You can hear the hints of jealousy in his voice, bringing you back to your conversation before you heard about your father’s condition. You choose to wave it off though.

“Ever growing line, huh?” You say, plucking another piece of fruit from the basket.

“You must know that you are the most desirable young lady that is out in the season.” He states. You cock your head to emphasize the point that you were in the dark about the subject Shouto was talking about, so he continued.

“Y/N.” The way your name leaves his lips causes your heart to leap. “Not only are you of high social status and come from an honorable and cherished family. You are kind,” he takes a step towards you. “Intelligent,” another step. “Beautiful.” He is now very close to you, maybe only about a foot away. It was when you looked up into his eyes that you knew. He was the one you must marry. Shouto was the only young man you have ever truly imagined a future with. He was not a bore like Lord Ojirou or disagreeable and sickening like Lord Mineta. You could be yourself around him. If you married Lord Iida, you would have to put on a show similar to the one you performed with his mother - the perfect little lady who was quiet, abiding… unspoken. Shouto liked your spunk and your loud little family. He treasured the small facts he learned about you with such care. He loved you.

“Shouto…” You whisper. To hell with the notion of marrying Lord Iida. You could deal with the social repercussions of that later, along with Shouto’s father’s clear disdain of you. That was all just white noise when you looked at the man in front of you and the tender look on his face. It was taboo to engage in serious romantic affairs before engagement, and even then, it was rare for a couple to show public displays of affection. But, you found yourself absolutely drawn to his lips. You leaned in just like the heroine from your book had, making sure that your eyes fluttered shut before you met his… but they never did. Thanks to the clamour coming from down the hallway, the two of you sprung apart and busied yourselves with something in the kitchen when the kitchen maids came in. Fighting a flustered expression, you made yourselves look up and meet your maids’ eyes.

“Oh Lady Yagi, we did not expect you to be here!” One of your maids piped up, curtsying to you and Shouto.

“It’s quite alright, Lord Shouto and I were just preparing something for my Father and didn’t want to bother you,” you explain, earning nods from the little group.

“Please, allow us!” They say, quickly working their way around the kitchen to whip up a small and nutritious meal. Cheese and crackers were placed atop a small tray along with a glass of chilled water. “Shall we take this upstairs to the senior Lord Yagi?” One of them asks, earning a shake of your head. You gently take the tray from her hands and smile.

“If you’ll allow it, I’d like to take it to him,” you say, your voice placated. The maid nods and curtsies again, letting you and Shouto pass through the small hallway together. Silence graces the two of you again but it’s different this time. It was no longer awkward and tense, but comforting and hopeful. The two of you would keep sneaking glances at the other, sometimes catching each other in the act.

“Can we discuss this…?” Shouto asks, his tone now shy again. You nod, not trusting your voice, and give him a smile. “Maybe on the promenade tomorrow morning?” You knew it was ridiculous to get as excited as you were about promenading with Shouto - for heaven’s sake, you already knew that he harbored feelings for you! But his invitation made it all the more real.

“That would be lovely.”