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rcksmith · 4 years ago

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Sun — Kaz Brekker

Resume: Feelings are destabilizing things.

A/N: This story is not set in the books of Six Crows, I also changed the age of the characters to twenty-something because the idea of writing something about a child makes me uncomfortable. All my stories, of any characters, are with them being of up age. Just like many fanfics out there in the teen series.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Mention of fight, swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, mention of kiss, mention of desire, desire, mention of death, but so fucking fluff.

Word count: 3k.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — —

There were few things in life that he was absolutely sure of. Things that were immutable, solid, unshakable. That even the strongest of winds would not be able to shake the structure. A life built on the basis of an equation of chaos, suffering, death and despair generated a result where it was necessary to be sure of something. And one of those certainties was the ability of himself, of his instincts, of his intelligence, the notion that he himself was a person capable of resolving any type of situation with iron fists. The second was the certainty of the loyalty of his crows, of the two people who, he knew, would never turn their backs on him.

And the third... the third was that when Kaz Brekker first laid eyes on you, he was sure that you would divide his life between a before and an after.

It was a lepid, ferocious feeling that swept the body of The Bastard of the Barrel from the top of his head to the tip of his polished boots. The heat immediately gave way to a cold sweat, a shiver as if receiving a midnight sigh at the back of the neck. There was a quick sensation of burning in the heat of an icy fire, but his composure did not flinch a single millimeter. He had learned to keep it in all situations, trained with steel fists.

Kaz looked at you deeply, from the top of your hair to the tip of your feet, trying to find answers as to why you had triggered such disturbing sensations with a simple and ridiculous exchange of looks. But he found no answers. He found neither after a day, nor after a week, damn it, he did not find nor after a month!

You had joined the infamous trio because they needed a fighting expert, someone who could defeat a good number of men on her own without needing backup, which would make their bigger and more complex robberies much easier. And when they found you, a girl who had been the subject for a experiment to create super soldiers, your ability to fight, physical endurance, and your sense of loyalty, made you perfect for the job.

But none of that explained why, whenever the stormy blue eyes met yours, he felt like he was ricochet by living eels. It was exasperating, frustrating on so many levels that it was difficult to put into words. Kaz could not expose this misfortune to his two closest people, first because his pride in admitting a disturbance in his subtly balanced world was too great, and second that... even if he considered said that, he would not know how to name those feelings for express what he were feeling.

How would Jesper and Inej understand something that even he did not understand?

Kaz Brekker had a firm and calm demeanor, an implacably logical mind and a way of narrowing his eyes that ensured that his orders were carried out with great efficiency, all according to the moment he wished. Then, just as he did to get rid of any disturbance, he buried those sensations so deeply until, like his overwhelming pains and traumas, they stopped tormenting him.

He thought that, like his flawless and cunning plans, it would have the same effect. That his nerves could get back to normal and he wouldn't have to deal with the feeling that feel hiself whit cold and hot at the same time whenever he laid eyes on you.

But, if it was true that the practice makes perfect, this rule has not been applied in this situation.

The deeper he buried those beginnings of thats sensations, more of them began to flourish, roaring harder, as a constant reminder that he was not that rock of stoicity and absence of feelings that he liked to think he was. It seemed that, just as light existed to exorcise the darkness, you existed to show that he still had a beating heart. Hot blood still coursing through the veins.

It has not helped anything in his cause that, over time, Inej and Jesper have become attache to you. Jesper even more. But if Kaz put aside his frustration and irritation for a second, he would know that he couldn't to blame them. In fact, there was no way to blame every person who approached you, delighted.

Jesper once described you as "the soul of the party", and Inej said that you had fire in your soul. Kaz would not have been able to think of better definitions to put into words what you were. There was thing about the way you laughed, the way you talked, the way your tilting your head and your so easy smile. There was a thing about you. That transformed you into the solar system and people orbited in your gravity like planets.

You had a way with people, Kaz really thought it was a gift, a talent. You were always laughing, smiling, playing with people and making them so comfortable in your presence that, once, Kaz saw a trader, who are in a the middle of a refused to close a contract with Kaz, just melt and give up because of the smile you gave to him.

Nothing from you has been forced, malicious, shrewd or cunning. You really smiled, you really laughed, as if you were...happy. Purely happy. And, in a second of insanity, Kaz wondered if that happiness was possible. If it was possible for him to feel something like this.

But, just as Brekker took his soul close from you as much as he could to avoid any emotion, Jesper did the exact opposite. Very quickly, just like Kaz and Inej are, the two of you became a pair of inseparable friends. Were always together.

Perhaps it was because you two were overwhelmingly alike: Always in the eye of danger, addicted to adrenaline, purely outgoing and liked a good fun. Or maybe it was because, like everyone around you, Jesper felt drawn closer to your warm, joyful and comforting aura.

But whatever it was, the timbre of your laughter followed by Jesper's became a sound as natural as the whistling of the wind. And it didn't take long for you two to become partners in thefts and plans.

However, it didn't take long too for the reactions Kaz had about the influence of your presence to become...louder.

If Kaz Brekker closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, he could still remember and feel that night perfectly as if it were yesterday:

The plan was succinct: They would have to go through guards, high walls and locks to enter a merchant's residence, open the safe, pick up the jewels and leave. Twenty minutes was the time limit to complete that sequence.

Everyone was assigned to one thing: Kaz would turn off a fabricated security system from a Grisha, Inej would sneak into the shadows to the safe and pick up the jewels, and Jesper and you would be responsible for dealing with the various guards. Everyone would have to meet in the corridor that led to the back exit.

Kaz did not think that that so ridiculous and simple plan it could go wrong. Or that someone could make a slip. To him, it seemed as easy as sneaking into a yacht boat. However, there he was, next to Inej who carried the jewelery bag in her hand, both of them standing in that dimly lit corridor, waiting for you and Jesper to appear.

"It's been three minutes!" Inej pointed, as if Kaz didn't already know that.

Her intonation was concerned, apprehensive, with a certain fear. Kaz thought about saying something, but as soon as his mouth opened to say anything, he heard...

Steps. Hurried steps of two people. No, actually, the two people were running.

Suddenly, you and Jesper burst into the corridor, running as if their lives depended on it. Inej and Kaz would have been worried if it weren't for the bastard and peraltas smiles that stretched across faces of you two, stretching their cheeks.

Then Kaz noticed the reason for the delay. You two carried a giant picture under your left arms. Jesper carried the front end and you the back end, like two children who made a mischief and was running from their mother. True accomplices.

Kaz's jaw opened, his eyes widened slightly and roamed the frame with agitated iris, while Inej was totally baffled.

"C'mon, C'mon!" You exclaimed with laughter in your voice, Jesper and you never stopped running.

As soon all left and took shelter in the safety and peace of the Crow Club closed in that night, Jesper and you fell on the couch, laughing and panting.

"What was that?!” But Kaz was exasperated "Do you both know how much risked the plan?!"

"It was only three minutes, Boss." Jesper defended himself.

"It..." That's when Kaz looked at the painting responsible for all the commotion and fuss.

It was a painting, a landscape by Ravka. The fold. In oil on parchment. A DeKappel. That was worth at least ten thousand Kruges.

“You commented that you needed a new painting for your office.” Your voice took Kaz out of the admiration on the painting, and Jesper and Inej looked at you as if they had discovered that now too.

Jesper and Inej thought it was just for the money...

Kaz looked up into your eyes, and the cold, warm shiver spreading across his chest and snaking to his bones. As it always did the moment yours eyes meeting.

He remembered commenting in passing, in a very vague and obtuse way, that he wanted a new painting in the office. Until that moment, Brekker didn't think you paying attention to what he had to say. Not when it wasn't about a job or plan.

But there you were, proving that you had heard. And that you cared.

His breath caught for a second, the icy chill turned to something warmer, like the first sparks of fire in a fireplace. The first flames that precede the fire.

After that, Kaz began to pay more attention, unconsciously, to what you said. And, consequently, he started paying more attention to you. It had been gradual, sneaky as a snake, imperceptible so he wouldn't be able to root it out. As if the universe, destiny or divines, introduced, grain by grain, a small summer in a landscape frozen by winter.

It all started with your comment about liking it sweeter than salty, that dry wine left you with a headache and that you preferred rum. He evolved to notice how your tone of voice got sweeter when you talked to children or animals, and more serious when it came to the safety of the three crows. And suddenly, as if Kaz already knew this as he knew the sky was blue, he knew how to say how your eyes sparkled when you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin.

In that second, looking at you from the other side of the agitated club that turned into a celebration with dance and music, the world became suspended for a moment. The music became just an echoing, blurry noise, the images turned to slow motion and the air seemed to change in pitch. You, who laughed and speen round in Jesper's arms amid so many people who did the same thing, were the only one who starred as the main attraction.

In that minute, when the breath was slow and lyrical, and the air had a beauty tone, Kaz's eyes caught the exact moment when a beam of sunlight hit your face, shining on your skin as if you were one pirate tropical treasure. In a burst, a second of insanity, like a violin string that burst at the apice of the song, he felt that there was nothing else in the world worth seeing that was not you.

It was a scary, terrifying discovery. Something that made him freeze from head to toe, and all the speed in the world came back so fast that Kaz felt dizzy. He pressed his covered hand to the crow's beak of his cane, as if he needed a reminder of reality. Something that would wake him up from those hellish sensations.

- -

The months passed after that fateful afternoon. Kaz avoided staying close to you any longer than necessary and would strongly and vigorously scold every change of tone within himself whenever he saw you.

He didn't know what those sensations meant, but he also didn't want to find out. He liked challenges and responsibilities, but being around you was proving to be more than he could take. Your presence ignited him in a cold and warm fire, promising a future full of unfulfilled infinite wills. From pain, impotence and doomed to failure. Any feeling for you would be more of a punishment than anything else. The only solution was to get it out of your head.

Of course, he had been trying to do just that since he met you.

But again, the universe did not seem to want to give up from he. Not so easily.

Kaz had to take you along to make a deal with a merchant who was more impassable than a rock. Kaz had tried to negotiate with him before (since he couldn't take the strength or rob what he wanted) and all his efforts were in vain. So, he appealed for the last weapon. The person who always had a natural gift whit other people and always had a real smile that made anybody feel like... as if happiness really existed.

You.

"I'm glad it's hot" You commented, while walking next to Kaz "I don’t like the cold."

How did he know that you would say just that? That was so you. Warm, sweet and cozy things were the embodiment of what you were. It was logical that you preferred the heat. So different from him that, instead of you, enjoyed the cold. Liked the rains and storms, relaxed with the moonlight and felt less tense with the midnight winter breeze.

Kaz understood your personality as he understood the very lines of his hands. You were wild, bordering on reckless, you acted before thinking and you always loved anything that aroused adrenaline. You ran like no one else, jumped from one horse's cell to another, decided to catch the largest number of targets just because you wanted the thrill of fighting five against one. Anything calm, serene and peaceful stirred your restless personality. And Kaz knew exactly your level of restlessness from the way your leg was constantly jumping when you had to sit still for more than a few minutes.

You were a free spirit, forged in the heart of the sun and in the heat of summer. While he was limited by his own body and built in the heart of winter and frozen by the cold of the sea. Anything between you was doomed to fail even before you two met. Kaz Brekker knew this very well.

“He is late.” You grunted, your leg was already starting to jumping when you two spent a measly ten minutes waiting for the man.

You looked back and seemed to find it interesting, because Kaz saw your eyes shine.

"Let's go there?" You pointed, and Kaz had to turn around to see that you were referring to a coffee shop.

Crowded with sweets in the window for a change. Why was he not surprised?

“No.” He turned forward again, both hands on the cane.

"So I go over there and come back quickly."

“Y/n" he just said in a warning tone, giving you a scolding look.

You mumbled something he didn't identify, turned around again and did your best to be quiet. Five minutes passed before that merchant arrived, and Kaz can perfectly follow the change in his posture, change in the man eyes when you greeted him with that summer voice and sunny smile.

It was so vibrant, so vivid that, for a second, Kaz found himself slightly swayed by all the brilliance you emanated. Pulled towards your like an animal needing the warmth of the sun.

It didn't take much for the man to sign and agree with everything Kaz said and imposed. In fact, he suspected that if he had asked him to give him his bank password, the man would have been happy to do so.

"Can we go in the coffee shop now?” You commented as soon as the man left, still turning around to look at you as much as possible.

Kaz restrained the glaring urge to roll his eyes, but he had just landed a very lucrative business just and exclusively because you agreed to help. Even though you didn't gain anything from it. So, if he had to go with you to a goddamn coffee shop so he wouldn't feel like a petty profiteer, he would go to the goddamn coffee shop.

Kaz just walked towards the place, and the wide, summery smile you gave may have he missed a few heartbeats.

Stop it!

Once inside the damn store, you scanned the menu that hung on the wall.

“I never took this one.” You commented, pointing to what appeared to be a very sweet mix of drink. Something that involved ice cream and chocolate with something else.

It was not the kind of comment that had an answer, and Kaz was still engaged in the mission to stay away from you. But he thought that statement was just the reason why you wouldn't order that drink. But, just as you always threw any worldview Kaz had in the latrine, you asked for just that. His eyes were bloodshot with astonishment.

“Why are you going to order something you don't know if you like it?” He asked as soon as you got the drink and paid for it.

"How am I supposed to know if something is good if I never try it?” You said casually, both of you going out of the store. “Wanna try out?”

You held out for he the plastic cup that was covered by a lid that had a hole in the middle, where a fat, transparent straw came out. Kaz looked at you as if you had created a second head.

“Come on, you'll never know if you like it if you don't taste it.” The two of you stopped, you still holding the glass gently towards his mouth.

“No.” Kaz shook his head.

“Come ooon.” You insisted, a petulant and amusing smile plastered on your face.

"No."

You shook the glass, holding it out once more. This time, Kaz gave you a slightly annoyed look.

"You're not going to stop insisting until I take this thing, are you?"

You laughed, with a triumphant and friendly smile “I'm glad you know me so well”

Kaz rolled his eyes, snatching the glass from your hand and bringing the hellish straw to his mouth. Hell, he felt so stupid pulling that stupid drink through that straw. As soon as the sweet liquid invaded his tongue, an explosion of flavors flooded his palate, causing him to remain unresponsive for a moment.

"You liked it!" But just as he unveiled all of your lookes, you knew how to unveil all of his.

Kaz handed you the glass. “Absurdly sweet."

"You liked that I know."

You joked and, for a second, you had aroused he a desire to smile. A succinct curve in lips. With your sunny smiles and summer expressions, you looked like you were out of an enchanted forest inhabited by mystical creatures. Sun nymphs. Maybe Kaz would even have let himself go lightly if, when you took the glass back, your lips had not wrapped around the tip of the straw.

Exactly where his mouth was a second ago.

He pulse quickened so fast that it made the blood burn in his veins. It was impossible not to look down at delicate mouth, the subtle but destabilizing curvature in the center of your lower lip. Suddenly, he was out of breath, his body numb and his heart stopped beating for a second before accelerating to an alarming level.

Everything became hot, stuffy. The world spun away, out of focus, out of existence, leading he on a waltz unlike anything Kaz had ever felt before.

Kaz Brekker was the Bastard of the Barrel. Dirty hands and scammer. Someone trapped by his own body and traumas, unable to allow himself to enjoy human contact. But, hell, he was still a man. And in that moment, in that insane moment, he wanted to pretend, even for a few seconds, that what he wanted was within his reach.

Kaz thought he understood the desire: an attraction. He thought he knew what lust was: a wish that people felt. He had seen countless examples on his bar counter, drunk and chattering about what it was like to want a woman, to long for her. He thought he understood.

And he found that he didn't understand anything.

The desire was a hot and feverish whirlwind that shivered he from head to toe, with dizzying speed, and dragged everything towards perdition, below any intellect, any rationality. Rationally, he shouldn't have thought you were even more beautiful. But he did. He shouldn't feel his breath catch, but he did.

He felt as if he were walking on a narrow suspended board. One misstep and it would be the end of it. Hiding his disturbing thoughts, Kaz looked away from you.

He was ruined for the rest of his life.

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hysteriium · 4 years ago

Text

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them.

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think.

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader.

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence.

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief.

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice.

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–”

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running.

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper.

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.”

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he?

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” he smirked, petting your head.

Curse his height.

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?”

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.”

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.”

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.”

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath.

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?”

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars.

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!”

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well…

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it.

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word–

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you.

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first.

“Will this make you, uh, happy?”

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?”

“My being with you.”

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’.

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.”

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted.

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm.

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion.

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–”

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks.

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning.

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling.

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady.

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips.

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold.

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk.

“Peach,” he cooed.

You were going to have to reapply later.

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself.

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him.

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!”

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with.

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work.

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.”

“Hmm,” he trailed off.

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green.

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!”

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed.

“All done!”

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.”

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention.

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.”

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.”

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.”

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach.

It would have to do, though.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He stood up now, towering over you.

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips.

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact.

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“What are you–”

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed.

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring.

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days.

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving.

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting.

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust.

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.”

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.”

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism.

“It’s hard not to.”

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him.

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly.

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago.

You fought the urge to run.

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath.

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand.

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?”

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–”

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.”

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out.

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision.

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology.

Your stomach turned.

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm.

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt.

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him.

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset.

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier.

Pee-yew.

Everyone here sucked.

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her.

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement.

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.”

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?”

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear:

I’m new to this.

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation.

Something had changed.

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him.

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response.

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain.

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment.

“So what? What are you doing?”

“What does it – ah – look like?”

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away.

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo.

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but.

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right.

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it.

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles.

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt.

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash.

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean.

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that.

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good.

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you.

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth.

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.”

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade.

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.”

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.”

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.”

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth.

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation.

Yeesh.

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming.

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here.

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom.

He smacked his lips.

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse.

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?”

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side.

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye.

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her.

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation.

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?”

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?”

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing.

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer.

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut.

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance.

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed.

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms.

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.”

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly.

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again.

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.”

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected.

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–”

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic.

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness.

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady.

“Mine,” you whispered.

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete.

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand.

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song.

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice.

350 notes · View notes

wolftraps · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, what if Martin meets The Archivist because it’s been Watching him from a distance since it came, but then Jane Prentiss trapped Martin in his apartment, and the Archivist couldn’t have that, so it appeared to smite her. Martin’s stuck in his apartment when he hears Jon’s voice going “Ceaseless Watcher-“ and then Jane starts screaming. Once the screaming stopped, Martin peeked out of his apartment, worried about Jon, and saw the Archivist. Martin: Jon?! Archivist: I AM THE ARCHIVIST

(Cont) Anyway, Martin thinks that something has happened to Jon and takes the Archivist with him back to the Institute in the hopes that Tim and Sasha can help him reverse Jon back to normal. Only, when he gets there, Jon is already there. Cue shock and confusion from everyone. Elias, Seeing the Archivist and wondering if this means his Ritual works, drops in for a visit: hello :). Archivist, only seeing another Avatar near Martin: (bristles). Elias, realising that he’s in danger: goodbye

[this AU is going to devour me]

The knocking stops so abruptly it actually takes Martin a minute to notice, the phantom echoes of it still rattling in his mind. It’s the voices that make him realize something has changed. They’re muffled, indistinct, and he’s wary of getting too close to the door still. But after a moment of silence, he can’t resist anymore, pressing an ear to the wood.

The sound of the worms is still there, but it’s different now. More spasm than writhe. And beyond them, a man is not so much speaking as... as intoning.

“- the agony of all your noxious devotion. Ceaseless Watcher, see this parasite in all its pitiful, writhing forms. Hear its sour song, feel its ravenous love. It. is. yours.”

Martin can only describe the sound that follows as a shriek because he has no stronger words. It’s a distorted, agonized scream that stabs through him and rattles his bones, and for all he’d been terrified by Prentiss lurking outside his door, the idea of something that could make her make a sound like that is paralyzing. For minutes, or maybe hours, he stands frozen with a hand hovering over the door knob petrified of what he might find on the other side. And for that entire time, not a single sound filters through from the hall.

Finally, he can’t take it any longer. Bracing himself, Martin eases the door open. He wants to breathe a sigh of relief when no worms flood in, but he can’t, because there’s still something standing in his hall, staring straight at him. Something that looks like-

“Jon?” Martin asks, perturbed and shaken and maybe a bit irritated. “What- what are you doing here? Where- Did you see Prentiss? What happened to her? What happened to you?”

“Martin Blackwood,” Jon says- because it is Jon, right? He sounds like Jon. He looks like Jon... mostly. Except now that Martin is looking, there are several scars that he doesn’t remember Jon having, that he could almost swear were closing eyes just a moment ago. His hair is longer than Jon’s should be. His face is gaunter. He’s... shaking. “Are you afraid?”

“I- I mean, yeah? I’ve been pretty well terrified out of my mind since yesterday, thanks.” The man continues to stare and Martin knows he isn’t asking about Prentiss. “Sh- should I be?

“It would be wise.” Martin wants to be indignant at the vague pseudo-threat, but the shiver running up his spine cuts the feeling short. Jon- probably Jon?- maybe-Jon tilts his head and still doesn’t blink. Has Martin seen him blink at all? “I have discomforted you.”

“A- a bit, yeah. You’re being... kind of creepy.”

“Yes. I... I’m meant to apologize now.” He says it like he’s going through a checklist or a flow-chart of social rules. This is what happened, so this is what you should do. “I’m... sorry.”

“S-sure. Er, look, Jon. I think maybe we should- go back to the Archives? And maybe talk to the others about this?” And hopefully one of them will have some idea what the hell is wrong with their boss. Jon somehow gives off the impression of looking into space and considering the suggestion while never actually taking his eyes off Martin.

“Will accompanying you be a more sufficient apology?” What kind of question is that?

“It’s not really... I’d be more comfortable than I am here?” Jon nods.

“Then I will accompany you. You should gather your things.”

The trip to the Institute is passed mostly in silence. Jon watches the people around them intently, unblinkingly, but even when his face is turned away, it still somehow feels like he’s staring straight at Martin. Sometimes, when Jon is mostly a dark shape in his peripheral vision, Martin could almost swear he sees eyes open in places where none should be.

“Look, Jon-” Martin starts as they near the Institute and the silence has gotten too heavy for him to take.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” Jon cuts him off, though his tone is casual.

“S-sorry, what? I shouldn’t call you Jon? Why?”

“It will... discomfort him.”

“Who?” Martin already knows he’s going to hate the answer.

“Jonathan Sims.” Yep. He hates it.

“Al-alright. What should I call you then?”

The man who is not Jonathan Sims stands before the Magnus Institute and studies its façade. There’s something in his face, something like nostalgia, but also like disdain. He doesn’t look away from the building, but still he looks at Martin.

“I am the Archivist.”

Martin had hoped it would be more of a relief, when they finally made it into the archives. Instead he’s uncomfortably aware of the tension building inside him.

Tim looks up and seems surprised. “Martin! I thought you were sick. What are you... What the fuck.” He gapes at the Archivist, who takes in the archive while staring back and still somehow has not looked away from Martin. “Jon?!”

Whether it’s a summons or an incredulous question, the answer comes not from the man behind Martin but from the one exiting the office behind Tim.

“Yes, Tim? What-” Jon- the one Martin knows- the familiar one that makes Martin nervous but has never left him so terrifyingly unnerved- freezes.

“No,” the Archivist says in response to questions not asked. “I am not any of those things. What I am will not exist for a very long time and has both always and never existed before. None of those questions would help you understand.”

“Why-” Jon chokes, but can’t seem to finish the thought. After a few more false starts, he finally says, “You’re the Archivist, aren’t you? The one we’ve been getting statements about.”

“Yes.” In the long silence that follows, the sound of someone descending the basement stairs should have been clear, but the only reason Martin isn’t startled by Elias suddenly speaking directly behind him is because the Archivist turns to face him before he ever makes a noise.

“I see we have a guest,” Elias says, staring at the Archivist with a perturbingly hungry fascination. “Martin, wh-”

Martin stumbles back to his desk under the sudden weight of being Seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tim drop into his own chair and Jon, the real Jon, press himself against the wall. Elias doesn’t so much as sway, but he still seems off-balance.

“You don’t want to know the things I know,” the Archivist tells him.

Elias glares. “I rather think I do. Te-”

A second set of eyes snaps open on the Archivist’s cheeks. Then another. And another. Over its face, its neck, its hands. The sense of a hundred, a thousand, piercing eyes hovers in the air around it.

“You can try to steal or blind or destroy as many of my eyes as you can perceive,” the Archivist says. “But I will always have more.”

When Elias leaves and the weight lifts and most of the eyes close, the Archivist is still watching Martin, but it unnerves him now in an entirely different way. And when Sasha comes in with a coffee, frantically apologizing for being late, and freezes at the sight of two Jons, there’s something bone-chilling about hearing the Archivist ask,

“Who are you?”

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #tma #tma au #my tma fic #my writing #jane prentiss #elias bouchard #time travel au #the archivist #am i going to write this au?#unclear #will this scene be part of it if i do?#who knows #but i've been thinking about it for like three days straight #Anonymous #you asked #archivist time travel au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years ago

Text

Looking For A Place to Happen 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, drunkenness, some content not warned.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: The second last chapter of Sam for y’all!

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 6: Making stops along the way

💀💀💀

You laid on your side and hugged the covers as the bed shifted beside you. Sweaty, sore, exhausted, and the sun was only just dimming beyond the window. Sam’s broad back tensed as he sat up and stretched his arms above him. You could still feel him inside you, not that any reprise lasted long.

He said nothing as you heard the knock again. You barely noticed before but the pounding got louder as Sam pulled on grey jogging pants and chuckled. You groaned and hid your face against the duvet. Every move sent a thrumming pain through you, and agonized emptiness you resented.

Your knee hit the toy as it rolled against you and you flinched. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if it was him or the silicone stretching you. How had it only been a few hours? It felt like you’d been there for days.

“Damn it,” the voice grumbled from the other room, low and muffled by the wall, “I told you I was coming by.”

You recognized it from that fateful night at The Asp; deep and sinister. As brief as your encounter with the man, you could guess he was rarely anything but irritable.

“Calm down,” Sam replied lightly, “I got other things to do…”

“You got business,” Bucky retorted.

“Money’s in the bag,” you heard a soft rustle and a harrumph.

“Should’ve brought it direct,” Bucky complained.

“I’ve been taking care of your other problem,” Sam countered smoothly as you heard heavy footsteps move around the front room.

“I see that,” Bucky mused, his voice clearer, closer.

You lifted your head and quickly hid your bare leg and ass under the blanket. He chuckled as Sam neared and crossed his arms over his thick chest.

“She knows the rules now,” Sam said, “got it all under control.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his chin and turned to Sam, “yeah, yeah, well… my girl…”

“Nice woman… stubborn like you,” Sam remarked.

“Stubborn’s a word for it. She’s, uh, concerned,” he said carefully, “about the girl. Says she’s young--”

“Not deaf either,” you sat up as you clung to the duvet.

He squinted at you and you flinched. Sam glanced at you and tapped a finger against his lips for you to be quiet.

“You know Steve’s girl is having that little thing at the bar. Her birthday or some shit.”

“Steve won’t shut up about it,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“He’s sweet on her. Too sweet.” Bucky sniffed, “Anyway, bring the girl, need mine to stop worrying.”

“Ah, sure, when was it again?”

“Tomorrow,” Bucky jutted his jaw out, “actually…” he peeked over at you as he thought, “take her by my lady’s place. The girls will be there getting all dolled up.”

“I’m busy--” you began and Bucky snapped his fingers at you.

“You said she knew the rules,” he pointed at Sam, “maybe you should remind her before I have to see her again.”

He turned and you saw his leather jacket as he stomped away, seizing a leather bag from the coffee table as he passed. The door slammed in his stead and Sam leaned against the wooden frame to look at you. He shook his head and sighed.

“Don’t know what it is about that man and women,” he gave a smirk, “but y’all sure do like to take the piss out of him.”

💀

It was easy enough to find any house in Birch, there were only so many. As you were realising too late, this was detrimental, not just to you but many in the thrall of the club’s clutches. There was no place to hide from those men and their cruelty.

He handed you your phone back before he let you go. He warned that you better use it wisely. He would meet you at the bar later; you were to make your way over with the group of women you didn’t know.

You neared the front door of the yellow house and knocked. You waited nervously, the cold air slipping in under your long jacket. A woman opened the door and you wondered if you were at the wrong place. Typical. You could even get lost in Birch.

“Oh, you must be the last,” she chimed, “I’m Mel.”

You smiled and awkwardly gave your name. She beckoned you inside and you added your boots and coat to those already by the door. You dressed for the occasion, Sam approved of the outfit with a growl after advising you to wear something slutty. You hadn’t worn the tight leather leggings and the strappy crop top since your club days in your two years of community college.

Mel looked you over but made no remark on your attire as she pointed up the stairs, “to the left, you’ll hear them.”

You ascended and the low hum of 90s music and female voices reached you from the slightly open door just down the hall. You neared and knocked as you waited tentatively. You knew Bucky’s girl from the bar but never had the chance to talk to her. You never did well with strangers, always the weird one, the funny one.

“Hey,” Bucky’s girl swung open the door, “just in time.”

“Um, hi,” you stepped into the small bedroom, “I brought tequila.”

You held up the bottle as you peered around. The mechanic was on the bed, her brows arched sardonically as she watched the quiet baker girl that sat at the slim desk and checked her appearance in a hand mirror. She hovered a stick of eyeliner in front of her face but never made contact with her skin as she bared her teeth. You put the bottle down on the corner of the dresser.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she wisped but quieted at her name as Bucky’s girl introduced them, “oh, hi.”

You smiled and stared quietly. You chuckled nervously and rung your hands. “Did you need help? I’ve watched some, um, Youtube stuff on it--”

“Sure,” she lowered the mirror in defeat, “I just don’t wanna mess it up.”

“That’s a lame present,” the mechanic said, “make-up? When you don’t even use it? I always knew Steve was a bitch--”

“At least he got me something,” she handed over the stick of liner as you neared and Bucky’s girl pushed a cushioned chest up from the corner for you to sit, “my pa never did.”

“Just because he’s less of an ass than your pa doesn’t mean he’s not an ass,” the mechanic spat as she pulled at the front of her stiff dress, black with little gems set into the fabric.

“Oh, and look at you, wearing that clown suit,” Bucky’s girl intoned, “we’re all in the same boat.”

“What kinda look you going for?” you asked as you cleared your throat.

“I… don’t know, something pretty,” she smiled meekly.

You nodded and looked over your shoulder at the bottle of tequila. You peeked back at the girl as she squirmed nervously.

“We should do some shots,” you said, “it’s your birthday, right? You should have fun… try to relax.”

“Her, relax?” The mechanic scoffed.

“Shots sound good, I’ll get some glasses,” Bucky’s girl said from behind you.

She left and you asked the baker to close her eyes. You held her head carefully as you stretched her eyelid and traced it carefully. It was much easier to do on someone else. You added a little wing and balanced out her other eye before you sat back.

Bucky’s girl plunked four short amber shot glasses on the dresser and poured as you went over the gift bag full of make-up with Steve’s girl. She chose a rosy shade of pink that you gently applied to her lips.

Bucky’s girl handed out the glasses. The mechanic didn’t flinch or wait before she downed hers. Steve’s girl frowned as she took hers and you gave a thank you as you accepted a glass.

“I can already feel the burn,” the baker girl bemoaned.

“Come on, loosen up,” you raised your shot and downed it, “jeez, how old are y’all?”

“Old enough to know better,” Bucky’s girl said, “you know, you really got yourself in the shit but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.”

“Oh you mean the local den of assholes,” you snorted, “shot, shot, shot.”

You encouraged Steve’s girl until she reluctantly knocked back the tequila. You took her glass and your own and went to the dresser. You refilled them and offered her the second.

“You really don’t learn,” the mechanic blinked.

“No, I do but I’d rather be drunk and miserable than sober and miserable,” you raised your shot, “and you guys, this,” you pointed to them, “the look, sure you got some years but you’re still young enough. You needa show some skin.”

“It’s below zero,” Bucky’s girl narrowed her eyes.

“The tequila will keep you warm,” you nudged Steve’s girl and mirrored her as you drained your shot.

“She’s gonna get us all killed,” the mechanic muttered.

“No, I’m gonna get you lit,” you grabbed the bottle and turned up the little speaker in the corner before shimmying over to her. You filled her glass and took a swig directly from the bottle, “also, I can hardly feel anything anymore.”

💀

“I’m telling you,” you slurred, “you can’t wear that! We stop by my place and I’ll get you the look.”

“The look?” Bucky’s girl interjected, “you mean the hypothermic style?”

“My nan has more style than all of you,” you stumbled off the main road away from the bar, “come on!”

“We’re gonna be late,” Steve’s girl squeaked.

“For what? It’s your birthday,” you grabbed her hand and ran ahead.

The other two followed a few feet back as you led them down to your nan’s house. You dragged her up the steps and leaned heavily on the door as you burst through. The smell of cigarette smoke met your nostrils as your grandmother appeared in the door of the front room and puffed as she watched you sway.

“Nan!” you dropped the baker girl’s hand and outstretched your arms as you grandmother swiftly sidestepped you and sucked on her cigarette.

“I see you’ve made friends,” she tutted, “try not to make a mess of my house or you’ll be cleaning it up, drunk or not.”

“We won’t be here long, we just need clothes… you got any of that wine left?”

“No more for you, girly,” she chided.

“Girls, girls, girls,” you turned back, “this is my nan. She kills bikers.”

“Shut your mouth, girly,” your grandma snarled, “you might be three sheets to the wind but words carry.”

“Do you?” the mechanic spoke up, more and more quiet as she imbibed.

Your nan gave her a long look. There was a moment of silence, understanding, commiseration. The old lady shrugged and tilted her head.

“I haven’t messed with bikers since 1978 and I don’t plan on starting again,” she butted out the cigarette in the empty coin tray on the console table, “go on, get what you need and get out.”

“Ugh, fine,” you moped away and waved the girls up the stairs behind you.

You leaned heavily on the railing as you ascended and they followed behind you in disorder, several times supporting each other in the climb. Inside your room, you pulled open your closet and looked at the impulse purchases you never had a chance to wear. You don’t know why you bought them, they were all cheap and generic, but you were always a sucker for a sale.

“Here,” you handed the mechanic as shiny silver top with straps, “I should have something to go with it.”

You handed out clothes like candy, some of the tags still attached so you ripped them off clumsily. The mechanic ended up in the silver top and black pleather leggings, Bucky’s girl in dark blue dress with cutouts that you ordered in the wrong size, and Steve’s girl in no more than bright red bra and some high rise jeans.

“We’re gonna freeze,” Bucky’s girl whined.

“Suck it up and put your coat on,” you snapped, “now, we’re ready for fun!”

“Steve’s not gonna like this,” the baker moaned.

“You need more alcohol! Who gives a shit what he thinks?” The mechanic nudged her, “he’s a prick.”

“They’re all pricks,” Bucky’s girl giggled, “what’s this?”

You turned as she pulled out the bottle of Smirnoff hidden in your top drawer. It was still sealed because you didn’t like the grape flavour but she quickly broke the plastic. She took a gulp and scrunched her face as she held it out to Steve’s girl.

“No more, it’s too much!”

“If only Thor hadn’t dragged his girl off,” Bucky’s girl pushed the bottle to Steve’s girl’s lips, “but we gotta make up for her, don’t we?”

“Shit, shit,” the mechanic chuckled and grabbed the bottle as the baker struggled to swallow, “we’re gonna get in some shit, girls.”

“Is that idiot ever happy? Loki? What a dumb name?” Bucky’s girl snarled.

“They all suck,” you added.

“Ugh, don’t get me started on Sam,” the mechanic wiped her glistening lips, “preying on a kid.”

“I’m not… not a kid,” you hiccuped.

“You didn’t know who Aaran Carter is,” Bucky’s girl said, “you’re a kid.”

You laughed and took a swig and cringed at the burn of the vodka, “I’m an adult.”

“Sure don’t act like it,” the mechanic said loudly.

“Who gives a fuck? Tonight, we don’t,” Bucky’s girl said, “come on, let’s go see those bastards and show ‘em we don’t fuckin’ care.”

You snickered as you found your coat where you left it on the bed and the lot of you staggered down the back steps and around the house. The winter air crawled over you and sent a shiver up your spine. You hardly felt it in the warm glow of the alcohol; not the cold, not the dread that had lingered for days, not even the regret. You were completely and pleasantly drunk out of your mind.

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andraaste · 3 years ago

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I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 13

Thing promised, thing due ! It’s not your daily maana but chapter 13 of I am not your enemy which is available !

Happy reading 😉

(there's a joke that unfortunately doesn't work in English, don't be too mad on this handsome vampire please)

Chapter 13 : You always trusted him

Realizing immediately that something was wrong, the dragon eyed me worriedly, totally hypnotizing me with his icy gaze. My heart raced far more than it should at the feel of his fingers on my skin and his scent against me, the images from last night starting to loop in my head as the vampire's words still made my throat tight.

Feeling unable to answer for the moment, I quickly walked around his large stature that blocked me in order to enter the room, divided between several contradictory emotions.

That night I had let Lance see me fully and it terrified me. I wasn't just talking about my nudity. He had seen my wounds, my limits, my deepest fears, and despite the shame it caused in me, I let him do it, urging him to enter my head, my heart. Meeting him here made my hands sweaty, I didn't know how to react. I felt both euphoric and anxious to find myself in his presence. Besides, my exchange with Nevra had once again proved disastrous, which made my stomach bitter.

I definitely didn't know how to react.

Trying to ignore the footsteps that followed mine, I made my way with some haste to the back of the forge. Once in front of the weapon wall, I raised my hand to grab a sword haphazardly, except I didn't even have time to wrap my fingers around its pommel as a tanned hand grabbed mine. Like last time, I found myself trapped between Lance's body and the shelves in front of me.

- You know that it’s not because you are part of the Obsidian that you can take a weapon without authorization ? he said close to my ear.

The sudden hoarse tone of his voice made me shiver. I was aware of his every gesture, of his every breath that lifted his chest against my shoulders. He knew perfectly well where not to touch me on the level of the back so as not to hurt me and that troubled me.

- What's more, this one is way too dangerous for you.

His palm gently pulled mine away from the handle, slowly dropping our arms together along my side. He didn't let go of me though. I took a deep breath in an attempt to ignore his touch.

- Is there anything I can take here ? I tried then, injecting as much confidence and humor as possible into my intonation.

- So, you plan to train on your own and with a real blade ?

His tone, bordering on condescending, irritated me instantly. Damn, I needed to externalize everything that was swarming inside me, what the hell was he not getting in there ?

- I especially need to let off steam for a moment, do I still have the right or you will also prevent me ?

Anger, which began to grip my heart again like a vice, suddenly made a source of heat rise in the palm of my hands. It didn't take long for the dragon to realize this and suddenly squeezed me much tighter, locking my fingers against each other.

- Andraste, calm down. Now is not the time to do that here and you know it just as well as I do.

- If you let me get out of here with what I came to get, I will indeed have plenty of time to go and calm down elsewhere. Except that in the meantime, you're hurting me, Lance.

Visibly surprised by my last words, he eased the pressure on my knuckles, relieving me somewhat even though he still hugged me tightly.

- Make your light disappear and I'll let go, he chided me.

More annoyed than before crossing him, I clenched and clenched my fists to order my powers to dissipate, which didn't work as much as I wanted. Several pairs of eyes began to rest on us without discretion.

- I would like, but I must say that your touch doesn’t help me, I say defensively.

My Chief of Guard slowly unrolled his fingers from my skin, finally letting me move my wrist as I heard it. Closing my eyes for a moment, I instinctively visualized the path of my energy along my flesh, causing it to flow back to my epicenter, level with my stomach. With amazement, I discovered as I opened my eyelids that no trace of magic left my palms.

Lance pulled away from me to give me a questioning look.

- Since when do you know how to do that ? he asked me, an eyebrow raised.

- It was a first, I said with a shrug, as I myself was shocked at the outcome of my attempt. You see, I am good. So I’ve the right to train a little.

- You are incorrigible... but you’ll have to show me that in more detail.

A proud smile dawned on my lips as he blew loudly, letting out air so cold that I saw ice crystals crystallize on a blade close to him.

- Well, I think we both know how it ends when I show you things "in more detail"... is that really a good idea ? I asked him lower, almost timidly.

He looked at me for a long time, much calmer and more serene than a moment earlier. The atmosphere had changed. More intimate, more personal. As if, in this noisy and bustling room, we were suddenly alone.

- If you want us to stop our private interviews, I will comply without objection. This is your choice, not mine. But we know very well that what happened that night has nothing to do with it and that it would have ended up happening at one point or another.

The dragon approached me dangerously, a smirk so similar to that of the Ashkore era that it disturbed me.

- Know that it wasn’t the first time that I wanted to kiss your cute little mouth, he confided to me with a certain childish malice. And then, as you have already said so well, it is you who threw yourself on me. If you don't want this to happen again, just say it and for my part, I'll be able to stay perfectly docile.

I was obsessed with his words, with what they implied. Any relationship between us could only be unhealthy, totally abject. But then, why did I no longer know what I wanted or not ? Logic would have wanted us to stick to what was decently expected of us. Anger, contempt, that should have been our only fuel.

- What if that's not what I want ? I whispered so low that I was afraid he hadn't heard it. What if, for once, I had the right to listen to myself and not give a damn about the convenience of our relationships ?

Lance had never looked at me so deeply, which made me blush with stress at what I argued. Deep down, I knew the young man had fully understood what I was talking about.

- That night, when I dreamed that I was falling from the cliff... it wasn’t the first time that I had this dream. Before I fell, I still see the draflayels flying around me, but not only. I have the impression of constantly remembering that moment in Memoria, that moment when it was just you and me, I concluded hesitantly.

Never did he cut my tirade, realizing every piece of information I offered him.

- So, is that a good idea ? Probably not, no, I answered my own question a moment earlier. But I want to and for once, I want to have the right to listen to myself.

A new smile, this time much sweeter, appeared on his face before he spoke again.

- Your wishes are orders, my angel. On the other hand, only these, so do me the pleasure of getting you away from this wall of swords once and for all. Don't forget who's in charge here, he winked at me.

Lance pushed me towards the exit, I had obviously lost the battle for my weapon for a long time. Stopping in front of the exit door, the dragon seemed to hesitate for a moment, pulling one of its locks of hair back.

- I have obligations tonight, but I'll come see you tomorrow night in your room, if you want.

Without another ounce of ceremony, he turned on his heel and left me on the doorstep.

After literally being kicked out of the forge, I wandered aimlessly through the HQ gardens. I realized a little more every day that besides Lance, I didn't really have any relationships that I felt like myself anymore. When he wasn't there, I often walked in circles, desperately trying to find a way to make myself useful despite my poor physical condition.

No longer able to bear to see the same landscape, I decided to leave the enclosure of these walls that I knew only too well.

My steps guided me in the direction of the burrow, a place that had definitely changed in recent years. A tree with a bent shape had grown just above the crevice, which provided a corner of considerable shade in the great plain. I decided to lie there for a moment, enjoying the calm that reigned around me. Surprisingly, my back was not as painful as I would have thought, the cream of Eweleïn probably having something to do with it.

Stretched out at full length, I watched the clouds move with the light wind blowing between the branches above me. Raising a hand above my face, I lazily imagined my energy flowing through my veins to the muscles of my palm, my fingers. Several fine and luminous lines then began to run over my skin, creating a labyrinthine path on every inch that covered me. I felt good. Soothed, even.

Looking up at the blue sky, I thought I felt something brush against my whole when my eyes rested on a cloud of singular shape. My heart warmed when, in that white and vaporous cotton, I recognized the features of a fire dragon. I might not have been as lonely as I thought. A weary smile appeared on my lips, it was as if his aura had wrapped around my heart.

I knew now that he was watching over me.

- You always trusted him... I whispered. Valkyon, are you relieved of what you find in my heart ?

A new breeze lifted my hair, as if to answer my question. Savoring this moment, I closed my eyelids for a few minutes.

A hand was shaking my shoulder more and more vigorously when I finally came to reality. Slowly opening my eyelids, it took me a while to emerge from my heavy sleep. A scarred gaze plunged into mine.

But what was he doing there ?

- Did you sleep well, Steeping Beauty ?

I couldn't help but giggle at my interlocutor's attempt to quote a tale from my world.

- It's Sleeping Beauty, Nevra.

A wonderfully soft smile appeared on his usually closed face.

- You really have some odd-named stories, that's all I can remember, he said with a weak laugh.

I awkwardly straightened up to sit facing him, when a grimace of surprise and pain distorted my features as my back skin suddenly burned. The vampire immediately leaned over me in concern, one hand holding my shoulder to keep me from rocking.

- Andraste, is everything okay ?

Seriously, I've been asked this question too much lately.

(Chapter 14)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #i am not your enemy #eldarya lance #eldarya ane #beemoov #lance eldarya #lance #ashkore #eldarya fanfiction #eldarya fanfic #eldarya writing

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mhdiaries · 4 years ago

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SDCC 2015 Djinni “Whisp” Grant Diary

⟡ ⧗ ⟡ ⧗

It’s amazing how different the world looks when you’re the one in charge of it. I don’t mean the whole world, of course, just the one that exists inside the lantern. Now, instead of criticizing - which I used to do a lot of - I have to actually be responsible. I think my first decision will be to return to my original shadow look because I want my unlife to change from the inside out, not the outside in.

⟡ ⧗ ⟡ ⧗ ⟡ ⧗ ⧗

I think I still have a lot to learn about being a djinni; mostly because when I was “shadowing” Gigi, I didn’t pay very good attention to the things she was telling me about the job. I think my jealousy made me deaf to everything except what I wanted. So, now I have a lot of catching up to do. Good thing there’s an instruction book, and an even better thing that I have a lot of time on my hands since it’s a five thousand-volume set. At least it’s interesting... well, most of it is, anyway. The legal and warning sections are full of fine print that I’m sure would make any monster who needed sleep - which I don’t - go completely comatose. Something that I learned today, which I should have already known, is that the number of wishes a djinni can grant is based upon how many years they have been a servant of the lantern. I’m only allowed three to begin. I hope whoever finds me doesn’t feel like they’ve been ripped off. Hmmm... I wonder if I should say, “You only get three, don’t waste them.” Well, the next volume seems to be full of things a djinni can and cannot say, so I guess I will find out. Just hope it’s not in the fine print.

⃞ ⧗ ⧗

There is a clock and calendar on the wall of a small storeroom deep in the basement of the lantern palace. It is the only place inside the lantern where the passage of time is recorded. I used to go there when I was a shadow and watch the time pass when Gigi was out granting wishes. At first I thought it was fascinating, but over time my fascination turned to resentment as I watched the hours and days go by while Gigi was out seeing the world. Once, when she was gone, I got so angry I tore both the clock and calendar from the wall and destroyed them. I can’t believe I was such a.... brat. Somehow I thought this would make Gigi feel bad about not taking me with her when she left, but when Gigi returned and I led her down to the room so I could gloat over what I’d done, the clock and calendar were back as if I had never touched them. I look foolish, and felt worse. Gigi kindly told me that the clock and calendar used to be in her room, but she moved them to the basement because it made her feel lonely to see the time passing. She said that they were part of the lantern, and even though they could be moved, they could not be destroyed. I think that was the moment when I realized that I was a part of the lantern, too, and I began to wonder if one day Gigi would lock me away as well. That’s when I began plotting to overthrow her, take over the lantern, and then the world. Gigi, of course, would never have done that to me, but I guess that it just shows how much a shadow knows...

⟡ ⃞ ⧗

I am on volume 1,753. This volume could be titled When Wishes Go Wrong, and in it I found a story about the perils of wishes made in anger called The Princess and the Captain. It’s about a vampire queen who uses her last wish to punish her youngest daughter who has fallen in love with the captain of the guard, a commoner. The queen, whose word was law and tolerated no questioning of it, is displeased by their affections and forbids them to ever be together. The princess argues that the captain is her one true love, but the queen is unmoved and not only strips the captain of his rank but threatens to have him banished from the kingdom forever. So the princess agrees to forsake the love of her unlife... yeah, right... and, of course, that doesn’t last long. They are soon found out and brought to the throne room.

Now the wrath of the queen was great and she ordered her djinni’s lantern be brought to her. He was the oldest and wisest of all the lantern djinn and had been in the queen’s service for a thousand years.

“Ninety and nine wishes have I granted you oh queen, and there is but one yet left,” said the djinni.

“Listen well, then, servant of the lantern. Since my daughter and my former captain of the guard understand neither the nature of obedience nor the unbridgeable gulf between royalty and those of common birth, I wish them to be forever obedient and forever apart!”

“But my queen....” said the djinni.

“Would you disobey me as well?” she raged.

“Be it then as you wish,” replied the djinni.

The the djinni clapped his hands and there was smoke, a flash of light and the sound of massive iron doors swinging open and then closing with a deafening crash. When the smoke cleared, the princess and the captain were gone, and in their place two lanterns stood... a hand’s width apart from each other.

“Forever obedient - forever apart,” said the djinni and with those final words, both he and the lanterns disappeared.

The rest of the story tells how the vampire queen, being filled with remorse, leaves the throne and spends her unlife searching for her daughter’s lantern. There are, however, two footnotes at the end of the story. The first reads.

While any djinni old enough and powerful enough to have accumulated 100 wishes could have certainly fulfilled the “letter of the wish” by turning the princess and the captain into djinn, the queen’s wish never specifies whom they should be obedient to or apart from; thus it is just as likely that the princess and captain of the guard were made forever obedient to the love of the other, and forever apart from the queen herself.

The second footnote reads,

If, however, the princess and the captain were indeed both turned into lantern djinn, then the queen herself is probably still looking, because you do not find a lantern. It finds you.

7th of July

Today my lantern was found and I was summoned for the very first time! I thought that I would be ready when it happened, but I was completely taken by surprise. In fact, I had just put my hair up in a towel and was getting ready to apply a beauty mask when a voice thundered through the inside of the lantern, “You are summoned!” Note to self: find preference settings and change voice from an “In a world...” kind of intonation to something less ominous. Anyway, I put on my “game face”, took a deep breath, and hoped the monster I was about to be serving wouldn’t be able to tell that I was nervous. Guess I shouldn’t have worried too much about that, because when I said, “I am the djinni of the lantern, what is your wish?” the monster who summoned me almost fainted. He is a vampire... of sorts... and by his clothes it looks like he’s seen better days. He didn’t wish for anything tonight, so I suppose I’ll have to wait before I am allowed to grant my first wish. Now I’m more excited than nervous.

8th of July

“You are summoned!” I thought I had it fixed, but now the voice sounds like a zombie using “baby talk”, so instead of ominous it’s just irritating. More importantly, I finally got to talk to the monster who is currently in possession of my lantern. His name is Kieran Valentine, and much like me he is trying to keep his present and future from being defined by his past. We talked for hours and I think that even without wishing for one, I’ve found a friend. It was good to be able to talk about what we’d each done in the past and not feel condemned. I think going forward it will help to know that we’ll both be cheering the other on to succeed. Speaking of wishes, he still hasn’t made one yet... but I’m good with that.

10th of July

“You are summoned!” Ack! No, I’m right out on it blasting through the lantern like an opera singer. It still needs work, I may not have learned everything I should have from Gigi, but one thing I did pay a lot of attention to was the way that wishes work. When a djinni grants a wish, a force is released: a force so powerful that it can remake the very fabric of reality in order to fulfil its purpose. It is also a force that needs specific instructions or else it will interpret what you’ve wished for, and sometimes the results get lost in translation. Sadly, I am not allowed to give hints or coach monsters in how or what they should wish. It isn’t that I don’t want to: it’s that I physically can’t. Gigi one told me that she tried to tell a monster how to word a wish and her mouth literally closed shut and wouldn’t open until after the wish was granted. So, all that to say, I knew that KV’s first wish was not going to turn out how he hoped it would. I’m just happy that he had a “rescue wish” left, otherwise...

12th of July

I really feel bad for KV. He’s already used up two of his three wishes with nothing to show for it. I tried to tell him how sorry I was but he wouldn’t even listen. He even said it was completely his fault, and that I had nothing to be sorry for. I really hope he thinks hard about his last wish.

1st of August

“You are summoned!” Ooh, I like this version. It sounded like I was being called to the front door to meet an old friend. I’ll keep it. KV used his last wish today. He wished that we could always be friends. I think that would have come true regardless of whether or not he wished for it, but I thought it was so unselfish of him to use his last wish like that. I wasn’t exactly sure how it was going to be fulfilled until I was holding my very own iCoffin with KV’s number programmed into it. The best thing, thought, was that I had full bars everywhere I went inside the lamp! Being able to have a friend to talk to even when I’m inside the lantern is so much more than even I could have wished for.

#monster high #monster high diary #djinni whisp grant #whisp grant #whisp #sdcc 2015

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goose-books · 3 years ago

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& while i am posting things today. some more maxwriting, specifically two mini-fanfictions for yves. @yvesdot ’s WIP the one and only universe of kay rainier (would recommend! arguments to lovers! he/him wlw! interdimensional (?) shenanigans!) one of which also features an OC i've mentioned a few times on this blog but done historically very little with.

it’s occurred to me in my moment of posting that neither of these pieces have titles. oh well.

THE FIRST ONE

you ought to send yves. some bingo prompts. anyway, i sent them kay + daemons, and then immediately realized i had ideas and thoughts about that, too. so i wrote my own version. unlike theirs, this is vaguely set in the HDM universe, which is funny because i haven’t read HDM and learned everything i know from waya vivji, a single war and peace fanfiction, and also wikipedia just before i wrote it. the notable context here is that daemons are usually the “opposite sex” of their humans, and if i got that wrong do not tell me because i am embarrassed.

Kay is a precocious child; she is twelve years old when her daemon settles. Chesire is a sleek dark mahogany, a ferruginous hawk with a wickedly curved beak and eyes that glitter like beads. He is also male. This, for the Rainiers, is not done; even the absent Ariel, despite his eccentricities, had a properly gendered daemon. It unsettles Kay in a way she will not place for many years; still, as soon as she registers her disappointment (for it must be disappointment, surely; nothing more), she’s awash in guilt.

“How lovely,” she tells him, stroking his glossy new feathers, keeping her voice low less to keep out her father and more because it is only polite. Cheshire bobs his head and flutters his wings and seems, very slightly, to preen. He must be able to sense her uncertainty, the subdued flatness to her voice, but he is a Rainier as well; the polite thing is to ignore it, and he does.

“How curious,” Father says, stroking Fauntleroy’s velvet ears.

“Not unheard of,” the dormouse says from her seat in his breast pocket. Constantine inclines his head slightly; he does not deign to offer more.

When the Neighborly enters the house the jackal stalks at his heel, ears pricked at attention, wet black nose gleaming, mouth crooked open in a canine grin. With it comes a distinct smell — not unpleasant so much as it is unbalancing, an earthy scent, filling the foyer as its claws click on the floor. Like his clothes, it is black, head to toe. They aren’t usually. Kay wonders if it’s coincidence, if perhaps he dyes its fur so it will match.

She thinks of it as such — it — because to be frank she is not sure what to make of Atlas, and what to assume about his daemon. During the customary introductions, Cheshire perches atop Kay’s shoulder, and Fauntleroy emerges from her pocket to whisk up to Father’s collar and cling to the fabric to study the Neighborly. He can’t stay quite still. His hands twitch at his sides. He shifts his weight. The jackal paces maddening circles around the room, eyeing the dark walls and the fine wooden furniture, too dignified to lower its head and sniff but not too good to cast judgment without speaking. Every time it passes Kay in its slow inexorable orbit, Cheshire’s claws tighten on her coat.

“It’s a pleasure, Atlas,” Constantine says stiffly, extending a hand to shake with an expression that suggests he’d rather have it removed.

Atlas shakes, grinning easily, a looseness to his motions, and then he tilts his head and says, “Anubis.” In a moment the jackal’s at his side, curling around the backs of his legs to turn its wet smile on Kay’s father. It’s too large; that’s what she decides. How does he take it anywhere? Why hasn’t it learned to behave? Unless this is his goal: to part rooms, to announce his presence as soon as he steps through the threshold.

“Anubis,” she says, the first time she and Atlas are alone. “Like the god?” Atlas and Anubis; it is the sort of half-joke she can appreciate.

Anubis looks up at its name. Atlas looks at it. “I don’t know,” he says. “It was my sister’s idea.” He looks to Cheshire, who has settled near Kay’s inkwell to reorganize her pens. “And this is…”

“Cheshire.”

“Cheshire,” Atlas repeats, piercing glinting as his eyebrow quirks.

“When I was younger, I thought he would be a cat.”

“I thought she’d be a crow. Probably better this way. Crows are poser birds.” Anubis snorts at that, a sound both doggish and human.

“She is… she, then,” Kay says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Apparently that’s weird.” Atlas leans back in Kay’s chair until the front legs leave the ground.

“Is it,” Kay says.

Atlas’s eyes flit around her face, like he knows what she’s asking; his smirk doesn’t lessen. “Well, women have male daemons, right? Ask Cheshire.”

Kay and Cheshire look at each other. Cheshire fluffs his feathers and says, “This is dull.”

Kay is less certain. She does not smile at Atlas, but some of the edge has smoothed from her voice. “I should like to watch you explain it to my father.”

“If he could take it,” Atlas says. “What’s the mouse’s fucking name again?”

Cheshire steps back and forth, feathers ruffling, until Kay sets a hand out to still him, gentle, comforting. “Fauntleroy.”

“Christ,” Atlas says. “Bless you.” When he catches Kay stiffening, he relents a little, letting the chair clatter back to the floor. “Fits the vibe, I guess.”

“As yours fits you,” says Kay, making it as uncomplimentary as she can.

“Guess my soul’s black,” Atlas says cheerily. He balls up a piece of paper and tosses it to Anubis, who, flopped across the floor, doesn’t move. “Not the weirdest thing about us.”

“Well,” Kay says, “I think it would be rather unfair for me to talk about oddities,” and she takes a small victory in the look they share: not friendship, not fondness, but something like an understanding, reached in the quiet moment before Cheshire hands her another pen and she resumes her work.

THE SECOND ONE

this one’s a bit older but i never posted it until now, at yves.’s urging! i think i was doing... camp nano last year? or something. and couldn’t think of what to write. or maybe i couldn’t focus on my project because i was thinking about my other project, the butch4butch hamlet retelling i still haven’t written. to which yves. said, “write kay x your lesbian hamlet character,” to which i said, “you don’t think i will, but i will,” and i did. so really this is yvesmax crossover fic.

It is annoying, Holden’s habit of dropping by whenever she likes. This can probably be attributed to the fact that Holden, herself, is annoying. Kay can only adjust the items on her desk (pens, mainly) so many times; she is caught up in an aggravating state of waiting but also not waiting, and she does not care for that.

Just as she thinks so, there’s a knock at the front door.

Holden doesn’t ring the doorbell anymore. She did that the first time and Kay came down the stairs a few seconds too late to find Father staring at the creature in his front hall, looking like he didn’t know whether he should be put out or concerned. “I think the earrings got him,” Holden said later, on Kay’s bed, tapping the crosses hanging inverted from her ears. Kay’s opinion was that it was all of her, from the messy post-buzz hair to the propensity for suits to the Doc Martens to the way Holden leans on any available surface.

She opens the door and Holden is leaning against the doorframe. Which looks a little more awkward coupled with whatever she’s carrying under her arm.

“Hi,” she says.

Kay blinks slowly.

“It is late,” she says, spinning on her heel and heading for the stairs. Behind her, she hears the quiet click of Holden closing the door. The grandfather clock in the front hall is ticking toward eleven.

“I never get over how weird this place is.” When she glances back, Holden is peering into the nearest glass cabinet. “Like a little dollhouse.”

“Thank you,” Kay says stiffly. She cannot decide whether she is irritable.

“And this is coming from someone whose parents were devoted to taxidermy.” Holden follows her up the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of her suit jacket, looking entirely too comfortable here, and Kay decides that she is irritable after all.

“I do not know what you suppose your business is here,” she says. “Especially as it is almost an hour past ten.”

Holden shrugs.

“Do not shrug at me.”

Holden opens her mouth as if to speak, then casts a glance behind her. There’s no one in the darkened hallway; Father is in his office. Still, Holden waits for Kay to shut her bedroom door.

“I know I’m late,” she says, slouching back against it. “Sorry. I lost track of time in the bookstore.”

Kay blinks. “You are late to see me because you went to the bookstore,” she intones.

She says nothing as Holden withdraws the books from under her arm and extends them. “I really wanted to find Carmilla for you,” she says. “Like, the oldest print version I could find.”

It certainly looks old. Kay purses her lips. “I own Carmilla.”

“I know. But, like… it’s vintage.” Holden attempts one-handed jazz hands. “I have a sentence in my notes app from six months ago that just says carmilla but like the old edition.” She shuffles the stack of books. “And then I sat down for — look, I swear I was trying to be timely about it. Trying to be punctual.” She pops the P. “But time isn’t real and I read two chapters of Pride and Prejudice and I don’t know if you own that but it feels like the kind of thing you’d find sexy.” Her smile glitters. “And then — I know The Catcher in the Rye isn’t your thing. But I wrote in this one, so.”

Kay reaches out, very carefully, to take the books. She does own Pride and Prejudice, actually, but she still feels a pang. She flips through The Catcher in the Rye and is met with scrawls of black-ink handwriting, filling up the margins and underlining passages.

“Thank you,” she says, very softly, and moves to set the books on her desk. “You didn’t have to… get me anything.”

“I like knowing that my parents’ money is fueling homosexual agendas,” Holden says pleasantly. When Kay turns around, Holden catches her hand and steps in closer, showing her teeth in a smile. “But I’ll try to be on time from now on.”

“As you should,” Kay says, pulling Holden a few inches closer.

Holden raises a hand to caress Kay’s cheek. “That said,” she says in a low voice, “now that I’ve — what did you say. Now that I’ve fulfilled my business here, I can think of a few things we could do. Unless it’s too late.”

Against her will, Kay smiles.

“I suppose we can extend your stay a little longer,” she says, and their lips meet.

#max.txt #max actually writes #yves tag #love h tag #holden hemlock #apparently i only write kaypov. i'll admit atlas's pov intimidates me a little bit.#but i do maintain my choice of holden/kay versus holden/atlas because holden and atlas are like... the same. doubles #well not really doubles but like... i think the furthest they would get would be holden asking atlas to swap clothing items.#in a nonsexual very literal way.#anyway! enjoy.

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oh-writing-my-writing · 4 years ago

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If they’d been gross before - this was taking it to a whole new level. Literally

Sam pinches his eyebrows together, nose scrunched in reaction to the ridiculosity unfolding in front of him. Too engrossed in himself - themselves - to notice Sam bitchfacing in their general direction, Dean stands with his hands on his hips, and Cas in his head. He’s staring himself down, in a very Dean kind of frustration - but his expression is clear enough to belong to a particular ex-immortal, kinda-sorta-angel of the Lord.

They’ve been talking within (heh.) themselves for ages.

“Jimmy felt healthier, Dean.” That’s undoubtedly Cas. Serious, grounded - somehow, tragic. “I must cure your -”

“- do not say cholesterol, or so help me -”

“Fine.” Cas, again - maybe Sam was imagining this, or maybe his voice really does come down half an octave. This way or that, Cas projects the word with the sort of insufferability that’s long been associated with Dean’s stubbornness. There’s a ponderous pause, like he’s not quite done yet. “But you’re bigger.”

It’s kind of amusing to see your brother choke on a simple, yet easily mislaid, ‘you’re bigger’, delivered in pointed deadpan, and your best friend’s dialect. Especially when it’s his own voice saying it.

“I mean, there’s - Dean? - more space.” Cas stops abruptly. “Dean, what are you doing - ?”

Sam looks on curiously, as Dean thumps his chest to regain his breath.

“In what kind of a possession do you not feel me dying, Cas?” Dean throws back, obviously exaggerating because he’s stopped coughing. “What are you, detached?” He’s returned to the slightly irritated voice Sam’s matched with the man standing in front of him, for around thirty eight years now.

“You’re not dying.” Cas informs him. (Himself?) “And I’m very attached.” As if to prove his point, Dean - Cas - brings his hand up to touch his own cheek. Grazing the skin, gentle, his fingertips trace along his jaw, all the way to his chin.

It’s kind of weird to look at, but Dean’s own flustered face makes it more than worth it.

“Shuddup. And dude - stop that.” Dean again. “The hell are you doing to my voice, anyway? What’s wrong with the way it is?”

“Nothing. I think it’s lovely.”

Cue the blush. Apparently, Dean still had control over the parts of his face prone to reddening when he was embarrassed. Though, paired with Cas’s naturally stoic demeanor, it made for a comical display.

“Then what’s up with the seven-cigarettes-before-breakfast voice? I’d thought that was a custom Jimmy thing.”

Cas pauses. Or Dean does. Maybe both of them do, and Sam wonders if they’ve figured out how to talk inside their head - but because blessings are rare when you’re a Winchester, of course they haven’t.

“That - wasn’t on purpose.” Dean’s voice confesses, a little forlorn, and a lot more apologetic than Dean tends to go for. “Perhaps it’s my thing.”

That makes sense. And honestly, makes it easier to tell them apart. Sure, they’ve spent enough time together for Sam to figure out who’s speaking, with the intonation of a single sentence if they’re arguing, but for the rest of the time? It’d be a lot more convenient.

“Huh.”

“I’ll try to stop -”

“Dude. Forget about it.” Dean immediately cuts him off. Sam raises his eyebrows, knowingly, but neither of them are paying attention to him right now. “Doesn’t hurt. I, uh. Just didn’t know it could go that low.”

Dean smiles, but in the absence of flashed teeth and gums, it’s closer to Cas’s reserved ones.

This was going to take some getting used to, even for Sam, and he was just the blissfully-ignored spectator. He knows Dean and Cas have their work cut out for them - and they were going to stumble into mishaps, and march straight into misunderstandings, but as they ultimately always did - they were going to come through.

Not to mention, some things were going to be hilarious. Eating, for example. Showers, Sam fleetingly thinks, wickedly. Or sleep - because Dean would need it, and Cas would remain wandering in his consciousness all night. When compared with the arguments over being watched when he sleeps? Sam knows Dean’s going to cause a ruckus.

But, end of the day? Sam figures that if they’re ever going to get a move on, he needs to step in.

“Dean - uh, Cas? Can we - ?” He clears his throat, tentatively. Tilts his head in the direction of the impala, and holds a hand out for the keys. “I could drive.”

Cas hands him the keys from Dean’s pocket, while Dean protests his indignance. “I’m driving -”

“I’m not sure where we’re at, motor-functions-wise. Hand-eye coordination isn’t all we need.” Cas returns, matter-of-factly. “Possession is easier. I’ve never shared a body before.”

“Well, guess what, smartass?” Dean throws back, and the thing which keeps happening, where Dean cuts himself off and proceeds to tell himself off, is not going to cease being amusing for a very long time. “Neither have I. Just - sit back, and enjoy the ride.”

“I can’t. I’m inside you.”

Dean starts to fluster again. Yeah, well, take the backseat in there!”

“Dean, there’s no backseat in you, unless you mean your -”

“Guys.” Sam breathes out, patiently. Dean looks up at him, with the magnitude of both their stares. “I’m all for communication, okay? But if we could all just wait until we’re in the car, so I can plug a goddamn aux in before you start discussing backseats - I mean, semantics -- which, just to be clear, I’m not judging, I’m just wanting an out - that’d be great.”

Dean seethes, pinkfaced, but he remains silent, and that’s clearly the most affirmation he’s getting from there. Cas is the one who directs a slow and understanding nod.

So Sam huffs out a short breath, and the three of them pile into their car, with just Sam in the front. He starts the engine, distractedly inserts one of Dean’s tapes in the deck, and decides to hum along to tune out the increasingly growing weird conversations in the back - for their sake, and at this point, also his own.

Truly, if it had been obvious before? This was something else, entirely.

#destiel #destiel crack #implied destiel #vessel sharing #sam pov #sam winchester #sam winchester crack #dean winchester #castiel #castiel/dean #casdean au #deancas drabbles #destiel drabbles #for xojo

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overclockedroulette · 3 years ago

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this one’s for you squirrel xoxo ty for the writer’s block cure

not sure if I’ve ever talked about Tyrhzu on this blog? oh well, have this anyway.

mykie your space-themed naming conventions for pets has ruined me. also hope you don’t mind me using clover and indoril I NEEDED PET OWNERS ANd they run an animal sanctuary so. best option.

unnamed aubilon worker my beloved

~~~

Ten minutes. That’s all his incompetent coworker was supposed to take - and, since when was he assigned work with other people anyway? If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Kirren was trying to get the kid killed (but if that were the case, he would have just been asked, like every other time). He sighed and checked his watch. Thirty minutes. Half a fucking hour he’d had to spend in the porch of this dumb animal shelter, waiting for this idiot to pick up… whatever they had been asked to pick up (honestly, he hadn’t been listening; he didn’t particularly care), and having to deal with this… dumb dog.

He wasn’t quite sure what breed it was (again, he didn’t care), or even what it was for, but the owners - these two elven women with matching tattoos, one of them clearly far more confident than the other - had assured him that it wasn’t dangerous. Which he had laughed about. Because the thing didn’t look dangerous: it looked stupid. It just kept… trying to be around him, no matter how much he shooed it away or ignored it, with a clear disregard for its personal safety. He muttered a few curses and shoved it away again, letting out a short laugh as it slumped down, dejected, at his feet.

“Fuck off, mutt,” he hissed, laughing internally about the familiar terminology coming from his end, this time. But the dog seemed to take this as an invitation rather than a curse, and perked up as if its name had been called, standing up and wagging its tail emphatically just in front of the bench he was sat on. He considered kicking it.

“Luna,” he murmured, grabbing the thing’s collar and reading the name aloud. And he laughed - audibly - at the irony of the whole thing. “Fucking Luna.”

The dog - Luna - perked up again, resting its head on his lap and staring up at him with wide, excited eyes while he considered the pros and cons of impromptu canicide.

“Piss off.”

It whined, nuzzling its head into his thighs. Avarice groaned.

“Really. Go do… whatever it is you do. Somewhere else.”

It didn’t move. Just kept staring at him.

“You’re annoying.”

Nothing.

“Move.”

Still nothing. Just a long, mute pause and heavy eye contact, until Avarice finally sighed and relented, irritably moving one hand to ruffle the fur on the top of its head - because maybe that’d make it go away - and pointedly avoiding eye contact when it got excited.

“Now will you leave me al-” and the dog was already in his lap. He gave up fairly easily after that.

He laughed quietly when Luna curled up on top of him, letting him absentmindedly stroke her fur as he spoke, with a soft kind of intonation that anybody who knew him would bolt at the first sound of.

“Persistent little darling, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Well, I hope you’re happy. If you were a person, you’d probably have lost a limb by now.” He laughed again, and then paused. “But then, I suppose no person would have the guts to get close enough. I respect it.”

And he paused again, contemplating. And he laughed.

“It’s funny, actually. I could break your bones with my bare hands, if I tried hard enough. I probably wouldn’t hesitate,” and his voice started to waver, “I could cut you open and watch everything that keeps you alive spill onto the floor. There’s every chance I’ll murder at least one of your owners, in the future. I’d watch you bleed out and feel nothing.”

He was raking his nails across the skin of his left arm, now, bleeding from the mistaken incisions. His breath hitched. “I’d watch anyone bleed out and feel nothing. I have. And I do feel nothing, because I’m not a coward, I’m useful, I’m better, I’m not-”

And he suddenly started to realise how much his arm stung, and felt the blood dripping onto the poor dog’s coat, as Luna nuzzled the offending hand away from his bleeding arm and firmly back into her fur. He laughed. “Ah- my apologies for stopping, darling,” and continued running his hands smoothly down her back, letting her settle down again. He’d have to clean his arm later.

It was silent for a few more minutes, Avarice absently petting the excited ball of fur in his lap and trying not to think about his wounded upper arm, before he spoke again, more wondering aloud than anything else, not even bothering to look at the thing.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Silence.

“I suppose it’s just stupidity. Although, animals are supposed to be able to sense danger, aren’t they? There’s no reason for you to be this close. Especially to… to someone like- ah-” he paused: took a deep breath. “To someone like me. Oh- don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. I’m not exactly a good person, am I? Or… particularly safe. But I’ve gotten better!” he insisted. “In terms of being safe, I mean. I’m better than I was, aren’t I? I don’t- except, I never did, because I’m not- because I didn’t- because I’m not him, I’m not, I can’t be-”

His words were choked out of him in a strangled, dry sob. And everything was quiet while Avarice gathered his thoughts. Thoughts that were his. That came from him, and nobody else. Because he was himself. And never anything else. And he buried his head in that stupid dog’s fur and tried his hardest not to cry, because he refused to, because he didn’t need to, because-

Because the last time he cried, he wasn’t him. And he wouldn’t go back.

“Fuck, I miss Tyrhzu,” he whispered, barely audible, still buried in Luna’s coat. And it was the first time he’d said that name in well over eight years, and it felt unnatural, wholly wrong. And everything came back. The laughing, the fights, the chatter, the comfort; the screaming; the feeling of a blade deep, deep in flesh; the raw, unadulterated grief that had consumed him so wholly for years; the feeling of reaching in the dark, screaming until his throat was hoarse for someone (for him) and grasping only silent air. And he was sobbing, now: weeping into this dog’s fur, who just curled up closer to him and let him cry - or, rather, everything but, because he yelled and sobbed and the stinging in his throat became unbearable, and nothing came out but noise. He was screaming. Screaming eight years of repressed grief into the fur of a creature that hadn’t been scared of him. And when he got up, he breathed in deeper than he had in months. And he muttered a “thank you” to the dog as he continued stroking its silver-speckled fur.

When his coworker returned, along with the two elven women, he didn’t mention it. He just shooed the dog off his lap and claimed it had “insisted.” Which was true. And he had sorted the problem of his injured arm by simply glaring violently at anyone who looked like they were going to bring it up. The taller, red-haired elf seemed concerned about the dog’s condition - which was fair - although the smaller didn’t look worried at all. She just smiled, reached down to pet the dog’s neck, and looked up at Avarice.

“Say, did you know that dogs can tell when their owners are upset?”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed. “I didn’t mean it to be an accusation! Just a fact. Luna here-” she reached down to ruffle her fur again, “-has always been good at that. Very good with people, too.”

“Can you tell she plays favourites?” the taller elf murmured, nudging Avarice with her elbow and laughing at her partner’s affronted expression. He echoed that laughter.

“Quite. I… daresay I’d do the same.” And he reached down to stroke her again, leaving his coworker dumbstruck as they began to set up their belongings to leave. “Oh, and by the way?”

The coworker nodded tentatively in acknowledgement.

“You make me wait that long for anything, ever again, and you’re dead.”

#tyrhzu my beloved #AVARICE my beloved #luna. my. beloved.#i swear to god i almost choked when i asked for the name of their dog #kinda funny #unnamed aubilon worker my beloved<3 #avarice kiriatta #i'll make a post about tyrhzu later #just for context #in the meantime. just.#guess <3 #hurt/comfort #tw self harm #oc #oc writing #oc hurt/comfort #tw grief

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spc4eva · 4 years ago

Text

Mandokar: Chapter Four

I’m weak willed y’all. Enjoy the years flying by. *cries in hopeless romantic* I couldn’t stop myself - HERE HAVE IT.

Summary: The years make the heart grow fonder. But the Empire looms on the horizon and they’ll not leave any planet untouched.

Word Count: 17,673

Rating: M (+18) latter part of the chapter contains full on smut - praise kink, the helmets stay on, dirty talking, unprotected, vaginal, and fingering

Warning: mentions of questionable consent for touching and coercion past comfort

Cross Posted on AO3

Masterlist

Din was the first to return. He'd not really been expecting it to go any other way, but he had sort of hoped that Sena might be waiting, gracing him with a middle finger and arrogant helmet tilt. Instead, he knelt before the Elders in the Foundry as he handed over the supplies purchased with the credits from his hunt. Shustii, the only other mando who did not wear a helmet amongst the council, creased a smile amongst her wrinkles.

"You have impressed the Tribe, Djarin," her trembling elderly voice announced, speaking for the group. His own eyes went to Rhenx, whom he had always admired, but it was always Shustii who gave him attention. "You are the first to return from your Trial and with a bountiful harvest. For your success, you shall move forward in your training."

Din bowed his head respectfully, pausing in the position, before coming back up mechanically. Waiting for his dismissal, it was given when Shustii nodded, allowing for him to get back to his feet. The Armorer stepped forward and acquired his offering before he turned around, departing from the Foundry. While he was proud to be the first one back, he also didn't think the job had been that difficult. His bounty had all but sobbed at his feet, begging not to be taken in. Up to his eyeballs in debt, the man knew he was going to be killed or forced into servitude. None of that was Din's problem. It was a job and the man had done this to himself.

He wondered what the rest of his vod were up to, trying to silently place his bets on the order in which they'd return. He banked on Sena being a close contender, followed by Kedth and Xivi (who had decided to wait until she was 17 to go on her hunt). He was absolutely astonished to see Aya return next, but quickly realized that it wasn't because she had been successful. Over the years, since her loss to Sena, she'd cut herself off more from the rest of the group. He didn't pity her, as he took his own solace on not always being a part of the main crowd, but they were opposites. He took his part in the Tribe very seriously and Aya did not try. Most of her peers disliked her, Din included, because of what she'd done after the end of her duel. The mando had never apologized for it and Sena was quite popular within their class and outside of it with hunters around her brother's age. If she had just apologized, her luck might've been much better.

From the sag of her shoulders and the uneasy amount of time she was locked in the Foundry, Din knew she had failed. Noticing her departure at dusk, he could hear her cries coming out from her vocoder as she dejectedly wandered off. People who failed were allowed to try again when they were older and would eventually be assigned duties around the covert. Since they were not talented enough to manage easy bounties, they would be put to better use in doing things like cooking, raising the Foundlings, and supply requisitions. These were not bad jobs, as they were necessary for the Tribe to function, but it had to be a hard pill to swallow - watching your peers move on and being barred behind because of incompetence.

Kedth arrived the following day, brimming with pride, and leaving the Foundry after a short hour of talking with the Elders.

"Who else has come back?" Kedth asked, finding him in the Den.

"Aya failed, but she is the only other one," he answered, feet kicked up on the edge of the hearth table where flames sputtered up from the center.

"Dank farrik, I beat the Vizslas?" Kedth let out a little hoot of victory. "Knew I wasn't gonna beat you, but I expected Sena to be neck and neck with you."

"Depends on where her bounty was," Din shrugged. By this point he assumed it was a lengthy distance, because she wouldn't have taken their bet if she knew she was going to lose. He thumbed something in his pocket, contemplating whether or not after the First Trial was the best time to give it. He'd already noticed Hyvhast eying Sena and after they left normal classes, any of the female mandos would become fair game. It hadn't been his intention to eye up his rival, but he also didn't like the idea of anyone other than himself hunting her.

"Did you hear me Djarin?" Kedth intoned.

"What?" he tilted his visor back, dropping his hand from his pocket.

"I asked who you think is gonna get here next."

He shrugged, unable to levy bets when they had no idea where their vod were in the Outer Rim. They didn't have to wait around too long. Oyiin followed, which began making him anxious. Xivi was next, followed by Vowr, and finally Sena. Everyone had passed and he knew that Vizsla had too by the hefty supplies she dragged with her to the Foundry. Din waited for her to be released, darkness falling over the village before she stepped out of the Foundry, the moonlight catching the golden paint on her armor, lighting it up like a beacon against her dark armor.

"Looks like you lost," he announced smugly.

Sena's helmet turned up toward him, a strange, uncharacteristic line in her shoulders as she just stared. "Whatever," she grumbled and walked away.

He assumed she was just bitter, trotting after her. "Where did your bounty take you?" he inquired casually.

She did not answer, quickening her pace as she carved the path back to the Vizsla house.

This disquieted him. Sena was a blabber mouth, more than eager to talk about her success and paint vivid stories with her words. " Vod ?"

"I don't want to talk about it," her crisp voice was cold and distant.

"Did you fail?" That was the wrong question. Of course she hadn't failed. Din had watched her carrying in her supplies, but he couldn't logically find another reason why she wouldn't just say what happened.

"No."

"Then what-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" she snarled. The Vizsla temper was infamous around the Tribe, but it wasn't often that it was bared. Most knew to be wary of it as Hux had once displayed how terrible their family's temper could be. There were a few times where Paz had threatened to teeter over that delicate edge, but his antagonizers quickly backed off as Big Blue had become the largest person in the Tribe.

He didn't find out why she was so upset until he was sparring with Paz later in the week. Sena had been incredibly quiet compared to usual. While she was amongst her friends, she didn't contribute to the conversation or answer questions as frequently as typical. He parried a thrust, bones ringing beneath his vambrace at the strength in Paz's well placed strike. If he had to guess, this Vizsla also seemed rather irritated.

"Hey," Din muttered once they'd come to a close, his heart pounding his chest, Paz shoving the straw of his water bottle underneath his helmet before greedily drinking. "Are you two alright? Since coming back from the First Trial-" he trailed off, Paz glaring at him and straightening at the suggestion.

"What's it matter to you?" the blue mando asked sharply.

"We're vod ," Din offered poorly.

For a fleeting second, Din thought that Paz was going to pummel him into the ground. Instead, a breath hissed through his vocoder, crackling slightly at the end. "Mission was tough on us," was all he was willing to admit.

The answer was cryptic and Din still didn't comprehend. "Tough quarry?"

"I wish," Paz grumbled. "Just don't bother her about it. She just needs some time to cool down. Ready for another round?"

8BBY

Cooling down took much longer than Din had expected. His thoughts wandered about what had happened that was enough to shake Sena and Paz. Whatever it was, he couldn't even begin to fathom it, but it must've been bad. Training continued as usual and he clung to the small gift he had intended on giving her way longer, until it became just a familiar weight in his pocket, and he shrank back as older hunters began talking to her. Paz was almost always nearby, hovering like a menacing shadow, refusing to allow anyone who wasn't a classmate of hers linger for more than a couple of minutes.

As annoying as that might've been for Sena, Din was thankful for it. Or, he had been until Hyvhast finally broke through her denials and disinterest, officially staking his claim on Sena after their Second Trial. To say that Din was bitter was an absolute understatement, sparing his friend long stares as he noticed keldabe kisses being exchanged between her and Hyvhast. Beyond that, he didn't know what else was going on relationship-wise and felt too peeved (and awkward) to even think about asking her how things were going.

It wasn't permanent was it? Maybe eventually Sena would see that Din was a better hunter and leave behind Hyvhast. He snorted at his dumb thoughts, aware that Hyvhast's unrelenting persistence was the only reason Sena had agreed to court with him. Din Djarin had done nothing to express his feelings toward her. In fact, he'd held onto the gift he'd intended on giving her for two years. Not once had he felt it was the right time to give it to her and come the end of the Second Trial, she was suddenly taken.

He'd grown closer to Paz, not because it suited him, but because he liked the Vizsla. Always willing to help when he had time, Paz made for a great companion and an even better teacher. Din would have been an idiot not to take advantage of the other male's knowledge. They'd gone a few hunts together and out of most people, he found he preferred working with Paz to those he grew up with.

"Where's the Guild that we're headed to?" Paz yawned, cleaning his heavy blaster before the mission, setting the pieces spread on the table in the Vizsla karyai .

"Felucia," Din answered shortly. Wasn't the best planet, in fact it was incredibly humid and sticky, swampy to the point where just walking around town felt as if it soaked you straight through, but the Guild outpost there was remote and nondescript. "Where do you usually go?"

"Dadrus," Paz was cleaning the bolt still with a rag, wiping away the residue before picking up his ale and drinking it through a straw. "Not too bad out there. The Guild Master is fond of Sena, so he tends to give us good pucks."

"Where is she? I haven't seen her around recently," Din commented, trying to sound disinterested and nonchalant.

"She went out tonight," Paz grumbled, his mood shifting immediately.

Oh. Din turned his helmet back down to his ambien rifle and tried to pretend as if that didn't bother him. For a split second, he thought the conversation had been dropped like a hot potato, but Paz picked back up with a sharp intake of breath like he was a bull nerf about to charge.

"Don't understand what she sees in Hyvhast," Paz vented, shoulders pinned tensely as he hunched closer to his weapons. "He's a good hunter, but he's ori'buyce, kih'kovid ."

Din snorted, aware of what he was referencing. Hyvhast had no modesty. Well, that wasn't quite a trait taught amongst Mandalorians, you still acknowledged your Elders and those that were better than you. He didn't spend enough time around Hyvhast to know him too well, but he'd heard the other hunter boasting in the Den before, loudly enough that the rest of the patrons could hear him. He wasn't being brash accidentally, he wanted everyone to hear.

"Never understood why you never made a play at her," Paz remarked between his snippets of insulting Hyvhast.

Din froze, almost dropping the priming pin in his hands at the Vizsla's proclamation. Swallowing hard, he looked over to see the visor fixated on him, undoubtedly Paz locking eyes. Was he saying that he would've allowed it? That he wouldn't be complaining about Din half as much as he did about Hyvhast? Somehow he doubted that. Whoever dated Sena was going to have to deal with the over protective big brother.

The door opened, saving his shebs from having to offer a rebuttal to Paz. Snapping his visor away, finally releasing Din from the power of holding his gaze, he sat up and dropped his charging handle on the table and stood up abruptly. Cocking his head, he turned around to see what was going on, noticing that Sena had returned home for the evening. His heart ached at the sight of her, not noticing the tremble in her shoulders or the quick way she ran to her bedroom.

Paz was at the door just as it closed in his face, causing Din to glance back in confusion. "Sen'ika? Sen'ika open the door or I'm coming in-" his voice dropped, tender and unlike the man that Din knew. Something was wrong and Din hadn't even noticed, but the moment that Paz had laid eyes on his sister it'd taken all but two seconds for him to know. That made his stomach shift uncomfortably, wondering how many times he'd never noticed that she was upset. Maybe he really didn't deserve to court her.

Paz punched the code into the door, an item falling out of his bandolier and catching the door before it closed completely. It jarred it, leaving it open just a breadth, Din staring at it as he heard the conversation he wasn't intended to.

"Sen'ika?"

There was quiet sniffling, followed by the bed squeaking, bucking beneath Paz's weight as he sat on it. "Am I ugly?" she asked her brother quietly, voice unmodulated; her helmet was off. She always had a different accent from everyone else, so articulate and prim (aside from when she cursed) and it made his knees weak even now.

The silence threatened to strangle Din where he sat, wondering if anyone outside her aliit had seen her face. Finally, Paz spoke, "Why would you think that?"

She broke out into more tears. Such an awful noise, each little whimper sending unpleasant stabs down Din's back, his throat parched, and his fingers tightening around the arms of the chair he lounged in.

"Did Hyvhast do something? Did he see-"

"N-no, not beneath my helmet," she hiccuped.

"Then why would you think that? Why would you think you're ugly, princess?" he soothed, his own voice suddenly warmer and unmodulated.

"W-we were fooling around and... you know how I feel about that after what happened on Tatooine-" she choked out, hoarse and tinny. "-but I thought he was nice, s-so I let him. He's been wanting to for weeks now, b-but I wasn't ready. Wh-when he saw beneath my-" she wailed again, Din flinching.

"He saw what?" the edge of fury hissed in Paz's voice, the low growl that would build up into more.

"H-he said I looked like a b-boy. Th-that I have no chest. And then m-my marks-"

"Shh, Sen'ika. He's di’kutla . He'll never know the mesh'la dala beneath the helmet," Paz soothed. "He was never worthy."

"I told you that Anaxians age slower," she whined. "I-I'm still growing. I just thought maybe he would wait a couple more years but-"

"That was never his interest. I warned you about what happens when hunting begins," Paz muttered darkly. "It's not always with the intention of entering riduurok ."

She broke back down into a fit of crying, Din glued to his chair and unable to move for fear of alerting the both of them that he was eavesdropping. From what he garnered, Hyvhast had pressured her into doing things before she was ready and that vexed him. What had happened on Tatooine? What the kriff was an Anaxian? He thought she was Sephi. His memories flipped back to their first time by the moon pool as children, the way she'd climbed the tree and howled at the stars. There had always been something strange about her that he could never quite place his finger on. Part of that mysteriousness had drawn him in.

Now there were other reasons. His fingers thumbed the item in his pocket, clenching tightly around it that the beskar pressed through his gloves and into his skin. She was a loyal member of the Tribe, shouldered her duty, made an amazing hunter, and pulled her weight amongst the Tribe without ever offering a complaint. Aside from her abilities as a Mandalorian, Din thought she was one of the most amusing people he knew. With a mouth like a sailor and goofy to a fault, when she wasn't being serious about her work, she was fun to be around... easy to be around. And tolerable. More than tolerable by this point. Din liked spending time with her, even if that just meant practicing in the yard. They'd done that a lot less recently.

Then there was the fact that the both of them had come from similar backgrounds, ripped away from their homes amongst war and battle. Neither had spoken much about it, other than acknowledging that there would always be those memories before they were Mandalorian.

Hearing his friend cry broke something in him, each little sniffle like the a kal in his chest, prodding him again at her despair. Wasn't often you heard Mandalorians cry, let alone someone as chipper as Sena. She was so kriffing stubborn and prideful that she'd suffered being bullied as a kid because she was unwilling to balk or bend. The only person who seemed to see the emotional side of her was her brother. And in a way, Din was betraying her trust by continuing to listen.

Eventually, Paz got up and headed for the door. He paused, freezing when he saw what had caught in the door, picking it up before heading out and shutting the bedroom with a hydraulic hiss. Din jolted, visor locking with the blue Mandalorian's, wondering what was about to happen.

"Did you-" Paz started.

Din nodded.

" Hukaat'kama ," he ordered, striding out of the house.

Reassembling his rifle, he slung it over his back and sauntered after Paz. There was no question as to where he was going. Night basked them as they stalked their way past the Foundry and toward the Den. Paz's shoulders were set back, chest puffed out, and he moved as if they were on a bounty hunting mission. Halting outside the entrance, Paz rounded so quickly that Din threw his hands up defensively, uncertain if he was about to become the man's fixation while he saw red.

"Go in first. Ping me once you set eyes on him. If I go in, there will be no doubt why I'm there," Paz handed over a small comlink. He didn't need to say the name of the person he was referring to. Din was blatantly aware that they were there for Hyvhast.

Taking the comlink, Din nodded and stepped by him, entering the Den. Set down a few steps in another dome shaped building, the lighting was dim and most was procured by the hearth tables. Small, simulated flames leapt up in the center, horseshoe shaped benches surrounding tables where various mandos put their black ale. A rambunctious group was collected to the far right, his eyes immediately finding the earthen brown armor of Hyvhast which was accentuated with moss green stripes. He was tall and lean, about Din's height, though not as broad. Caught in an animated conversation, Din slid over into a table just flanking to see what it was they were saying.

"So you're not with her anymore?" Mirrair asked, a mando in dusty orange beskar'gam.

"Kriff no! Look, she's a great hunter and has mandokarla , but she's got the body of a 12 year old boy. Hard to tell beneath the armor. Was a huge turn off," Hyvhast announced, immediately met with an awkward silence from his companions. "What? You guys think I'm wrong?"

"Well, she's Sephi, isn't she? Don't they, um, age differently?" Loah was a female mando in tan armor, a few black swirls decorating her helmet.

"If she's got mandokarla , what does it matter if she's flat-chested? You think you're going to find a female mando with a rack here? We're all athletic," Jiabe spoke up, just as affronted as Loah, crossing her arms over her cuirass defensively.

"There's not only that," Hyvhast backpedaled quickly. "She had there weird gold marks all over her skin - almost like tattoos, but they glowed-" Din pressed the comlink, not willing to listen to the bastard detail any more of his friend's body. Especially when his audience was also just as uncomfortable with the subject.

"She's not human," Jiabe stood up, her voice rising. "Where is she? What did you say to her?"

Hyvhast jetted to his feet to meet her challenge. "She went running home. Couldn't take a little honesty."

Jiabe barked a harsh laugh. "Oh you're absolutely shab . Did you really think that Paz wouldn't find out about this?" She jammed her finger in between where the sides of Hyvhast's armor met, hitting flesh. "Who do you think you are? Hunting a vod and then laughing at her, talking to the rest of us about what is beneath her armor? I could give a womp rat's ass how much you supply for the Tribe. Not only have you insulted Clan Vizsla, but you've insulted ever dala in the Tribe."

"Jiabe you're overreacting-" Hyvhast tried to placate her as if calling her hysterical was the right move.

It was not.

Jiabe's fist flew out, catching the man underneath his helmet and directly into his jaw. A sickening crack indicated that something had broken as he flew back, colliding with the back of the couch he had been standing in front of. " Ni cetar'narir kay'shebs ," she threatened, stretching her fingers just as Paz busted into the Den, causing everyone's helmet except for Jiabe's to turn.

"Hyvhast!" Paz howled, shaking the room with the boom of his voice.

The mando only groaned on the couch, still dazed from Jiabe's hook. She had his collar now, dragging his sorry shebs out of the booth and into the aisle where she dumped him to meet the Vizsla. "Think you're looking for this jayc'kovid . Might've stolen the first punch from you," she informed him, glaring down at Hyvhast as he started coming to. "Think I broke his jaw."

Paz was livid, but he did glance over at her slightly in confusion. "Wha-"

"He was talking osik about your vod . No one has the right to express what they see beneath the beskar'gam, even if they do not like it. He affronted all dala in the Tribe by doing so and ridiculing her. But... he insulted Clan Vizsla first. If you wish to repay me for what I have stolen, I shall take it," Jiabe offered honorably, squaring up to him without fear.

" Nayc ," Paz disagreed immediately. " Vor entye . Help me take him out back and we'll call it even."

Honor was pinnacle in the Tribe and as Jiabe had said, Hyvhast had been impudent to assume that betraying the nature of what was beneath the beskar'gam - something so sacred to all of them - with the addition of his audacity to remark about a lack of a chest, was highly insulting to other women who might be self conscious about their features. Din had never really considered it, seeing that everyone except for the Foundlings were in armor, but supposed that Jiabe was right. All the women, except for the retired and elderly, would be physically fit and might not have much of a chest. He'd never particularly found himself staring at Sena's iron heart. That wasn't what was attractive about her.

Paz and Jiabe dragged Hyvhast out as if he were a bag of garbage, undoubtedly for another beat down before they'd dump his shebs at the Med-Deck. His mind went back to the conversation and the fact that Sena had said Anaxian and not Sephi.

"Want anything?" Voormi was behind the bar this evening, gesturing to the only thing they had on tap - black ale.

"I've got a question," he proposed, receiving a nod from her. "Do you know what Anaxians are?"

"Anaxians?" she rocked back on her heels, tilting her lime green helmet as she hummed quietly to herself. "Race, I think. Anaxes used to be a planet before it got turned to rubble in an accident. Don't think it was much of an accident though. Empire was invading the planet."

I snuck up on a stormtrooper and slit his throat...

Those words echoed in his head, thinking back to their blade lessons years ago. Had Naboo been invaded by the Empire? He didn't really know much about what had happened all those years ago, being secluded on Vorp'ya without listening to the adults talking about the news.

"What were they like?"

"Anaxians? Dunno. There were a few native races to that planet. One was reptilian and the other... I think they were sub-human. Can't say. They never traveled off planet, so it's likely they were wiped out entirely when the planet exploded," Voomri shrugged, polishing the counter mindlessly. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'm fine," Din pushed himself to his feet, thinking about the new knowledge. Was it possible that Sena belonged to one of these races? He didn't think she was Reptilian and if he thought really hard, she might've mumbled something once or twice about being a Sephi offshoot and not actually Sephi. Anaxian? Golden markings on her skin? She had markings on her helmet, he wondered if those were supposed to be in relation to what was on her skin. He felt his breath quicken in his chest, imagining beneath the flight suit for a brief moment, the glow of golden teardrops...

Chewing his lip he started for the edge of the village, trekking across the moonlit grass, over the hills and toward the pond shaded by the ancient tree. Cresting the last rise, he froze when she saw a small figure sitting by the edge, legs drawn up to her chest, chin of her helmet on top of her knees as her visor gazed out toward the water which rippled peacefully from a wind that swept down from the moors. The leaves of the tree rustled like breathy chimes, the breeze picking at the edge of her braid and sighing deeply.

Sliding down the hill, he approached her carefully, as not to disturb her, but she sat up and glanced back. He could be stealthy when he wanted, but she'd always been the best out of their entire class. She could move soundlessly, despite how much equipment she was wearing.

"Hey," she offered simply, turning back to the water to continue staring at it, diving back into her thoughts.

Din padded up and sat down beside her, his own visor listing in the direction that she was looking. He wanted to tell her that Hyvhast was blind and an idiot. That he'd never deserved anyone as amazing as her. That he was getting his shebs kicked by Jiabe and Paz. But he didn't. Instead, he just watched the way the moonlight refracted on the mirror surface and wondered what she might look like without any beskar'gam on, wading into the water, the ethereal light playing tricks against her skin. Her hand was tan, he remembered that from when she'd challenged Aya; a deep, coppery tan. Paz knew what she looked like and had called her mesh'la . Those hadn't just been words of comfort, Din actually believed them.

"You alright?" he asked finally after a few minutes of blissful quiet.

Sena rolled her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "I'll get over it," she grumbled, the normal inflection of her voice returning. Din liked her voice, he always had found the articulate accent alluring. As she'd gotten older, it had gotten deeper and less whiny, replaced with a smooth alto, pleasantly curling in his ears with each word. He wished the one time he had heard it without the modulator, she hadn't been crying.

He didn't bring up the subject, didn't pressure her to talk, he only sat there with her, lending her a sense of companionship that went deeper than conversing. After all, she had already told Paz and it wasn't his place to try and force the story out of her. Time dragged on, a soft sigh parting from her lips finally as she contemplated what had happened. Din's hand was in his pocket, thumbing the charm, before he pulled it out. The moonlight hit the beskar Jai'galaar eyes strung on a leather strap. So many years in his pocket, polished constantly from the soothing manner in which he'd palmed it when he thought about his friend.

"Sena-" he cleared his throat, freezing when she sat up to glance over at him.

"Hm?"

"Paz wanted me to give this to you," he said stupidly, lifting up the necklace. "He said it might make you feel better." Maker almighty, why did he say that? Why couldn't he just tell her that he had gotten it for her? She was still recovering from what had happened with Hyvhast and while this felt like the right moment to give it to her, it also felt like the wrong moment to be honest as to why.

She reached up, her gloves brushing lightly against his, causing his skin to tingle underneath as little electric pinpricks lanced up to his elbow. " Jai'galaar eyes?" she muttered, finally taking it. "How befitting-" he could hear the wry smile in her voice as she rolled her shoulders back and cracked them, stringing the necklace around her throat, which was obscured by the collar of her armorweave.

His heart was thumping wildly, as if he were being chased by a mythosaur, while he watched it plunk softly against her durasteel heartplate. The length of the strap dropped it low enough to reach her iron heart. Turning it over in her glove again she shook her head wistfully.

" Kaysh mirsh solus ," she commented. "Not surprised. We Vizslas all have lonely brain cells. He could've just given this to me later."

Din chuckled quietly at her joke. The Tribe did joke lovingly about their nerf-headedness, but Clan Vizsla was well loved despite the teasing. They were a clan of admirable warriors, all of which pulled more than their fair share for the Tribe. "Seems it did do the job."

"Of what?" she tilted her visor back up, her voice reading as confused through his visor.

"Cheering you up," Din pointed out, smiling now.

" Lek well-" she unfurled her legs and stretched her arms straight out above her head. Like a loth-cat in the sun, she shook out the tenseness in her muscles before keeping her legs kicked out, putting palms back on her knees. "Nothing for me to dwell on. Paz was right. Again." Hopping to her feet as if it were the easiest thing to do, she offered him a hand up. "Race you back?" The proposition was an old one, like they were little kids again coming to practice beneath the moonlight. There had been many times where Din had attempted to climb the tree with as much dexterity as her and had jammed his finger.

Gripping her forearm, he was wrenched to his feet, glancing up the steep hill. " Elek -" they both bolted off, Din getting to higher ground before Sena. She wasn't far behind, closing the distance with her dark pine green cloak snapping after her like an angry bird's wing. They were beskar and durasteel javelins against the grass. Just as she had done when they were younger, she let out the strange sort of baying yip, which caused Din to trip over his own feet and go down hard in the grass. Rounding and absolutely howling with laughter, she clutched her stomach as he tried to untangle himself from his cloak. Before he could even say anything, she turned back around and continued - with her lead - back to the village.

Din thrashed before managing to spring back to his feet, but it was too late. He'd given her too much time and she had vanished into the night. Grousing to himself, he wasn't entirely upset that he had lost, pleased that she had recovered in light of the awful evening she'd had until that point. He wondered if the animal cry she kept making was from Anaxes.

2BBY

"And then a giant bird swooped down from the sky and gnashed its beak. OMNOMNOM! " Sena roared, snapping her fingers to mimic a bird's impressive beak and digging it playfully toward the tummies of the Foundlings that surrounded her in a horseshoe formation. Her duties in watching the children had long since passed now that she was a fully fledged hunter and provider for the Tribe. However, she did like to stop by after missions and greet them with candy and treats she had picked up from whatever planet she visited. Usually the flavors and types changed, which always thrilled the little womp rats.

Giggling and squealing ensued as she tickled them, before they realized they could overwhelm her in one fell move. Tackling her to the ground, piling in a heap, she was pinned to the ground. Even if she'd finally stopped growing after all these years, she still was barely 45 kilos soaking wet. A dozen children were more than enough to take her out of commission.

" Ori'vod ! Where's our candy?" a gap tooth child demanded, as if she'd forget.

"Oh, I totally forgot," Sena betrayed whimsically, the children shrieking like jai'galaar at her confession.

"You didn't forget. It's right here," Zim held up the bag, now 15, and donning a helmet of his own. His lekku poked out from the modified bucket and he had painted it the same colors that Sena originally had hers - plum and dull yellow. "Back you beasts! I'll give it to you if you release our Ori'vod !"

The little zombies abandoned her, trailing after Zim who was on Foundling duty. Sena sat up, chuckling as he began tossing the candy, letting it rain down above them, distracting the little brats.

"You spoil them too much," Din commented, having just entered the Nursery to see the war raging. Sena tilted her head back from where she was laying on the floor.

"Oh lek ? What have you got in that bag behind your back?" she challenged, snickering as he tucked it behind his cloak as if he were ashamed that she'd caught him bringing treats for the kids. "Nice to see you, vod . How was your hunt?"

Din trotted down to help her to her feet. She dusted her armor off, frowning at all the scratches and dents on it. Since it wasn't pure beskar, came with the territory. Needed a good repainting. Beskar was harder to come by now with the Empire still being a load of osik . "Not too bad. Nearly threw my shoulder out since the bounty was trandoshan-" he let out a soft noise, which she knew was a laugh, his modulator never really picked it up right. "And you? Seems the candy is a hit this time."

This time. The last planet she'd gone to she hadn't bothered to taste the candy first. If she had, she would have realized it was flavored like krill and squid. Yeah, she'd felt quite bad as the kids began spitting out the gummies and gave her the most reproachful looks. Since then, she always made certain to try the sweets before committing to buying a bag full. "Easy enough... Well, actually-" she drew in a long winded breath. "-Jace gave me a bit more trouble than usual. Was trying to keep me on Dadrus longer than usual. He's always flirted with me, but it was really strange-"

"Need me to give your Guild Master a stern talking to?" Din gestured to his blaster.

Sena gave a good natured laugh. Din had nearly become part of Clan Vizsla by this point. He was close to her brother and went on quite a few hunts with him. She preferred to work alone, since Paz was way too kriffing loud. Their rivalry, while still there, had turned into a deep friendship that she wouldn't trade for anything in the galaxy. It was different than Xivi and her other friends. Din just... understood. They didn't even have to talk about, there was comfort in the silent nights by the moon pool just contemplating their lives. "Oh, no. He's a good person. Just a chatterbox."

"You say that as if you're not," Din pointed out.

"I'm not when I'm out in the field," she grumbled with a petulant frown. Sena liked to believe she was imposing, mysterious, and intimidating when she went out - armed to the teeth and speaking in short sentences. Maybe not. She did talk to Jace quite a bit since she'd known him for years now and still thought he was cute. The man had tried a few times to convince her to sleep with him, but Sena wasn't about to mix work with pleasure. Bad for business. Not to mention she'd sort of taken a step away from that life for now, focusing on doing her job, and not repeating what had happened with Hyvhast. Even if she'd grown into her skin now, she still felt highly insecure about her Goddess Markings as Hyvhast had poked at them and asked her what the kriff they were.

"What have you got for us, Ori'vod ?" a child had taken notice of Din now, standing in the play area.

Din pulled the bag out and opened it, crouching down to reveal little toys in the shape of little fish. Each was about the size of a child's palm and brilliantly painted. "They're-"

BOOM!

The Nursery shook, children screaming around them as they huddled close to the nearest armored warrior. Sena had several clutching her legs, trembling as their helmets snapped toward the door. Instincts kicking in, Sena whipped her head to Zim who dropped the bag of remaining candy. "Get the children to the back door, wait until our command to beeline for the extraction point," she barked, thrusting a comlink into Zim's hands before she slipped out of the grasp of the kids. Din was beside her, sprinting for the door as they drew their weapons.

The covert was consumed in absolute chaos. Imperial ships were descending from the grey sky, a convoy of troopers having already landed and prowling through the streets. They had been taken by surprise, Mandalorians quickly making their stands and barking orders in Mando'a as they tried to grab onto a semblance of cohesion and shake away the confusion. This only took a few minutes, as they were all trained in military tactics and how to react in situations like this. There was a strict set of instructions ingrained in everyone's mind from Foundling to Elder.

Trainees or Vod'ika would rally up the Elders and Foundlings. The youngest hunters, beneath the age of 21 would act as escorts and leaders, taking leash on their biggest ship the Cabur. Once the young and old were on the ship, they would get into hyperspace while the remainder of the Tribe protected them. Both Din and Sena were older than 21 and thus would act as soldiers on the field to protect the future of the Tribe.

Her blood rushed, the sight of the stormtroopers bringing back the memories of Anaxes, her heart pounding steadily like a war drum. She'd murder them all. Kill them, revive them, then kill them again for what they'd done to not only Genmaris, but now the Tribe. The shootout began, they needed to get around the back of the Nursery and clear the path for Zim to escape with the children. Raising her pistol, she shot the nearest snow white soldier in the face, aiming purposely for his eyes. She could wield a rifle or shotgun now if she pleased, but she'd always liked the pistol better. The years of practicing only with the sidearm had made her a spectacular shot. In a close combat arena like this, Sena was in her element.

" Hukaat'kama! " she called to Din, drawing Cu'Sith and Pog-Sticker.

" Oya !" he shouted back between the ringing of blaster fire and explosions.

She had never forgotten the way they had spilled blood on the elas stone. The blood of a peaceful people who lived in the forest. Or the way she'd walked through it barefoot. Moving like a dervish, she dashed forward with primal rage, the curve of her swords - now beskar - reaving through the plastoid armor as if it were made of butter. They were slow, sloppy, and weaker than the soldiers from a decade ago. These were not clone troopers. Nor did they speak Mando'a. Grinning at the realization, she ducked gracefully, cutting the soleus on the back of the trooper's exposed calf. She heard a cry, watched him stumble forward, and then beheaded him.

Her vindication was not uncommon amongst the Tribe, just one of the most brutal and bloody. She spotted her brother letting off his heavy blaster, mowing down troopers. Despite how well they seemed to be doing, it all came down to supplies. How long would it be until they ran out of energy and ammo? Before a tidal wave of white snow weathered them down in a blizzard that they couldn't dig themselves out of? They had to flee, because there were several more dropships coming. But most importantly, the children needed to escape.

She sliced down a few more troopers before racing back around the Nursery, Din covering her as they began clearing the path for the children. The ships were stowed beneath ground, in a hangar that would part the grass and open. They had been on Vorp'ya for many years now and continued to upgrade their home to make it more difficult to be discovered. Didn't seem to matter now. Pulling her comlink, she spoke briskly in Mando'a, " Bring them out. We're clear for now ."

" Roger ," Zim answered, the door opening. Lined up and hands linked, the children had also been trained on what to do. They were to stay together in a chain, holding onto the leader, which was Zim.

Other trainees had begun posting, fleeing the main fight to help keep the path to the ships open. There was no time to feel the pride of their unflinching resolve, but the kids were doing what they were trained to do. Despite how loud, how terrifying it all was, the young Mandalorians spoke in hand signals, bringing up the rear before entering the bunker entrance that led down below to the ships. Zim disappeared and Sena rounded as the last of the Elders were escorted below. Her eyes trailed back up to see how many ships there were, horrified as she and Din took up defensive positions around the hangar doors. This would be their last stand area. She wished she had the time to retrieve her traps from her home, but this was a surprise attack.

Eventually, the rest of the Tribe began to fall back to the hangars, the first ship, the Cabur departing with the children and elderly. Sucking her teeth, she hoped there would still be enough time and coverage for more of them to escape off planet. But as she watched, she grit her teeth, wanting nothing more than to kill than hide. That's what would happen after this, they would hide away again. The number falling back was pitiful and Sena's heart plummeted in horror. Paz was dragging their buir beside him, some - but not all - of the injured fleeing into the tunnels. They weren't going to be able to escape, not with this many drop ships coming in.

"Look!" Kedth pointed toward the sky, ships zooming down to meet the Imperial ships. Who they were, she had no idea, not until they started to jet out of the droppers with jetpacks. Sena had never been so happy to see foreign Mandalorians as she was now, choking out a thankful sob. Continuing to fight through the avalanche of stormtroopers, the ceaseless flow of them started to weather down, the verdant grass spattered with red, downtrodden beyond the point of recognition.

The other mandos were beginning to approach them, thanking the Maker that someone knew about them and had come to their support. A tug on the back of her cloak made her turn, the weary smile disappearing immediately when she saw the terse line of her brother's shoulders. Panic set in, replacing the original thrill of battle, remembering that her buir had been injured when he arrived. Stomach churning, she sprinted after him, down the stars and to where the injured were being tended. Her eyes stretched wide, watching the blood pool beneath her adopted father from a gash in his side where the heartplate did not meet.

Collapsing in a heap beside him, she pressed her gloves to his wound in a futile attempt to staunch the flow. He had lost too much and the majority of the bacta had been taken with the Foundlings and Elders. "No! You can't! Not you too!" her voice betrayed her, cracking as she saw the visage of her papa turning around, the golden lightsaber illuminating his hands as he marched to his death. Hux had become her father, the man that had finished raising her and in every way, her papa now. Everything that she had become was thanks to Hux, his steady hand, his temper, and his love.

"Stay strong, cyar'ika ," he muttered, voice distant and fading, cracked and weak. "I'm so proud. So proud of the warriors that I raised."

Paz was beside her now, fallen to his knees as they had their final moments with their buir .

"You know... the place, Paz. Sova's beskar'gam ... my beskar'gam ... inheritance," he was struggling to talk now, his chest rising and falling shallowly, a soft groan parting his lips beneath his helmet. Paz leaned forward, removing it so that they could look upon their father, see the light in his icy eyes. Pale blonde hair was striked with grey now, the faint line of a golden beard against his jaw. His lashes were heavy, fluttering open just enough gaze at them, a faint smile gracing his features. "Love you. I love the both of you."

A primal, animalistic cry escaped her as Hux closed his eyes for the final time. Paz leaned against her, pressing her face into his pauldron as she sobbed as hard as she had when she was a princess fleeing Anaxes. Maybe even harder. She couldn't hear anything but her own misery. How many people would die around her that she loved? All because of the Empire. This was the Empire's fault! Her hatred redoubled, unaware that she could hate something even more and with every fiber of her being. They sat there on the cold floor, grieving for their fallen buir and for the others that had lost their lives in the assault. Hux was not the only one.

Amongst the fallen was Aya, Vowr, Xaevo, Vhic, Bhone, Crehl, Khaan, Durr, the Smith, and Drold. Their bodies were lined up in the hangar, resting in their eternal vigil, going up to Manda. Despite the honor it was to fall in battle, Sena couldn’t help but feel as if it had all been a waste. So much training, so much love in the Tribe and the Empire tried to smote them from the galaxy. They hadn’t done anything. They had kept their noses out of anything Imperial. Not anymore. Sena wasn’t going to let them walk away from this.

“Sen’ika,” Paz was just as hoarse as she was, but they were standing in the Kote. “What buir was referring to was his riduur ’s armor. My mother-” he opened a panel to reveal the full suit of plum beskar’gam . “He always intended for you to inherit it one day. Just as you inherited her helmet.”

Sena gazed at it, all beskar, and in need of a good repaint. Her fingers slid against it, the feminine curve of the heart plate, the ensemble of pauldrons, cuisse, and greaves. The vambraces were missing and when she glanced at her own arms, she comprehended why. She hadn’t realized that Hux had given her Sova’s vambraces after her Second Trial. She had just assumed that there was beskar to spare for the newest hunters to forge their vambraces since they were so important. Licking her lips, she tilted her visor up toward her brother. “The other mandos here-”

“They came from Mandalore. They are looking for help. The Empire is attempting to take the smaller planets in the system first before attacking Manda’yaim .”

“I’m going,” Sena decided without hesitation. “I’m going to fight.”

Paz’s shoulders slumped slightly, the defeat of losing their father and now the idea of losing his sister too heavy for even his broad, masculine figure. But he did not try to convince her otherwise. “Too many died today. They will need guidance-”

“ Ori’vod you don’t need to explain to me why the Tribe needs you. I know they need you. I do not think any less than you, but… you understand why I must go,” Sena was picking up the armor now, beginning to replace her durasteel with Sova’s - no… it was hers not by right. “Twice now. Twice. Only this time I can fight. I can help. I will not turn my back on another battle with them. Not now. Not ever again.”

“You will bring much honor to the Tribe,” he announced, but he was choked up, grabbing her and thrusting his helmet against hers. There was an unspoken acknowledgement, the fact that they both knew that Sena probably wasn’t coming back.

“I will keep in contact with you if I can. I’ll send transmissions to the Kote ,” she promised, the words hollow on the back of her throat as she said them. “ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ori’vod .”

“ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he returned. “You better come back. I need nieces and nephews running underfoot one day. With those stupid pointed ears just like yours.”

Sena barked a laugh that was halfway in between a sob. After shedding her durasteel armor, mismatched, she embraced her brother once more before heading down the dock. The hangar was a makeshift base of operation as the injured were tended and the other Mandalorians commented about how the planet was going to be overwhelmed soon. They needed to pick up and leave immediately. The Tribe was unwilling to help, picking up the fractured pieces of their people, weeping for those who were now marching. Legs churned mechanically, she glanced over at Din as he bowed before his buir who was just as still as her own. Lower lip quivering, she decided to say her farewell to her friend.

Placing a hand on his back, she crouched beside him, his visor snapping as he tensed immediately. It took him a moment to see clearly, to finally see that it was her. And then he glanced down at the plum beskar’gam and eventually back up to her visor. “I’m leaving,” she told him calmly. Such a strange calm, like the eye of the storm before the hurricane hit. “I am going to fight for Manda’yaim .”

Din did not speak. She had long grown accustomed to his silent contemplation. He wasn’t daft, he was just as quiet as he had always been. “You’re leaving?” But there was too much grief, too much confusion for him to understand properly that evening.

She nodded slowly. “I can’t turn my back on the Empire again. Not when I can fight against them. I will be joining our vod in the coming battles,” she announced. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Din stared and she didn’t know if he were in shock or if he were just being his normal, reserved self. “When will you come back?”

A shaky smile formed beneath the cover of her bucket. “We’ll meet again. Even if that is marching in Manda’s halls,” she promised, standing up. “Take care of my brother, please.”

“Sena-”

“I have to go. Ret'urcye mhi .”

9ABY

Maybe we will meet again. Din had clung to those words in Mando’a for so many years, desperately hoping that the visage of his favorite vod would pop back up, insult him, and maybe toss a middle finger in for good measure. Never happened. As the years weathered on, one becoming two, becoming four, becoming five , he had started to lose hope. Everyone had heard about The Great Purge and the decimation of Mandalore. He didn’t like to think like this, but he expected that was probably where Sena had died. His thoughts tormented him, how he’d been too choked up with everything going on that he hadn’t even been able to tell her how he felt. Watching her turn around in mismatched beskar’gam before walking away with the foreign Mandalorians. He hadn’t told her that he loved her and now he’d never be able to. Paz still believed she was coming home, but after more than a decade, Din was convinced otherwise. The war was over. If there was any hope that Senaar Vizsla would return to the Tribe, it would have been four years ago.

The loss gouged at him deeper than he thought it ever could. His original comfort around the Tribe faded, replaced with the sorrow of seeing the Foundlings, remembering how she used to play with them, bring them candy, and tickle the life out of them. Walking through those empty, sewer halls in Nevarro, he was a shell of armor with nothing but a ghost inside. Provide. That’s all he did. He provided for the Tribe as he always had, leaving for long bouts of time and returning to drop off the supplies before going out again. This had become his typical routine, ignoring the other Mandalorians until he’d all but estranged every single one. Paz had been the first. The Vizsla’s insistence that Sena was still out there was so misplaced and gut wrenching that Din couldn’t stand to be around him. She was dead.

He thought back often to their peaceful upbringing on Vorp’ya and of all the things he should have done. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and if Din had another chance, he would have told her how he felt back when he first gave her the Jai’galaar necklace. Even if she still insisted on leaving come the demise of their covert, at least he would have had those years with her. To take care of her, to love her, to kiss her, and to make her feel as if she were the most mesh’la creature in the universe. He was haunted by his memories and his yearning, so it was easier to turn his emotions off. Even at all these years, he could still hear her stupid howling in the moonlight, her guffawing, and her cultured, articulate accent. What he would give just to hear her again, to listen to the hum of her rich voice as he fell asleep.

Din Djarin was a brokenhearted man with little to live for. He’d been like this for a while, trying to carve out the rest of his 20s amongst Malk’s crew to find a little lust for life. Worked for a bit, but Xi’an was a cheap version of Sena. Her expertise with blades, while adept, still wasn’t as adept as Sena. She also had a piss poor attitude. After that, he’d stopped trying to date, because it was always a comparison and his memories warped - placing Sena on a pedestal and forgetting how goofy or stupid she could be at times.

He’d dropped the Mythrol off before heading down below to the covert. Wasn’t often that he felt like lingering down there for more than a day, but he went there anyway. He had a small set of quarters that collected dust. The Razor Crest was his home for the most part, away, quiet, and transportable. Still, he kept some meager supplies in his apartment. Which, you couldn’t really call it an apartment. It was just a recess built into the sewers that was large enough to fit a table, a small kitchenette, and a bunk. All of which were stuffed like tuna in a can with barely any room to move. This was not Vorp’ya where they had large karyai in each house. Punching the code into the door, it puffed open, and his visor shifted to the almost darkness.

Stepping in, his head cocked, staring at the small light in the corner that was on. He’d not been in here for months. Why would a light be on? Cold metal pressed to his throat, a soft tut escaping his captor’s lips. “That was very careless of you.”

Din almost threw up at the sound of the silken voice, spinning around and throwing the Mandalorian against the wall. They moved lazily, allowing for themself to be captured as he pinned them against the wall. The armor was the wrong color, not green and not mismatched as he had last witnessed it. Instead, it was a dusky grey-blue accented by stripes of ashy black, burnished to the point where it glimmered magnificently even in the dull light of the tomb-like room. The helmet was painted with strange markings, akin to those patterns on a loth-wolf’s face. Emblazoned on the left pauldron was the rebel insignia - no, it was the New Republic insignia now. Whereas on the right, where the aliit marking went was the trademark Jai’galaar eyes of Clan Vizsla. Several blades, a midnight blue cloak, and a relaxed confidence that set his teeth on end as if she hadn’t been gone for so many years and this was a mischievous game of tag around the village where she’d managed to sneak up on him again.

“Sena?”

“Huh, where?” she glanced around, the tuft of her dark braid coming into view as she mocked him.

“But you-”

“Dead? Missing? Gone marching such a long time ago?” she filled in impishly.

“ How ?”

“I fought and we won,” she said as if it were that simple. “I told Paz to keep you updated with my whereabouts. I thought he would have.”

His stomach sank and he released her. Din had estranged Paz, sick of hearing that Sena was alive without any proof. He had believed that the man was in denial over his sister’s death, but here she stood, in New Republic glory. “The war has been over for years,” he found the chair at the small table, falling into it as he tried to rationalize what had happened. Everything was crashing down around him, his head aching just as much as his heart as she stood there, sheathing her blade and cocking a hand on the hilt.

“War might’ve been over, but I still had people to track down and kill. There’s still a lot to be done, but I knew it was finally time to come home,” she sat down across from him, clasping her hands together as she propped her elbows on her legs and sighed deeply. He saw the necklace he had given her swing forward from her iron heart. “There’s still remnants out there and I did everything in my power to work on killing every last one of them.”

He believed that. “I-” he was overwhelmed, all those pent up emotions, all those things he’d wanted to say but assumed he would never get the chance bubbling up to the surface. Originally, he would have given anything to tell her how he felt and now that he had the opportunity, the back of his throat felt so incredibly parched. “I missed you,” he said finally, cursing himself for not saying the other words, but it was a start. His emotions had been shoved into a tiny box, locked up and he’d thrown away the key years ago.

“Missed you too, shebs ,” she snickered, but despite the humor in her voice, he could feel… something else.

Silence settled between them, but not the typical silence that they had found comfort in when growing up. No, this was deeper and more profound and distinctly uncomfortable. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wondered why she had approached him like this. She could have just greeted him in the Foundry where he’d been earlier.

“I can - uhm, come back later. I know you just got back from a hunt,” she offered, standing up.

Din flew from his chair, unwilling to let her slip away, to let her go a second time. He caught her hand, holding it between his gloves, staring at the detailing in the leather and the seams. Heat blossomed in his throat, grinding his voice as he spoke, “Don’t.”

Visor tilting up toward him, her head listed slightly to the side where she gazed at him, questioning. “Are you certain?” she asked tenderly, her inquiry holding much more depth.

He ran his hand underneath the collar of her flight suit, brushing the edge of her helmet, before coming down to grip the spot between the pauldron and heartplate where flesh was instead of armor. Grip tightening, his chest constricted slightly at the feel - the real feel of her beneath his gloves. Emboldened by her leaning into his touch, Din released her hand and slid against her hip, hot flames of desire licking his body and causing him to shudder at the merest touch to her fully armored frame. He looked back to her, wondering if this were permissible, if he was allowed to do this or if he had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship. That’s not what he wanted and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of doing it again.

“Din,” it had been so long since anyone had actually called him by his name. “I know it was you who gifted me the necklace and not my brother. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was afraid.”

“ You were afraid?” she poked the bear, her voice absolutely astonished by his confession.

“I was afraid to push you away and it didn’t matter in the end. I lost you to the war,” Din answered. “After what happened with Hyvhast, I thought you wouldn’t be-”

“Interested? Dank farrik you think too much,” she grumbled warmly. “If there was anyone in the Tribe that I actually felt comfortable being myself entirely, it was you, Din. I just assumed you had never thought of me like that. I mean, I was sort of annoying.”

“Sort of?”

“ OK, I was very annoying.”

He pulled her closer, her hips to his now, grinding up against her slightly. The touch made his skin dance, pulses of lightning lancing across his body as he let out a soft, trembling sigh. “Let me-” he started, voice cracking at the very idea of what he was about to offer, “-take care of you. Please .”

“Five minutes and I’ve already got you begging? You’re a changed man, Djarin,” Sena teased, but she hadn’t pulled away. Instead she leaned into him, pressing against his growing hardness, letting out a breathy huff which crackled in her vocoder. “I just-” she cleared her throat, aroused, but also worried. “Since Hyvhast, I never-”

Din groaned at the idea. Sena having been entirely alone during war, focusing on her hatred for the Empire rather than satisfying herself. The heat between his legs twitched more, which was pushed against her. If she felt it, she said nothing, only staring up at him with her palms against his red durasteel armor. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, dragging the pad of his thumb against the collar of her shirt, exposing her copper throat. Tilting her head back, he saw the faintly glowing marks, like tiny golden dew drops that ran against the hollow and disappeared beneath the fabric. Even that small bit of skin was more than enough for him. “ Mesh’la. ”

“I trust you,” she whispered, handing herself over entirely as he ran his fingers down her hips, and picked her up.

It all felt like a dream, one he’d had many times before, but one that he’d never been able to place. Hands gripping her ass, he could feel the well sculpted muscles, the definition of a honed warrior, and her quivering in his palms. He set her on the bed, throwing his gloves off as if they were offensive, pressing his helmet to hers in an insistent, belabored keldabe kiss. Stars, he should have done that when they were young and not for the first time now. Stripping her armor, piece by piece, he slid the fabric down to expose her gorgeous skin. Whatever Hyvhast had said was wrong. Ripping it down he exposed the breast band and more of the dazzling markings, so many of them. She was slender, more than most humans, but he didn’t think she was shapeless. Lanced by scars from her years, her skin was smooth, pebbling beneath his calloused fingertips. Narrow waist, stomach punctuated by the line of her muscles, the bottoming of wide hips which disappeared beneath her belt and trousers.

His eyes traced the markings that she’d been insulted for, the way they trailed down her throat, danced against her collarbone and shoulders, curved beneath the bra and were obscured from his prying gaze. “Can I?” he entreated, aware that she might still be self conscious about it all and the last thing he wanted to do was push her away. He watched her swallow hard and nod. Hook by hook, his fingers trembled, before he dropped the fabric and exposed more of her to the dry, mild air of Nevarro’s underground. Small, soft breasts greeted him, not enough to fill his palms, but befitting of her natural frame, dark maroon nipples puckering as he grazed one, watching in intrigue as they stiffened into small peaks, so pretty and perfect.

“Din, I-” she warbled quietly, the original confidence disappearing in an instance and it broke his heart hearing her like this.

“ Mesh’la, ” he repeated with stern insistency, cradling her breast tenderly. “So fucking perfect-” the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he meant every one.

She let out a soft moan, leaning into his hand.

He traced circles around her skin, chasing the golden marks against her warm flesh, watching as each tiny movement sent chills across her body. Resting her against the bed as he followed the teardrops that cradled her breasts, he wondered how anyone could have found her unattractive. The beautiful copper of her skin, the contrast of the soft marks that had an ethereal hum as if the sun itself had dripped golden fire and graced her with its light. Finally, after minutes of wandering her upper body, he undid the buckle to her pants, discarding it to have her trembling slightly in just her underwear. Just as his hands had told him earlier, she had full legs, years of stealth and crouching, her ability to jump as if she were a nexu, and to land gracefully from extreme heights without injuring herself. The curve of her hips bottomed out and Din was entransed, caressing her ass, finding more of the golden marks as they flanked the outside of her leg and burned a wake to the tops of her feet.

“I-I dreamed about this,” he told her, resolve crumbling as his index fingers glided down her stomach and against the hollow of her hip. He’d been quiet for decades, resenting himself for his silence. “If I ever saw you again, what I’d tell you. Wh-what I’d do to you. Was always so afraid to push you away.”

“What’s changed now?”

Din laughed at her question, the same soft laugh that fizzled out through the vocoder, not quite being picked up properly. “Nothing changed. Not how I feel. Just… Circumstances. Regrets. Things I never said when I should have. That I-”

“Not yet,” she interrupted. “It’s been 10 years. Let’s enjoy this now and talk after. There’s a lot to talk about. But not now-” Not when he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Not when all he wanted to do was praise her and love her. Even if she wouldn’t let him say it just yet, he fully intended on showing her what their separation had done to him. He wasn’t inexperienced by any means, but it had been a long while, never feeling the urge to do more than palm himself for relief, often dreaming of how he’d remembered her. Now she was here, spread out on his bed against the woolen comforter, her chest rising and falling quickly as he flicked the edge of her underwear.

It had been over 10 years and in his haste, the little box he’d locked and thrown the key away for, had burst open. He smirked at the irony of Sena being the wiser one for once, warning him to be careful of what he said, for they might not be the same people. Somehow, he doubted that.

Pulling the underwear off, he drank in the vision of her nude aside from her helmet. Neither of them could remove it, not unless they exchanged riduurok and she had been correct. There was much to discuss, like what had happened during the war and what their future might hold. Their future. Din had been living life day by day, never thinking of what might be waiting for him in one year or two or ten. Soft dark hair painted the top of her mound, fingertips cruising toward the bundle of nerves as she squirmed at the touch. He wanted to taste her, to feel her plush skin against his face, and to bite every since golden drop upon her skin as if he were a parched settler on Tatooine desperate for water.

Finally, he drew his fingers beneath her legs, slicking them against her wetness, astonished by how wet she actually was. “All this for me? I’m beginning to think you liked me a lot more than you ever let on,” Din purred to her disdain, watching her jerk her chin up and expose the hollow of her throat. “Or that you’ve just been pent up from never being pleasured. Dripping - waiting for someone to take it-” he slid his middle finger in with ease, a soft yelp crackling through her modulator as her back arched. Despite her hourglass frame, she was still small and light boned, part of him worried that he’d not be able to do much more than play with her.

“I might’ve done this sooner if I knew how much you talked,” Sena gritted out through her teeth.

He pumped into her, bowing over her and taking her breast in his free hand. Grinding his helmet against hers, he listened to the soft noises that the modulator wasn’t catching quite right, her back arching as he placed another finger in. “I can be quiet if you want,” he doubted it, but decided to threaten silence to see what she would do.

“Kriff! Please don’t,” she whined, her voice hitching as he thumbed her clit. “Keep talking. I like it. I - ahhh ,” he found the spot, pinching her nipple as he quickened his pace on her bud.

“That’s it. Be a good girl, come for me. You like it right there, don’t you?” he pressed harder, a shudder overcoming her body as she gripped his heartplate. “Fuck-” his cock throbbed painfully, stealing his breath away for a moment as he listened to her titullating response to his stimulation.

“Can you take it off?” she asked between her belabored breathing. “The beskar’gam -”

He had been so riveted by her, snared in the trap that was her body, that he’d forgotten entirely that he still had everything on, weapons included. Only his gloves had been shed, fingers deep in her warmth and clutching her chest as he unraveled her string by string. Removing his hand, she whimpered at the loss of the pleasure, pressing her thighs together as Din ripped off his own attire without an afterthought. The years of being covered head to toe, unwilling to let anyone look at so much as his hand, barely a consideration as she laid out bare for him. He’d already made this decision a long time ago, piling the armor on the ground, chest heaving as he bent back down over her, picking up where he left off.

Her fingers pushed against him, calloused pads in the dark hair on his chest, tracing the muscles of his pecs, between his breastbone before tracing down his stomach. Each gently, tentative touch as she came to remember him, but in a new way. Her palm flushed just beneath his abdomen, causing him to tense involuntarily, his own breath getting caught in the back of his throat as she ghosted over his pelvis. Distracted by her roaming hands, he fixated, hyperfocusing before he coated his fingers again in her heat and began working to prove to her what he felt.

Sena’s skin was on fire, the rough fingertips of her childhood friend and rival causing her to make all sorts of noises she’d never known were stored in her. Paz had told her years ago, during their brief transmissions while at war, that the necklace had been a gift Din had been holding onto for years before actually giving it to her. The knowledge of that had made her blubber like a baby - because Sena cried all the kriffing time. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult… The fact that the unpainted idiot had never told her how he felt, that weighed heavy on her shoulders for years. Because if she had known, she might’ve never gone to war. The original question her brother had asked had been ill placed. When she was 16, she wasn’t thinking of romance, but by the time the covert had been attacked on Vorp’ya… if Din had asked her, she would have said yes. Back then, he had basically been a part of Clan Vizsla from how often he had been around. While they pestered one another, the original terse rivalry had been replaced with a different kind of friendship. Both of them had been too afraid to acknowledge it and Sena was still battling with the idea that no one would ever find her body attractive. What if Din had thought the same? She wouldn’t have been able to hide her embarrassment if he had scorned her too when finally glimpsing what was beneath her armor.

She didn’t feel like that now as his helmet met hers and his hands were between her legs. For what felt like an hour he explored her, tracing the Goddess Markings on her skin, praising her. And fuck did that turn her on. Hearing someone say that she was beautiful, that everything about her was absolutely perfect. His hot baritone in her ear, the slight fumbling of his words as they fell out of his mouth in the most uncontrolled manner she’d ever heard, losing all restriction behind closed doors. She’d never known it could feel like this, his expert fingers making her weak, the very warmth of his body so close to hers a comfort that she had so desperately missed. They’d never been close like this, but Goddess she had wanted it so badly after Paz had told her about the necklace. There hadn’t been any time for pleasure during war, but she did think about it in her dreams when she tried to escape the harsh reality around her. Dreaming faintly of the silver beskar helmet of her old friend, thumbing the Jai’galaar eyes, and hoping that he might be waiting for her back with the Tribe. The very necklace was frigid against the hollow of her chest now, shifting as she moaned, the muscles in her legs tensing and her toes curling.

“That’s it, mesh’la, howl for me. Howl like you did by the moonpool, in the trees, howl for me ,” he insisted, her alto cutting off as a wave of white noise and numbness began to edge at her being. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do much more than push her helmet back into the pillow as the overwhelming pressure built up in her sent swells of ecstasy coursing through every fiber of her being. The cry came after, while her body was still riding the intoxication, like she was floating amongst the starlight without a ship, out of her own body and adrift as her eyes remained shut. “So perfect,” he muttered against her, removing his fingers as her bundle of nerves twitched, oversensitive and grounding her back to reality as she tried to suck in a few strangled breaths.

“D-Din, that was-” she was stammering, unable to catch her voice as it ran away from her with the orgasm, making her sound pitifully tinny.

“Was it what you imagined?” he asked, his voice quiet again.

“I didn’t know what to imagine,” she admitted dolefully. Sena had touched herself before, but it had never felt that good. Someone else’s fingers gliding over her, the arousing words in her ears, the feeling of proximity which set her teeth on end and skin crawling in just the right way. It was lovely and it was real, not just a string of thoughts and what-ifs. No fear of being caught with her hands in her pants while trying to get some shut eye and relieve the tension in her shoulders - the obviously palpable tension from the stress of being at war for so many years. Her eyes listed down, noticing his massive hardness, somewhat terrified of being speared on the end of it. His fingers had filled her up and she could only fathom what his cock might do to her. “What about-”

“Do you want me to?”

She moaned gently, still taken aback by how careful he was being with her. They were both in their fucking 30s and she was the blatantly inexperienced one. Yet, here he was being so tender, despite how much his hardon had to be bothering him. Pleasure wouldn’t come without a bit of pain first and Sena, while afraid, knew that it wouldn’t kill her. Nodding, she reached down and grasped him, her fingers unable to fully encircle his girth. He was tacky from where his own wet fingers had fisted himself, her juice smeared along his length as she stroked him once. His helmet ground into hers more, a deep rumble in the back of his throat which she could hear in her ear.

“Are you certain ?” he challenged this time, spitting the words out in the same dark manner as he had when talking to her amidst his playing. “If you’ve never-”

“I’ve been hurt worse before, Djarin. I think I can handle a little temporary discomfort,” she retorted thinly, stroking him again, enjoying the way that he bucked against her. “I know how this all works.” She’d just not experienced it. While she appreciated how careful he was being, she didn’t need to be fully coddled.

He brushed between her legs again, the gesture making her tighten when his fingertips touched her swollen bud. “You might think you know,” he started, positioning himself above her, jerking her hips toward his. “But I don’t think you do.” The weeping head of his manhood met her folds, lathing it in her wetness before he tested against her slightly. With one glance, she knew that he was going to absolutely split her open, her hips dwarfed by him and her sex quivering at the idea of trying to accomodate him. He began to ease against her resistance. She chewed her lips raw, trying not to cry out as he moved in and then out, coating himself and trying to make progress, centimeter by gruelling centimeter. Her own hands were clutching her breasts, pinching her own nipples in a futile attempt to distract herself. “Sena-” his visor tilted up. “You need to relax or this isn’t going to work.”

Relax? Relax? He was literally stabbing her between her legs, how could she relax? Her chest heaved in short, panicked breaths before she scrunched her eyes shut trying to calm herself down. A hand rubbed against her stomach, soothing in small circles. This wasn’t at all like what she had witnessed on Tatooine. This was an agreement between two people who cared for each other. She let out a long exhale and loosened her grip on her aching nipples. Din pushed into her entirely, filling her to the brim, stretching her and breaking past the initial discomfort. While it still hurt a bit, she adjusted her hips and let out a quiet mewl as he froze, head bowed, buried to the hilt.

“Dank farrik,” he cursed, gazing down at Sena’s copper body, his cock sunk into her warmth, her silken walls quivering around him as he gripped her hips. Even if she’d calmed down for a brief moment, at his words she’d tensed again and squeezed his cock. Din gasped, muttering in Mando’a to himself, absolutely blissed out in the moment. “S-so good. Yo-you feel s-so good,” he managed, finally finding the willpower to glide out and back in.

“Was it what you imagined?” she asked in a faint voice, her articulate accent raking electricity down his spine. That kriffing voice. He could listen to it all day, even if she was saying the most stupid, pointless things.

Din’s jaw slackened and he managed a choked laugh. “Better,” he swore, craning back down, caging her body beneath him as he moved with no insistency. With little intention of hurting her, their reunion wouldn’t be too impassioned. Even if she claimed she could take it - her telltale stubbornness shining through - Din knew that he might be hurting her a bit. She was impossibly tight, but her walls eased slightly as he brought his helmet back down to hers, savoring each gentle keen that escaped her throat. He placed a hand against her neck, fingers sliding through a few stray strands of inky hair, thumb tracing the hollow as he gave a little squeeze. He was already getting close, a combination of how long it’d been since he’d had sex, the fact that it was her, in addition to how perfectly she wrapped around his length, so pleasingly snug and firm, leaving little to no room for anything else. “You were made for me,” he insisted in his delirium, sailing along a growing high as his legs ached and he felt the building pressure behind his groin.

She was hanging onto him, the golden marks on her skin winking as he glanced down at her, reminding him that she wasn’t quite human, but something so much more precious and coveted. A piece of the sun bundled up in beskar and joined to him as she threw her head back against the pillow again. Her walls fluttered around him, her whimper dying in her chest.

“Coming a second time? Fuck-” he was being thrust precariously to the edge by her, wishing he could last a bit longer, but she was strangling his cock. “Y-you’re so good. So perfect. C-can’t believe I waited this l-long. I-I’d wait forever if it meant I c-could have you a-again.”

She bleated at his words, continuing to strain beneath him on the edge of her own orgasm.

Despite intending to be utterly gentle with her, he had to bring himself over. He pumped into her a good few times, the sensation absolutely wrecking him, as she cried out, digging her fingernails into the flesh around his shoulders. He painted her insides with his seed, clamped on so tightly that he hadn’t the strength or will to do it elsewhere. Sagging forward, he pushed the visor of his helmet into the pillow beside her, trying to collect the scattered fragments of his sense as he wondered when he’d ever had such a good orgasm. His body was still quaking from the effort, despite how slow they had been going, tanned skin slick with sweat from a combination of effort and the stale desert air.

Finally, he disentangled himself and slipped down on the small bed beside her. He offered his arm, the cool beskar helm nestling into the crook of his pec, clicking lightly with the bottom of his own.

That’s going to get annoying, he realized, but put the thought aside. Mindlessly, his hand nestled against her waist and traced against it, comforted by her silken skin underneath his palm. Sliding over them like the moonlight on the moors of Vorp’ya, a comforting silence eased between them as they slowly drifted down from their high like a leaf slowly spiralling down from a tree’s most upper branch. He was nearly dozing off, her nails tracing lines in his chest hair, when she finally spoke.

“We should talk.”

Those words shouldn’t have frightened him, not when he was holding her against him, naked save for their helmets, having just fucked her, but they did. His heart fluttered, disconcerted and malcontent at the suggestion that there was really so much to talk about. “About?”

“What this means, what happened during the war, and where we go from here,” she answered simply.

They owed each other to fill in the gaps, and try to work things out. “Mm,” he hummed, continuing to caress her. “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Paz.”

“That you’re an absolute di’kut ,” she informed him.

Din snorted. Of course Paz would still be mad at him, though he didn’t entirely blame the man. They weren’t on the best of terms at the moment. “Could say the same for him.”

“You’re both idiots,” Sena declared. “But I know it must’ve been hard to believe him after all this time.”

“Hard? It was nearly impossible. Why didn’t he just show me one of the transmissions?”

“Because they were coded specifically to be erased immediately after being opened,” Sena sighed. “I really could only send one at most every year or two. I was deep in Imperial territory and if those got intercepted, I could have gotten my entire team killed. I promised Paz I’d only send them to the Kote. ”

He should have expected that Paz would have offered evidence if he had it, but it still made him upset that he’d gone for so many years without confirmation - having to rely on the words of a man who was grieving for the loss of his entire clan. “What were you doing? I assumed the worst… that during The Great Purge you went marching-” his voice cracked, fingers tightening against her as he closed his eyes and tried to shake the terrible nightmares he’d recounted as he imagined her being killed over and over again without him there to watch her six.

“Barely made it out of there. Mandalore was absolutely ravaged. There were a few of us trying to figure out where to go, what to do… We didn’t feel right just throwing the towel in and giving up. Not after all the vod we’d lost on Mandalore. So, we found the rebels and offered our help. I split off from the others as the rebels began growing their numbers. I did a lot of recon, recruiting, and then set up on Hoth. Lot of people joined, but a lot of those people didn’t know their ass from their elbow. They had heart and they needed training, so I stepped into the position as teacher. None of them ever took a shine to fighting like Mandalorians, but they also didn’t have the luxury of extensive training. It was learn quick or die in the next fire fight-”

She continued detailing her years amongst the Rebels, how the operations grew, and she continued to help train until there were others who could take up the torch. Her talents were better used elsewhere, especially with the growing tension and necessity of an elite set of soldiers that could employ better stealth tactics. Her hatred of the Imps had never faded and she fell in step with being known as the best extractor of information. Whenever an officer was captured, she would be the interrogator, making certain they didn’t off themselves with their implants. They were tough nuts to crack, but Sena always had them singing for death, begging to be released from the revenge she took out on them. There was no pity in her heart. Not one single shred.

With the war reaching a climax, she took boots to the ground, working alongside other soldiers and groups as a leader and front-liner. Her years of experience, tactical training, and warfare made her a prime candidate for commander and she went wherever she was needed. No wonder she had no time to reach out, she was constantly traveling and offering support to troops. There was no time to run-ashore, to lollygag, or to take a moment for herself. They were at war and she’d be damned if she slacked even for a moment, costing anyone their lives. Din’s heart burned with admiration for her sacrifice, her unflinching resolve, and dedication to the cause. With each story, each word, he felt his resentment for her lack of contact vanishing as if it’d never been there. She hadn’t purposely been estranging herself. Sena had been an important leader in the war and trying to reach out to the Tribe would’ve put it in danger. She had been protecting them with her distance and he’d given up on ever seeing her again because of it.

When the end of the war came, it did not mark a complete close. The Death Star might’ve imploded, but there were still many warlords looking to make a last stand and attempt to regroup forces to bludgeon the wounded New Republic. Again, she could not leave in good faith until she was quite certain that the New Republic could handle everything on their own. So she remained, helping track down and hunt the remnants, counting the heads on spikes as she considered what returning home might feel like. It would all be worth it. She’d gone that far and that long to protect her people, for the risk of the Empire swooping in and taking the Tribe once again to never happen a second time. Her own personal needs did not rival the needs of the many.

Listening closely, he felt himself falling in love with her a second time.

“So as you can imagine, it’s been a long awaited homecoming. Not to mention how glad I was to take this kriffing bucket off on Dinhue . Thought the thing was glued onto me at that point,” she remarked, rapping her knuckles against the grey-blue steel. “Not that I didn’t miss you, but I wouldn’t trade what I did for anything, Din. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I had to go. I had to because they destroyed my planet. And then did it a second time when they attacked Mandalore.”

“I understand,” he assured her. “If you had remained here, you’d be asking yourself constantly what might have happened if you had helped. You wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling back against his neck, the beskar chilling him. “Didn’t think the war would take that kriffing long, but… suppose it couldn’t be helped.”

“ Ni vod’ika ,” he teased, tracing the golden marks on her collar.

“I was a commander,” she groused, but shifted abruptly, sitting up so that she had a palm on the pillow and was gazing down at him. “And when you say that, when you say my- ”

“I mean it,” Din answered honestly. “ My cyar’ika. Mine. Did you think I would change my mind after you told me your war stories?”

“Thought I might be too cool for you. That you’d be intimidated-”

“ Intimidated ?” Din snarked, laughing at the idea. He pushed her off, a soft huff escaping her mouth as she landed and he rolled on top of her. “Intimidated by you? After I had you soaking wet and on my cock, begging for me to talk dirty to you? You’re still the same di’kut. Arrogant, foolish-” he ground his hips to hers, his length beginning to twitch. “-so fucking dorky.”

“Alright, alright-” she complained, squirming beneath him. “I get it. My one brain cell did get a little swollen over the years. The rebels aren’t Mandalorians, so it was easy to stick out-”

“No, you’re wrong about that,” he palmed her breast, twisting her maroon nipple between his fingers, watching as it pebbled beneath his touch. “Despite being a di’kut , you’ve always been special. You’ve always had a way with people. And you’ve always been an impeccable warrior. I was always jealous of that - your ability to play so nice with others, the way that they’d all look at you, how they all accepted you right away when you first arrived to the Tribe. The fact that Rhenx favored you more than me…” he huffed, letting loose all his discontent and the frustration he’d felt growing up as they fought for the lead. The growing attraction that had become more as he admired her talents, the ones she excelled in versus him, the fact that she was able to blend into all aspects of the Tribe. He’d always been reserved, unable to lead from the front as she did so naturally, surrounded by friends and hunters who adored being in her space just as much as he did.

“You know, it doesn’t sound like you like me very much,” Sena chuckled, squeaking when he pinched her nipple.

“You’re right,” he admitted, bending down to spread her legs again, thrusting his hardness against her quivering lower lips. She gasped as he slipped right back in. “ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum .”

“D-Din!”

He moaned at the sound of his name being cried out, conscious to not be too rough, but still finding himself pumping into her at a steady pace. Her walls trembled around him, his palm seated against the small of her back, another flush to her mound as he drew quick circles around her clit. “I’ve loved you for such a long time. S-since we were kids. I-imagined h-having a family w-with you,” he was fraying around the edges, her sharp keening and noises hooking him toward the abyss once again. “E-each year you were gone. Felt like a piece of me died too. N-never telling you. Can’t do that again. Can’t let you out of my sight without letting you know how you make me feel. Hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed. Fuck-” his voice was breaking, the overwhelming urge to kiss her again consuming him. “Yo-you’re so good. Didn’t even dream you’d be this fucking amazing. Mesh’la. These markings-” he followed the crescents beneath her breasts. “-I want to taste every single one. I want to taste you. I want everything .”

Her back arched beneath his hand, walls clenching around him and pushing him into the sweet divinity of her warmth, the heat of her embrace, and the sharp intake of air before letting out a trembling cry. His head scraped her cervix, each thrust sending jarring shockwaves up his spine, from helmet to toe. For the second time that afternoon, he climaxed and was winded, losing all sense of knowing as he fell forward. His helmet felt awfully constricting, more so than usual as he panted, the breaths billeting back in his face.

They both fell asleep, exhausted from their tryst.

Din woke up to the space beside him vacant of Sena’s warmth. Panic billowed in his chest, eyes snapping open as he wondered if it had all been some kind of illness induced fever dream and the exchange had never happened. But when he glanced across the small room, he saw her at the kitchenette brewing tea. Her long hair had been pulled out of the braid and scattered in obsidian waves all the way down past her ass. She had his shirt on, which was big and baggy, the sleeves pushed up, and the hem skimming the tops of her thighs. Even if her armor looked good on her, Din liked seeing his own clothing draped over her slender form. Her visor settled on him and she gestured to the kettle.

“Would you like a cup?”

“Mm,” he nodded, grabbing his trousers and slipping them on, glad that she was still there and that it hadn’t been a dream. Striding over toward her as she began steeping the leaves, none of which were his, he placed his hands against her hips and brushed into her, humming as he set his chin on top of her helmet. Eventually his hands wrapped around her entirely, her slender form leaning back against him as she huffed at him.

“I can’t finish if you’ve got me like this,” she informed him.

“Then don’t,” he muttered.

“I’m not wasting good tea leaves,” she snipped, worming out of his grip so that she had enough room to work. Once she had steeped them properly, she removed the leaves and added a bit of honey.

“Made yourself comfortable in here while you waited for me, didn’t you?” Din mused, aware that this apartment was rather scant in supplies.

“I take my tea everywhere with me,” she insisted evenly. “These are from Naboo.”

“Which you’re not actually from.”

“No, I am not,” she admitted.

“Where are you from?”

“Paz told me you overheard that evening.”

“Course he did,” Din grumbled, wondering how much the siblings shared with each other. At this point, seemed like bloody everything. “Yes, I overheard that you were Anaxian. Although, I never knew much about Anaxes or the people who lived there.”

“A lot of different people lived there. I lived in a forest called Genmaris,” she informed him.

A forest. Now he understood why she had been so much more excited to see a tree than the pond. She was accustomed to running between branches and boroughs and had there been more trees, she might’ve leapt amongst them completely in her natural element. “What was it like there?”

“Peaceful,” she sighed wistfully, facing him and leaning back against the counter. “I was a brat-”

“Still are-”

She gave him a defiant head tilt before continuing. “Used to find ways to worm out of the castle all the time. Go flouncing in the woods and get all my nicest dresses ruined-”

“ Castle? ” Din repeated.

“I was a princess,” she sounded so indifferent that Din was shocked into silence. “Oh, come on now. You said you overheard that evening after the farce with Hyvhast. Paz called me a princess.”

“I thought it was a pet name, not literal,” he croaked in disbelief.

“ Anyways, ” she continued. “Genmaris was very beautiful and rich with culture, vegetation, and the architecture was glorious. Metal wasn’t very often used for building. The castle was made of stone and wood.”

“The accent makes more sense now,” Din realized out loud.

“Hm?”

“Your accent, princess .”

“Don’t start that osik with me. I haven’t been a princess for twenty-two years. That life was put behind me when I joined Clan Vizsla,” she snapped irritably, his lips curling up at her frustration. “ Speaking of which, my brother is rather cross with you.”

“You think he’ll be more upset after he finds out I fucked you?” Din teased, quickly adding, “Twice.”

She slapped his chest - hard - taking her mug of tea and sliding out of his grasp. “Paz does like you. He was thinking of us as a match back when we were 16,” she sat down, crossing her legs, the hem of the shirt riding up slightly. “But you were too stupid to do anything other than stare.”

“You could’ve said something too, cyar’ika ,” he took the other mug and sat across from her.

“Anaxians don’t reach sexual maturity until their twentieth name day. And what that means, is that we don’t go through puberty until then. I wasn’t really thinking about that sort of stuff until we were older and even then, I was quite put off after what had happened,” Sena reminded him, lifting her helmet enough to take a sip of her tea. “I ended up dating because it felt like the right thing to do, since everyone else was.”

Din’s stomach shifted uncomfortably, horrified by what he was hearing. Not because he’d overstepped boundaries, but because Sena had been trying so hard to fit in and she had gotten burned because of it. Hyvhast’s stupid bucket appeared back in his mind. She had dated him because ‘it seemed right’ only for the mando to strip her growing body after constant pressure and coercion. No wonder Paz had been livid. He’d also felt just as upset, but Paz had known all these things those years ago. His sister was still an adolescent and Hyvhast had defiled her, laughed in her face, and then told others about it. Fortunately, the Tribe wasn’t as stupid as Hyvhast and Jiabe had throttled him for speaking out of turn.

“And now?”

She glanced over at him. “Well, we didn’t quite date did we? Though circumstances withstanding, I wouldn’t take back any of what we did.”

He was happy to hear that, taking a sip of the tea, which was pleasantly floral with earthy undertones, a hint of caf, and the sweet bloom of the honey. “What are we?”

“Together, if that’s what you’d like,” she proposed, but quickly followed up. “Despite what you’ve said, I think we should get to know each other again. We shouldn’t be too hasty.” They shouldn’t exchange riduurok immediately was what she was darting around.

Din would have right in that moment, but respected her request. Duly he remembered that he had promised Karga that he’d pick up the next big bounty soon, something about beskar being involved as payment. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her side after being reunited. But she had full beskar armor. He did not. “Together then,” he agreed. “You’re not going to tell Paz that we-”

“ What!? ” she screeched. “Do I want your helmet bashed in? No! I’ll tell him that we’re courting. Again, he’s still rather pissed at you,” she cocked her head, setting the mug down on the table. “I know the years haven’t been easy for you. Paz told me that you’ve been living a half-life, not really engaging with the Tribe. Still pulling more than your fair share of weight, but a lot of our vod aren’t too pleased with you. Din… Are you ok?”

He sighed, bone weary and not looking forward to this conversation. “The days were monotonous. I just fell into routine and… you were really the only reason I talked to most of the Tribe. Your brother tried to bring me back in and we got into a few fights over it. I thought you were marching away, so hearing him sound so foolishly hopeless about your return… I started to resent him. Which only grew as the years dragged on and he still hadn’t given up about you.”

Sena stood up, trotting over to him and wrapping an arm around his hot neck. “Well, you’d better apologize then, because who’s the shebs now?” she pointed out, letting him lean into her chest, hooking his bicep around her waist before he tugged her onto his lap.

“I am,” he grumbled, nestling his helmet into her collar.

“Mm, you have changed a bit. Admitting defeat so quickly?”

“Only to you,” he frowned, sitting back up. “It’ll get better. I’ll get better,” he assured her, touching his helmet down in a keldabe kiss.

“Better? No, Din, you’ll feel better. You’re not broken, just hurting. And I’ll be here for you to talk to. I’m not going anywhere now,” she insisted, pushing back against his helmet.

He hummed in agreement, holding her close, savoring their proximity once again, clinging to the idea that he’d not be alone again. Truly, he’d never been alone as he was surrounded by the Tribe, but he’d estranged himself after the defeat on Vorp’ya. He didn’t feel hopeless anymore, but there were still many other emotions he had to come to grips with. “Do I really have to apologize to Paz?”

“ Elek, di’kut, ” she flicked his helmet. “Better sooner than later, because if Paz finds out that you-”

“You said you wouldn’t tell him,” he scowled.

“If it’s going to force your apology out of you, perhaps I might casually mention it.”

“We won’t be exchanging riduurok ever if your brother kills me,” Din reminded her lightly.

“Mm, would be such a shame. You’ll never find out what an Anaxian princess actually looks like,” she jested.

“If this part of you is any hint at what’s beneath the bucket-” he ran his hand down the front of the shirt she was wearing. “-then I know I’m in for the shock of my life.”

“Oh,” she huffed mockingly. “Can your heart take it?”

Din pushed her off his lap as she broke out into a fit of howling laughter. He’d missed that especially. “Still a brat.”

“ Your brat.”

“My brat,” he agreed.

Translations

ori'buyce kih'kovid - all helmet, no head (overdeveloped sense of authority) mesh'la dala - beautiful woman di'kutla - stupid, worthless Hukaat'kama - watch my six shab - fuck/fucked dala - woman ni cetar'narir kay'shebs - I'm going to shove my boot up your ass shebs - ass jayc'kovid - dickhead osik - shit Vor entre - I owe you a debt (or thank you) Kaysh mirsh solus - his braincell is lonely Oya - let's hunt, let's go Manda'yaim - Mandalore Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye (lit. Maybe we'll meet again) di'kut - idiot Ni vod'ika - my little soldier

#big brother paz vizsla #paz vizsla & oc character #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #growing up mandalorian #din djarin x oc #din djarin smut #smut with feelings

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