#but it's in the timeframe i stated so i guess i have to count it lol

[icedmatchatae]

Glimpse of Us | KTH Chapter IV: Everything We Didn't Say

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: This is a big one lol, heavy ANGST, flashbacks (including fighting you’re about to see how their friendship ended and guess who fucks up, crying, insecurities (self and relationship), mentions of the deceased, minor character death in the past), unhealthy life habits (a/n: pls don’t do this to yourself! Take care of your body/self-care)

Word Count: 17.5k

A/N: I would also like to point out that the story's first half is about understanding their relationship and gradually their individual lives. It goes back and forth between the past and present. Specific timeframes (like Taehyung as a trainee) will be mentioned but not all. As time goes on, things will start to unravel. BTW: when I say football, I mean soccer lol

Chapter IV: Everything We Didn't Say || Series Masterlist

You paced back and forth on the front porch as you played with your fingers to calm yourself. The clouds covered the cerulean sky and bright heating sun on a cooling fall weekend afternoon. Leaves shifted to their rustic tones, hardening to a crisp. Some tried their best to stick onto the trees while others fell elegantly, being done for the season.

As for you, you dressed extra special today and saved up some money for it as well. A brown oversized sweater over a muted green linen maxi dress paired with your old dirty pair of black shoes. You saved enough for the outfit but not the shoes. Your hair was half up, held by a scrunch that was the same color as your dress.

Though in one of your best attires yet, you waited anxiously for your grandparents to be ready. Well, they were already ready to go for the day but what was missing was Taehyung.

You’ve been waiting for almost an hour and called and texted him countless times, but he had yet to answer you. You told him months in advance, weeks, days, and literally hours before, and he still wasn’t here.

“Sweets, we have to go. We’re gonna be late.” Your grandmother informed as she saw your distressed state. Your lips were in between your teeth, not wanting to give up faith in your best friend. You blinked towards your grandmother as she could only smile empathetically.

“We have a long drive, ___.” Your grandfather came out of the house and locked the door.

You checked the time on your phone, an hour over the scheduled time. You sighed as you glanced over at the Kim residence, seeing no one was home. You frowned as you felt the tears attempting to come out. He was supposed to be there with you.

You nodded to your grandparents as you all walked towards the car. You and your grandfather loaded the back with baskets of food, a picnic blanket, flowers, and candles. Once you closed the trunk, you called Taehyung once more to which no avail so you ultimately accepted that he wasn’t coming.

Your family drove off the property and left Geochang for the time being as your destination was the Daegu City Cemetery where you spent almost the entire day there.

By the time you were back home in Geochang, it was already late in the night, ten at night to be exact and that was past your grandparents’ bedtime. All of you were tired from the day trip, more so you. You kept crying the ride too when you were at the cemetery and the ride from. It was a miracle you didn’t cry during dinner, but you showed you were upset.

Your grandparents—blessed their hearts—tried their best to cheer you up but it was rather difficult with a day like today and your best friend not being there with you. So they let you be and comforted you here and there.

As you unloaded the car, you heard footsteps pressing into the gravel and coming your way. You didn’t bother looking since you knew who it was and finally decided to show up.

“Blue!” Taehyung greeted you with a hug and a kiss on your head. Though this behavior was typical, it left a sour taste right now and you didn’t like it. Instead of hugging back, you pushed him away which surprised the boy. You glared at him before heading to your front door with the basket in your hands.

Your grandfather opened the door for you to come inside but Taehyung gripped your armand held you back. You tried tugging your limb, but he wasn’t budging. “Blue, what’s wrong?” He questioned. Confusion grew in his expression, not aware of why you were being like this to him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Taehyung.”

“Okay, something’s definitely wrong.” He disagreed, shaking his head. “You always call me Hyungie. Tae, when you’re annoyed or irritated. Taehyung, when you’re pissed at me.” You loved how much he knew you, but hated how much he knew you. 

You huffed as you gripped the basket. Your grandfather came next to you and took what you held in his hands. “I’ll bring these in, ___. Talk to Tae, okay?”

You scrunched your nose in displeasing, seeing how your grandfather had a soft spot for your best friend. He wanted you to talk it out, and you will but you’re just angry with Taehyung.

When your grandfather went inside and closed the door, you crossed your arms and leaned into one leg. “Where were you today?” You snapped, interrogating him right off the bat.

“No need for the attitude, Blue.” He mumbled, hating how you scolded him. “I went to the beach party!”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what?”

“Yeah, you know the second-year Lee Jungjae, our sunbae?” Your best friend mentioned. You didn’t know who he was, because you couldn’t keep up with Taehyung’s gazillion friends. “Well, he personally invited me to his birthday beach party. I had to sleep over at his house because we had to take the bus all the way to Pohang. It was tiring but so fun, like—”

“So you just went without me? Without me knowing?” You grilled him, your temper slowly thinning the more he spoke.

“I mentioned it to you the other day…” He reasoned, trying to defend himself. “But Jungjae Hyung didn’t say to bring guests because of the trip. I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care about the stupid beach party, Taehyung!” You yelled. Your cheeks burned hot with the frustration that built up and was ready to explode. “I don’t care about your sunbae, or the fucking trip, or how much you had fun!”

“___, why are you so mad? It’s not like you were sitting at home doing nothing. When I came back, Halmeoni said your family was gon—”

“Taehyung, we went to the cemetery in Daegu.” You interjected, your voice softened at the end of your sentence. “It was my parents’ tenth death anniversary.”

Then Taehyung’s confused and offended face morphed into the eye-opening realization that he fucked up. “That was today? Blue, I for—”

“I’m upset with you.” You told him. “You knew how important it was for you to be there.”

Due to the distance, time, and financial obligations, it was difficult to schedule a time to go visit your parents every year. Your grandparents had their shop and farm to manage and you were still in school as well as your grandmother had health concerns from time to time. The only thing you could do was put up a photo frame of your parents on the top of your dresser. 

As it was close to their ten years, you begged your grandparents to go to Daegu where they were buried. Reason being that it has been a long time and you would love to see them. Though they grew older and weaker by the second, of course, they did their part in making it happen. While doing so, you asked Taehyung to be there for you.

Since they died when you were so young, you had little memories of them. But with all you could remember, you told the stories to your best friend. You knew your parents would have loved Taehyung and he would love them. That’s why you asked Taehyung to come, not only for you and your support but for him to meet your parents for the first time and talk to them as if they were here.

Taehyung was stoked about the days coming to today, so it disappointed you when he said he has forgotten. But what hurts the most was that he chose his other friends over you.

Over time, this has been an issue between you two that was rather conflicting on your end. Though you knew how sociable Taehyung was from the second you met him, it made you jealous to see him hanging out with others. Of course, he always included you, but you knew at times, that you weren’t as welcomed.

You overheard peers whispering and murmuring why someone like Taehyung hung out with someone like you, quiet, awkward, and nervous. Some girls even tried to be your friend to get closer to Taehyung. That led to you confronting him about it and letting him have fun with his friends by himself. You reassured him that it was okay with you as you had his siblings to hang out with. It was a chance for Taehyung to reach his social butterfly status while you thrived with being a hermit. You certainly didn’t mind, but you envy those around Taehyung who were able to interact so easily.

Recently, he has been spending more time with older students after joining the football team. He has gotten popular when he went into high school. You were still in your last year of middle school as you were the same age as his sister. You loved how well he fitted into the crowd, but it felt like he left you behind and didn’t want to hang out with a recluse like you. You were considered a “kid.” You gradually became insecure about your friendship with him, worrying if you were meant to be his true best friend. You were so sensitive about it, so this stung way more than anticipated. That was something you never told him.

“I’m sorry, ___. I really am, I…” He apologized, but it didn’t work when he saw your eyes swell into tears and your chest bounce once you cried. “Blue, nooo.” He was utterly guilty, he wanted to embrace you and give you comfort but you rejected his touch.

“I-I w-wanted you there!” You wept with your palms covering your face. “I called you, texted you, and you didn’t answer.”

“Blue, please let me make it up.” He pleaded, making the chance to clutch onto your wrists and pull them away to see your teary face. He felt so ashamed that he was the reason you were crying. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He replicated the tears you produced.

You shook your head as you wiped your face with your sweater. You brought back your wrists to your frame, gesturing that you didn’t want him to touch you. “I don’t want to see you right now. You hurt me today, I can’t.”

“___, no, please. I’m sorry.” He refused, not wanting your demand. You’ve never said that to him. Though he bugged the shit out of you almost every day, you always wanted to see him. He couldn’t live without seeing you or being with you. He didn’t want to leave you hurt by him like this, he never meant to harm you. “Don’t do this, Blue.”

“I just need some time away from you.” You responded briefly.

“But—”

“Don’t make me madder than I already am!” You shouted crudely. “Now back to your fucking friends that you love oh so much and just forget about me!” Word vomit spewed out your mouth without intention. There was so much that angered, saddened, and overall tired you, you couldn’t help it.

Both of your eyes grew at what you said. You merely inhaled sharply while Taehyung shook his head in denial. There was no way he could forget about you.

“Blue, I’ll neve—”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence as you scurried to the entrance and closed and locked the door from behind. You heard Taehyung trying to follow you in, but he was too late to catch you.

He knocked constantly on the door. “Blue, ___, please. Don’t do this. I’m sorry! I fucked up, but I’ll never forget you. You’re my best friend, my Blue! Please I’m sorry. I’ll make it up!” He sobbed through behind the doorway. You stayed silent, crying and waiting for him to leave first but he kept pounding and professing his apologies and regrets. But they still weren’t enough for you.

This was the biggest fight yet.

“Tae!” Hoseok snapped his fingers in front of his younger member. Taehyung shook his head and blinked hard before scanning his eyes at his alarmed members.

After being separated for some time, Jimin and Namjoon thought it was a good idea to have a little lunch get-together to catch up with each of us. Hoseok released his solo album in the past month, striking many records. Yoongi has been busy with collaborations with other artists. Namjoon got back from a European trip. Jungkook has been going back and forth to the United States for recordings. Seokjin made appearances on various cooking shows. Finally, Jimin came back from Busan after resting with his family before going back into the studio. 

All in all, the guys were doing well with the pause and shift in career focus. Well, not all. Though Taehyung looked forward to the lunch, he knew that his updates were mainly him and his therapy because right off the bat, Yoongi insisted on knowing the progress.

Taehyung was lucky enough that the set-up happened the day after his session, so he bullshited whatever was said that time and nothing more. This week wasn’t any better, unlike the previous ones. The idol refused to speak out as much and stayed in silence with Dr. Im until the time was over. It was unsettling with improvements because Taehyung couldn’t care less right now.

Both his members and his therapist meant no harm in his life, but couldn’t help but feel bothered. They cared enough to help the idol, but was it really enough for him to live by? Almost every question asked patronized him and his actions rather than explaining why or how it is.

Like yesterday, maybe it was all in Taehyung’s head, Dr. Im wondered what has been happening with him in the past two weeks to have a sudden shift in his behavior in therapy. While the idol said nothing, Dr. Im claimed further if someone or something occurred that changed your life. Perhaps it was because the professional knew what was happening even without context, and it ticked the idol off and decided to end the session twenty minutes early. Again, Dr. Im was just doing his job.

However, his members… were a piece of work with him. They wanted every detail and what he did after, then they would comment on it and tell him what he should do. That was how the cycle went and suddenly Taehyung wished he never came to the lunch and never seen them a little longer. 

“Are you good, bud?” Hoseok asked once more. “You seem out of it.”

“Something happened?” Yoongi questioned. “If something did and you’re not tel—”

“No, I can’t say if I’m good when I’m going to therapy now, isn’t it?” Taehyung interjected passive-aggressively. 

The slight comment shifted the aura of the lunch. Things were still rocky from the last time, being the same members talking—Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon, but the older members thought to live passed that and be grateful to see their younger again. But by the look on the older’s face, Yoongi was about to call him out.

“What Tae means is that…” Jimin intervened to ease the tension before it erupted. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we’ve sat. You barely even ate.”

It was always Jimin coming to the rescue to protect his friend. Couldn’t blame the dude, that was his ride or die. He was the most patient when it came to Taehyung and his actions, was always there for him, gentle towards him, and was an overall caring best friend.

Taehyung was appreciative, but there were times when it was a bit overbearing like he couldn’t take care of or defend himself. It made Taehyung feel useless and pitiful, which irked him.

“Umm,” Taehyung sighed, poking his chopsticks and the cold cooked meat sitting on his plate. “It’s nothing bad, but just in my mind.”

“Something happened between you and Clara?” Seokjin asked, which brought a disturbingly positive shift into the group’s mood apart from Taehyung. “Haven’t heard about her in a while. You two doing good?”

Taehyung deathly wanted to scowl in revulsion at how much the boys loved her. After all, they were the ones who talked him into asking her out on a date in the first place. They endeared her so much that they thought that she was really a pillar in Taehyung’s life and helping him better himself.

Taehyung hummed noncommittally and shrugged, “Same old. She’s just been busy with work and online presence while I’m…not. She understands though, I guess.”

“Tell her we said hi!” Namjoon smiled. “Hope we can see her again soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to tell her.” Taehyung was most likely sure that he wouldn’t send back the thanks. She recently was getting on his nerves for being so quiet these past weeks and not texting right away. The idol reassured her that he was tired and focused on his solo project, but he knew that there was more to it.

“Then what’s the matter, Hyung?” Jungkook cocked an eyebrow as he chewed.

Taehyung had to think about how to approach this. He didn’t necessarily tell anyone what happened between you two, recently that is. Before they debuted, Taehyung was sure that they remembered you or some bits. They also knew what happened that ended your friendship since it happened weeks before their debut and Taehyung was somewhat of a mess. They haven’t met you, but they knew how much you meant to him.

But that was before.

His therapist had speculations but came out empty-handed so far. Seojoon and Wooshik tried to get some information out of the idol on you, but Taehyung was a hard shell to crack. They needed the electric saw or metal-cutting machine to know exactly who you were.

So no one knew you were back, physically, in his mind, thoughts, memories, and emotions.

But then he pondered for a while. He has been sulking and distraught over this alone, yet he had much support around him asking what was going on. It was truly the work of his stubbornness. The reason was unknown, or difficult for his brain to comprehend.

Maybe because he simply wanted to have you back on his own. Maybe his selfishness to know you and no one else does. Maybe his overthinking thoughts of anxiousness about how others would react to finding out who you were and what happened. Maybe all?

At this point, reasonably the best thing to do was tell someone. After what you said to him a couple of weeks ago that led him into his emotional downward spiral, he hated feeling hopeless and scared. He didn’t want you to see him in that light, fearful of the stinging burn that could keep you away forever. The words he spoke to you may have not been the best way to say—you were always scolding him on stuff like that—you knew deep down he meant well.

But you were rather difficult, another trait he remembered when you got mad or upset. You tended to say things you don’t mean while also distancing yourself.

Ypu can say Taehyung needed some help with you?

“Do you remember ___?” Taehyung began, which lead to many confused expressions around the table.

“Who?” Hoseok questioned, nothing popping up in his head as he sipped his drink.

“Uhhh, the name sounds familiar?” Namjoon responded while in his thoughts. “Can you explain more?”

“___ ___, my best friend back home,” Taehyung mentioned, but yet there was no ringing in their minds. “I’m sure you all remember her. I used to call her every single night ever since I came to Seoul.”

Jimin’s face lit up as he snapped his fingers in his realization. “Ahh, ___! It was so hard to remember her name because you always called her Bl—”

“You can’t say that name, only I can.” Taehyung squinted his eyes at his best friend. Though Jimin smirked cheekily, for a second, he questioned Taehyung’s reaction.

“Ohhh, ___! Yeah, I remember now.” Seokjin gasped, and the gears in his brain started moving. “I used to get pissed off at the both of you for keeping me awake.”

“Oh, yeah! With all the calls.” Hoseok nodded, remembering as well. “Your giggling and whining still haunt my sleep.” He joked with a playful glare at Taehyung, making the younger shrug.

“Yeah…name with no face. It’s been a while since we heard her name.” Jungkook stated. “Why’d you bring her up?”

Taehyung tapped his fingers on the table, picturing the first time he saw you again. “I met her again couple weeks back. She’s in Seoul now.”

Seokjin hummed in response, “Really? Interesting. Who knew?”

“Not me,” Taehyung muttered with a light forced chuckle.

“Yeah, didn’t you tell us you had a falling out before? I remembered it pre-debut.” Hoseok heard Taehyung’s comment and spoke up about it. “I assume the reunion wasn’t all on purpose.”

Taehyung licked his lips and nodded, “It was random. She works at a small restaurant in a sketchy part of Seoul, but it’s really good. I went with Seojoon Hyung and Wooshik Hyung. We should go sometimes.” When he said, he hoped they took that suggestion lightly but he knew Jimin and Jungkook would be down. “I found out she’s going to school in the city, she’s in a grad program, she didn’t tell me what though. Actually, these were her responses to my Hyungs. The whole time she didn’t even talk to me, practically never looked my way no matter how much I tried.”

It was at that moment, everyone knew they couldn’t blame you. The rest of the members didn’t know who you were deeply, but they felt for you and you seemed nice, judging by the very few interactions you had with them over the phone. What Taehyung did was hurtful and cruel even from an outsider’s perspective. They all knew it from experience. 

“Can’t blame her…” Namjoon said what everyone thought about.

Taehyung’s eye twitched. He didn’t need to say it out loud. “Yeah, I went back again, but alone that time, and she basically told me to go fuck myself.”

“Sorry, Tae.” Jimin frowned, patting his best friend’s back.

“Well, did she even want you there in the first place?” Yoongi inquired, but that made Seokjin glare at his younger for being harsh. “What? I’m being honest after what happ—”

“Please, don’t mention it, Hyung.” His words damaged Taehyung’s emotions, and he scrunched his face as the brutal memory replayed in his mind. Yoongi did not apologize, but he managed to shut up. “It was just nice seeing her again, an old face—a familiar face, a good memory.” You were always the best memory.

“I’m sure it was. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her.” Hoseok acknowledged.

“But then again, you should know the feeling isn’t mutual, Tae.” Namjoon pointed out, trying to get Taehyung to think realistically. “It seems she’s not over it and you know what you did.”

“I know, but…” Taehyung didn’t know how to express his thoughts in words. He was blanking out despite his mind running 200 km per hour. “With how shitty my life’s been going, even if she hates my fucking guts, I actually enjoy her presence. She’s my best friend! I’d want to rekindle what we had.”

The way Taehyung explained it made Jungkook have concerning thoughts. He seemed more expressive with you than his own girlfriend. “You should probably be careful, Hyung.” Taehyung cocked his head to the side to face the youngest. “I—I’m not saying Clara’s the jealous type, but….”

“What does she have to do with ___?” Scoffing at the youngest member, he eyed him out with hostility. Taehyung felt a sudden sense of protection over you.

“Don’t be like that, please?” Jungkook frowned, not wanting to get on his older friend’s bad side. “What I’m saying is that it sounds like you’re over here talking about some other chick and wanting her back when you clearly have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not some girl. She’s been my best friend for literally twenty years! More than all of you!”

“Not really, if you didn’t see each other in years…” Namjoon commented which made Taehyung clench his jaw but say nothing.

Taehyung closed his eyes and controlled his breathing while balling his anger into his fist. “What was your point, Jungkook?”

“Well, does Clara know about ___?” Jungkook asked sincerely. “If ___ meant something to you, then you should have told your girlfriend about her.”

Taehyung bit his lip while processing the question. He then shook his head before drinking his soda. “No, because I met Clara way after my falling out with ___. I didn’t think it mattered.” There was no way in hell, he’d tell Clara about you. There was more to the explanation, but Taehyung was currently unaware of why it was like that. 

“It kinda does matter now, especially when you want ___ back in your life.” Jimin reasoned as he stared at his best friend. “We can support you, but just be cautious.”

“It’s just…I—let’s not talk about that right now. I should have never told you guys.” Taehyung regretted his decision in revealing you. He knew that nothing went the way he wanted it to and didn’t like what was said. 

Hoseok pouted, reaching out to squeeze Taehyung’s hand. “No, don’t say that. We appreciate you telling us! We’re just worried about you and Clara. If ___ comes back, then you’d obviously have to tell her.”

“Just don’t fuck up with it,” Yoongi concluded bluntly. “You’ve been with Clara for five years and still going strong. If ___ isn’t back, then leave it. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not worth losing your relationship.”

What did Yoongi know about relationships? He was severely single. And what did he know about Taehyung’s relationship? Nothing, that’s what. None of them knew yet pulled shit out of their ass and spoke highly of his girlfriend. However, when it came to you, they treated you like some side character reprising an insignificant role. But you were never like that. You will never be.

“The point I’m telling you is that I met ___,” Taehyung replied, wanting this discussion to be over immediately. “And for the record, I’ve decided something.”

“Which is?” Seokjin asked.

Taehyung looked down at his plate, mindlessly glazing at the untouched noodles. He smirked as a memory came up. “There’s a reason why we were best friends.”

-

“Yes, I understand. I’ll pay the other half at the end of the month, please.” You nodded as you spoke into your phone. “I just need time.”

“___, you know you don’t need to do this all on your own. I’m sure your other relatives can help,” The nurse on the other side replied. “I’ve talked to your cousin and she sa—”

“It’s fine, I promise.” You quickly denied. “This responsibility landed on me and I fully accept it.”

He sighed into the microphone, “So strong as always, ___. It’s okay to rely on others.”

“Maybe.” You said, brushing what was said off. “I need to go now, I’m off my break soon. But don’t tell him, okay?”

“I’m sure he knows—”

“Please, Moobin.” You begged, feeling slightly uneasy. You didn’t want him to be worrying about you, especially with this.

“Okay, fine. I won’t.” Moobin answered, succumbing to your request. “Lucky for you, telling him would only worsen the condition.”

“It’s still not good either way, but thank you.” Appreciating his efforts, you nodded as you looked at the time. “Okay, I have to go but keep me updated.” You said before bidding goodbye to the nurse and hanging up.

You exhaled in distress, but surely, it wasn’t enough for you. You calculated what had to be done and now you needed to work at least ten more hours this cycle. Though the weekends were your day offs to catch up on school work, you might have to work them to get by without any burden. Ugh, your migraine was coming back up.

You swiftly grabbed a can of Coca-Cola and opened it before chugging the liquid down. Hopefully, it would help lessen the pain. So much to do with very little time.

“You know you have to pay for that.” You turned your head to see Kenji coming by to use the cash register. You nodded as you sipped more of the content. As he punched in the order, he glanced over and inspected the drink. “___, you okay? You never have coke unless something happens.”

“The way you know that sure is expected of you.” You huffed, not bothering to care any further. “Just had another chat with the nurse back home.”

“Is he alright?” Your coworker asked.

You hummed as a reply, “For now, but it was about the payments…do you think Halmeoni be okay if I work the weekends too?”

“___, if you need the money, I’ll be happy to lend yo—”

“No.” You interrupted him. “I can’t ask you to do that, I just want to work a little more.”

Kenji frowned as the register door opened before ripping the receipt. “You’re already working more than usual and you drinking coke to reduce your headache means you’re overworking yourself.”

“Ken, I’m fine.” You scoffed. You gulped down all of what was left in the can before recycling it into a bin. “I just needed a boost. But I do wanna work more.”

“___…” He looked at you and you had a face of determination. There was no way in reasoning with you. “Ask her. She won’t be too pleased, but if you tell her about it, maybe she’ll accept…or give you a bon—”

“No, I need to work for it.”

Kenji rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Sometimes just get the free opportunities.”

“Sometimes every opportunity is a blow to your fucking face.” You sighed as you grabbed a tray.

You then spotted Halmeoni coming down the hallway with a box of napkins. Gripping the tray in your fingers, you went towards her and grabbed the box from her. “I’ll get that for you.” You offered. You settled them behind the counter and under the table where all the extra supplies stayed. 

“Sweetie, you don’t need to carry it. I’m still strong!” Your boss laughed but appreciated your kindness.

“Just trying to make your day easier.” You said authentically before clearing your throat. “Ummm, Halmeoni?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I—Is it possible if I can work the weekends?”

Halmeoni sulked, “Why is it? Something ha—”

“Uhh, no, no, well…I have some more time on my hands. I don’t have projects coming up, so I’m not really doing much at home.” She knew your situation, but if you told her, she wouldn’t want you to work as much either.

She squinted her eyes with suspicion. “Everything going on back in Geochang?”

You nodded, “Nurse said he’s doing well for now, but I just want to work a little bit.”

She knew you were headstrong, not wanting to say anything. She would have to ask Kenji, but even so, she wouldn’t acknowledge it and play dumb with you. “Sure, okay, sweetie. Just tell me what hours later.”

You sighed in relief and nodded excitedly. “Thank you, I appreciate you and Harabeoji. I guess Kenji too.”

“I heard that!” Kenji whined, making you and your boss chuckle. 

“Just…don’t stress too much, okay? We’re here if you need anything.” She meant it with sincerity in her expression. She cared for you like you were her own, and it twisted your heart from the thought. You knew she meant well, but it was all too much to offer for someone like you. You only nodded as she patted your head.

Right after, the tarp entrance flicked open, catching the attention of your boss with widened pupils and a gasp. “Ahh, Taehyung, you’re back! And you brought newcomers.”

You groaned softly, closing your eyes as if it would relax you but it doesn’t. You desperately wanted to dropkick someone and that someone was the very individual who entered the restaurant. You directed your eyes to his stature as you watched him wave and greet your boss, coworker, and then you. Though he greeted you back, you said nothing. 

Of course, he didn’t listen. That was why you were best friends in the past. You can’t deny that the both of you had a lot in common yet still different. But one of the biggest commonalities was being stubborn as fuck and not listening to what anyone had to say. With that being said, it was inevitable that Taehyung would not give up even after you shunned him away.

As you scowled, you became aware of the two men. One on each side of the idol. Their eyes wandered around your workplace, somewhat fascinated by how clean it was in contrast to the dirty outside. As you looked at them, you immediately knew who they were—two of his bandmates, specifically Jimin and Jungkook.

Though your friendship with Taehyung was a bust weeks before his debut, you couldn’t help but support or somewhat follow what the group did. You knew the amount of work that had been made and you appreciated it. You pushed your thoughts and feelings away from that certain member and enjoyed the band and its schedule. You guess you can say you were a fan, but not fully. At least there were six other members to distract you from your ex-best friend. Plus, you didn’t need to tell Taehyung that.

“Ahh, Hyung-nim!” Kenji yelled, earning a smile from the idol. Since when did he get close to Taehyung?

“Halmeoni, it’s nice to see you again!” Taehyung spoke out. “These are some of my friends, Jimin and Jungkook.” The two with him waved at your boss.

“My, my. You always bring handsome friends.” Your boss clapped. “Please sit!” She motioned them to take any seat as it was a slow weekday night. As they settled down, she nudged you and said, “Go help them. They’re handsome.”

“No, please. Let Kenji help them.” You suggested.

Kenji gasped and shook his head, “Why do I have to serve them?”

You gloomed at your coworker’s audacity, “What, isn’t it fine since he’s your Hyung-nim?” He saw how serious you were and didn’t want to experience your wrath, so he puffed and walked toward the well-known idols. Kenji eased his way into the men’s conversation, seeing that their laughter echoed throughout the restaurant.

“___, you should date one of them.” Your boss prompted which made you blink at her. “Maybe Taehyung, he seems to have an e—”

“Halmeoni, I’m busy, remember?” You recalled. “I got all these projects, work—”

“I thought you said you had more time now?” She interrogated you as your jaw dropped faintly but closed it back up.

“Yes, I do…but I’m not thinking about dating right now.’ You peeked over to the side and spoke quietly, “No one wants me.”

Your boss hated what you said about yourself. “Don’t say that, sweetie. You’re gorgeous, a true beauty. Anyone could fall for you. If I could, you’d be dating Kenji by now.”

“Ew, don’t say that. That’s setting me up for ultimate failure.” You grimaced, shivers down your spine. She laughed before walking back to the kitchen. 

Eventually, Kenji came back to the both of you with a fresh set of orders, but he said, “___, please ring these up.” He handed you the sheet of orders.

You retrieved them to read but you asked, “Why do I have to do your orders?”

“It’s not my orders, it’s yours.” He shrugged casually and you shot your head back to give him your death stare.

“What the fuck, why?” You complained. “Ken, you know—”

“No, I don’t know, and you don’t tell me shit.” He refused before sticking his tongue out to you. “They requested for you to serve them.”

“They can’t re—”

“So what? Just do it.” He shrugged. You scrutinized your coworker, trying to declare why he was being so adamant then you realized.

“That fucker paid you to make me serve them.”

“Well, I can’t deny the allegations being brought upon me,” Kenji admitted wholeheartedly. “See, when there’s a 100,000 won thrown at you, you take the chances.”

Your eyes grew at the sound of the heavy stipend for a small ask. “You little shit sold me of—”

“___, it’s not a big deal.” Your coworker reassured you, but you weren’t having it.

“Kenji, it is!” You told him, frowning at him. “I don’t like Taehyung nor do I want to see him.”

“Kinda harsh for him to be your best friend.”

“He’s not.” You clarified. “We haven’t been for ages, and I refused him weeks ago to be back into my life.”

Kenji looked in the distance as if his peanut brain worked like magic, “You tell me this or that but not explain to me why. So unless you do, I’m feeding you off to them.”

You let out a whining sound, “You’re being irrational…”

“Better hurry up. Your table’s waiting for their drinks.”

You wished to never speak about it again, but you were actually being desperate right now. Kenji always begged to know what happened between you and the idol to cause this one-sided hatred, but you never let him have his way until now. You’d rather tell him than serve Taehyung again.

“Ugh, fine.” You surrendered, letting your shoulders droop. But Kenji looked back at you with success on his stupid face. “I’ll tell you more about it later, but I’ll tell you in a quick summary.” You spoke briefly about your past with Taehyung. When you told him, it saddened your mood a little, remembering the emotions and insecurities you had about it. It was damaging for you to say the least, but you pushed it aside to not let it get to you in the middle of your shift.

Once you finished, Kenji nodded as he processed what you said. “So you don’t want to deal with him?” You nodded. “And you don’t care?” You nodded again. “___, it sounds like you do.”

You were baffled and offended. “Really? After what I said??”

“Hey, if you don’t care, then you would have been indifferent toward him.” He argued nonchalantly. “Look at you being riled up by even the thought of him.”

Your eye twitched. Maybe it was your pride, or how the younger provoked you. Maybe both. But either way, you wanted to prove him wrong. “I am indifferent to him.”

“Prove it.” He threw more gas into the fire.

“Fine, you’re fucking annoying and lazy as fuck anyway. I’ll prove you wrong.” You crumpled the paper before opening it back up and punching in the order. But while you were doing so, you realized what he did. You frowned as you stared at a shit-grinning Kenji before you. “You’re full of shit, you know that.”

“Shit that molded into a mastermind.” He winked before parting ways, knowing you lost while he gained.

-

Eventually, you sucked it up and served them. There was no point when your coworker executed some type of reverse psychology on you. You gave him props for that.

However, he did emphasize something. Were you really indifferent toward Taehyung? What was the meaning behind all of that anger and hatred in you? Of course, the way he spoke to you in the past caused you pain, but shouldn’t it be gone by now? People get over it so you should too. It has been almost a decade. You say you don’t care, but why were there so many emotions in you when you see him? What was there to be said? What does being cruel to him lead to? 

You didn’t understand yourself, you couldn’t, especially with all that was going on. Throwing this into your bowl of responsibilities and issues made everything a lot more stressful. There was literally no time for you to be thinking about Taehyung, yet, it was prominent in your mind.

You settled the drinks down, calling out who got what. As you were doing so, Taehyung grinned proudly at you before announcing, “Guys, this is ___, my best friend from Geochang. The one I talked to all the time.”

You so badly wanted to yell that you weren’t his best friend, but you remembered—you needed to be apathetic, so you said nothing. But the heavy scrutiny of gazes from his friends brought agitation and shyness. You couldn’t understand why, but they indeed were handsome in person. You assumed it was because they technically haven’t seen you before. Sure, there were a few greets here and there but that was it. A picture, who knows? You and Taehyung stopped contact before you were able to formally introduce yourself.

Their pupils widened and blinked like goldfish. Jungkook had his mouth slightly apart while Jimin covered his with his fist. You furrowed your eyebrows, questioning if this was a good sign.

Nevertheless, you smiled bashfully. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you too. Uhh, Jungkook and Jimin.” You pointed at the respective person. “I know you both from BTS so…”

Jungkook gulped and cleared his throat. “A—ah, yes. It’s nice to finally meet yo—you’re ___?” He asked for verification. “You’re Bl—”

“JK, I told you not to say it. Only I can.” Taehyung chided, refusing for anyone to call you that other than him. Also, why were his friends looking at you like that? It was like they’d never seen a person before.

You rolled your eyes at what he said and you mentally scolded yourself, but fortunately, no one caught it. “Yes, I’m ___.”

“The person behind the calls? The late-night calls at two in the morning.” Jimin included. You grew puzzled at these oddly specific memories, but they were valid. You hesitantly nodded while keeping your gaze on the two.

“You’re pretty, like really beautiful.” Jungkook threw it out in the open. You were taken aback, even stepping back to look at them in disbelief.

Even Taehyung snapped his head back towards his members and was about to say something but Jimin butted in. “Tae, you didn’t tell us she was gorgeous.”

Taehyung opened his mouth, “I—I mean, I—”

“That’s fine, Hyung.” Jungkook interrupted before smiling widely at you. “I mean you do have a girlfriend anyway.”

“Jung—”

“Yup, of five years too,” Jimin smirked, showcasing his award-winning slit eyes in your direction.

Okay, you wanted to walk away from this table immediately. These sentences were uncalled for but somewhat curious. First, two jaw-dropping idols that everyone wanted, called you pretty, though you assumed they were just being nice. You weren’t very lucky in the dating world and you somewhat refused to dip your toes, let alone with idols. Mainly due to bad experiences and being too busy.

The second was that Taehyung had a girlfriend and seemed steady too, considering how long they’ve been together. You knew idols hid things regarding their dating life, BTS included despite their weird rumors between each other which were entertaining as is. So evidently, of course, Taehyung would be one with a secret partner. People always thought he was a handsome charmer back in Geochang and did have many confessions and admirers.

You said nothing and nodded, not knowing how to add to the conversation. “Well, thank you for that. Ummm, I’ll get your orders right after this so please excuse me.” With your chance, you escaped quickly and headed back into the kitchen.

It was a weird encounter, but not that bad. Though your body felt defeated and emotionally drained, you pushed meaningless thoughts away from your brain to focus on your work.

Meanwhile, Taehyung glowered at his starstruck members as they watch you walk away. He didn’t like what they said one bit. How dare they mentioned his relationship to you and also why are they shouting to the world how pretty you were?

“Stop staring at her like that, you perverts!” Taehyung scoffed. “Can you both be any more obvious?”

“We’re not touching, we’re respectfully looking.” Jimin reasoned before meeting his best friend’s upset eyes. “She’s pretty! Can’t blame us.”

“You never showed us a picture of her, nothing on her.” Jungkook pouted.

“I did! Years back!” Taehyung refuted as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“It was a baby picture!” Jimin replied. “And it was only because it was your Lock Screen before. This is different.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, there she is and because of her status as my best friend, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you two get it with her. I know those looks…” Jungkook and Jimin were definitely not dating as they were in their eras. They’ve dated here and there, but nothing was serious and Taehyung will not let you be “nothing.”

“Taehyung, she’s a grown woman!”

“Does it look like I care? No, you can’t.”

“How can you even say that?” Jungkook frowned incredulously. “No offense, but will your opinion even matter to her?”

Taehyung’s frown then turned neutral as he heard what Jungkook said. It was insulting, to say the least, but he had a point. He came here trying to gain a friendship with you, nothing else. But right now, his friends sparked interest in you and he hated the thought. Why? He didn’t want to explain or else it’ll confuse his head. But he knew you hated him more. It didn’t help that he came back after telling him off weeks ago. So whatever you did, you wouldn’t care about him and what Jungkook said right?

He wanted to change your mind, so maybe he had to be on your good side and reminisce all of your memories together. He shouldn’t think about his members, it was all about you.

You came back with the first set of plates, placing them down on the table. Jungkook assisted you by moving it further back for more space in front of you. You thanked him for his gesture.

Taehyung bit inside his cheek before looking up at you, “Blue, do you think you can get me another bottle of soju?” That showed the affection you had for each other.

Indifference, indifference, indifference, you chanted in your head. But you wanted to punch him in the throat as he rejected your wishes to not call you that nickname. “Sure.”

“Make that two, please.” Jimin raised his finger as a gesture. “I would like grape, doll.”

“Of course, I’ll get that for you.” You grinned before walking away.

As you left, Jimin smiled proudly, getting more of a response from you than Taehyung. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, ticked off at everything.

Needless to say, he wasn’t bringing them again.

-

Over the month, Taehyung has been visiting and eating at the restaurant almost every other day. This past week, he came every day. Sometimes, he was alone, in other instances, he had Seojoon, Wooshik, or both. Once in a while, it was Jungkook and Jimin who flirted with you—yes, you knew and it made you a little less attracted to them but that wasn’t the point. And each time, he tried talking to you while you said very little and kept quiet. He only spoke about your good memories, nothing more. Not once did you hear him speak on what he did, almost like what he did was nonexistent. But it wasn’t, at least for you.

Interestingly enough, when he was alone, he called you Blue. But with his friends, he called your name. You weren’t sure why, but you let it be. However, it was so hard to be.

You didn’t want to talk to him, you didn’t want to serve him, you didn’t want him to call you Blue but look where you were. You did all of that and you let him. You tried to be detached from everything, the past, the present, him, but the rage in you kept fueling up every single time.

Yet you were ashamed that even with refusal, he somehow meshed into your schedule. When he talked to you, he mentioned the past. The good past, the laughter, the adventures, the obliviousness to a now broken bond. You couldn’t decide if they were painful or nothing to you, you refused to say no to either. It was all triggering that it hurt your mind.

You hated that you were distracted by him, you shouldn’t. You weren’t in his life anymore, and neither was he. You had other priorities to think about like your school, your job, and your family back home. None of your priorities should be Taehyung because you knew that you weren’t anything to him anymore, you knew that way before. He got his other friends, his fans, his members, and his girlfriend. You were nothing and that was permanent in your mind.

Still, you grew exhausted by his persistence. Sure, he told you he wasn’t all that well but that wasn’t enough. But looking at the situation you were in, you didn’t know how to approach it without breaking. You thought you could continue like that, but how much longer? 

It was five in the morning. The sun slowly rose from the horizon, looking into your tiny one-bedroom apartment. The light cascaded into darkness, gradually revealing the sunny dawn. You enjoyed the view from your broken window you had yet to call the supervisor of the building.

You pulled an all-nighter, trying to finish this education plan as an assignment that was due today. You had no time as you were focused on other projects, so you had to just work tirelessly until the end of this one. After submitting your paper, you had one hour left before you were actually supposed to wake up.

Though with darkened bags under your eyes and a drained body from working last night, you glanced at your three cans of coke, knowing you weren’t going to sleep anytime soon. You tried your best to at least rest your eyes before doing another repeat of yesterday and the days before. At least it was Friday, then after that, the weekend. But you agonizingly realized that you began working weekends as well.

-

“You’re going out again?”

Taehyung stared at his girlfriend through the full-length mirror in their shared bedroom as he viewed his outfit for tonight. Her expression was dumbfounded by the fact that it would be another night without her boyfriend. He never explained any further of his doings, only that they were with his friends which she knew very well.

“Yeah, with Seojoon Hyung.” He confirmed as he threw on a watch.

“Tae, you’ve been going out a lot recently.” Clara pointed out as she sat on the bed.

“And what about it?” The idol shrugged. “I know you’re busy doing your job and stuff, so think of these times as self-care or me time.”

“True, but I also want time with my boyfriend.” She replied as she leaned into her palms resting on the mattress. “But I haven’t gotten that lately.”

Taehyung’s face twisted before biting his lip. He took a glance at his pouting girlfriend. It was true though. Ever since he found you and wanted your friendship, it was all he has been spending his time doing. He was never home, only to sleep, eat breakfast, and feed Yeontan. Half of the time at home, Clara wasn’t even home as she had her schedule. He barely saw her but didn’t mind it at all. But with her being sad in front of his eyes, he felt a sudden guilt that he hated. 

He sighed before clicking his tongue, “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy and a lot has been going on.”

“I thought you would have been less busy, especially with the pause on your group schedule?” She reasoned.

“Nothing really to do with the scheduling.” He mumbled.

The socialite peered at her boyfriend, “Are you really hanging out with Seojoon Oppa?”

He met her piercing eyes, knowing the implications she made. “Yes, I am. I’ve been hanging out with them. We go out to eat every time.”

“That’s a lot of downtimes Seojoon Oppa has, especially for a busy actor like him.”

Taehyung pitched the bridge of his nose, getting bothered by her interrogations. “I’m not cheating if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I’m not saying you are.”

“Yes, you are!” He opposed. “You do that fucking thing. “Are you really?” “Are you sure?” I’m sure I’m not.”

“But you’re always out!”

“Because I don’t like being home!” He explained before grabbing his wallet and shoving it in his back pocket. He did not want to deal with this right now.

“Tae, but I want to spend time with you!” Clara ordered as she stood up, trying to find her boyfriend’s eyes. “I thought the pause would have given you more downtime to spend with me. I’ve been clearing my schedule for you, but it seems for nothing if I’m at home alone. Can’t even go out because no one knows…”

There it was, the regret coming back up. Taehyung didn’t like yelling at her, or even fighting, especially something stupid like this. But sometimes, it was inevitable. You would think that after being together for five years would be easier to manage but it was wrong. So, so, so wrong.

“I’m sorry.” He said before turning his body to look at her. She was really stunning, even in low light, her beauty was emphasized by the shadows cast over her face.

“If you’re busy, I get that but it hurts when you don’t make time for me.” Clara approached frankly. “It was really bad when you were touring and always at the studio 24/7. I really thought this time would give us time together.”

“You do realize that the band’s not disbanding, I’m still busy with other things. These times are for me to feel freer.” Taehyung communicated clearly.

“Yes, I know. Spending time with your Hyungs and members, but I would want to be prioritized too.”

Another blow to his chest as the shame consumed him again. “I do—I—I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, but actions speak louder than words.” She specified. “Spend time with me, I don’t wanna ask again.” He nodded hopelessly as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

He opened his mouth but closed it shut. All he had was going to the studio and then having dinner at your work, which was “busy” to him. But the longer he stared at Clara’s pleading eyes, he didn’t want to let her down again. “No, I’m not. We can go to the park early in the morning and walk Tan?”

“Then have breakfast?” Her eyes lit up.

Taehyung scrunched his nose before ultimately nodding, “Yes, I’ll spend the whole day with you. I promise.” It was a big promise, but he had to do it. He had no choice but to.

-

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You ran into the restaurant restlessly. Your shift started at noon, but now it was close to two in the afternoon. You stopped before Halmeoni looked at you worriedly. “I overslept!”

“How can someone oversleep? It’s 2 PM??” Kenji commented as he grabbed empty cups to fill them with ice.

“Dear, you look paler,” Halmeoni informed, noticing your sunken features. She held your cheeks with her frail callous hands. “You’re even skinnier and I saw you yesterday. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Halmeoni, I’m fine.” You reassured with a tired smile. “I had to finish something last night and the night before, so I slept late, but it’s alright!”

“Sweetie, I think you should go rest for the day. I’ll pay you for the day.” Your sweet boss recommended it, but you denied it as fast as you could.

“No, it’s fine. I also know how busy weekends get for the restaurant and I wanna help.”

She sighed as she squeezed your arms, “If you insist.” You affirmed before getting your apron and tying it over you. While you were distracted, Halmeoni went to Kenji and whispered in his ear. “Keep an eye on her.”

Kenji assured his grandmother before she walked back into the kitchen. As he was about to go to a table, he spotted you grabbing another coke and gulping it down in a hurry. The younger boy pursed his lips, fearing for your health.

-

You didn’t know how, but you worked tirelessly through rush hour without any breaks. After drinking that can, you had a boost of energy that you haven’t had in a while. It felt so good to feel like you were on top of the world, even if it was temporary. Hopefully, this rush can last the whole night since you had to read an important article for a course.

Once you finished with your last table, for now, you stretched your limbs behind the counter, letting out a yawn. As you opened your mouth, a spring roll was shoved into it, leaving you bewildered as you spotted Kenji biting on another one. 

“You need to eat something.” He spoke with a full mouth. “I’ve had more breaks today than you ever did this past week.”

You bit into the roll and munched on it. “That’s because I don’t abuse my grandmother’s leniency like you.”

“But she’ll be more pissed if I don’t rest. Something you should do.” He voiced out, but you responded by rolling your eyes as you finished what was left of the roll. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not!” You groaned before wiping your mouth with a napkin. “And I can rest at home.”

“You’re doing the most for no reason.”

“There’s always a reason for what I do.” You pushed forth as you passed by him.

The tarp opened and you looked in that direction, not surprised to see a smiling Taehyung with a Seojoon behind. You were unsure how to feel when you saw the idol’s face, but you can’t help but think about how it was when you were younger. No matter what you did, you’d see that ebony-haired boy with that boxy smile plastered on him every single day. It made your day before, but now…

“Hi, ___!” Taehyung smiled as he walked towards you. Though you stared at him, your mind was elsewhere. He observed your face, you looked weaker despite seeing you yesterday. Cheeks were hollow, the color in your eyes dimmed, and lips were chapped. As gentle as possible, he couldn’t help but raise his hand and pat your head. He grew concerned, especially while he was touching you and you didn’t even flinch, not even tense up once. “Blue, are you okay?” He whispered.

Your daydreaming came to an end when a dull ache pierced through your head. You hissed at the pain, resting your head in your palms and bending forward. You didn’t even realize someone was near you until you felt a hand on your back.

“___, are you in pain? How are you feeling?” The voice was sensed right away. You wanted to move away but you couldn’t. He rubbed your back and you hated that it soothed you.

“I’m fine.” You kneed your face before straightening your posture and stepping away from Taehyung. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But I a—”

“I’m not worried about you, so don’t worry about me.” You mumbled. The pain was still there but you tried repressing it. “Now go to your seat and don’t touch me again.”

Taehyung wanted to say something but he stopped and accepted it. He turned to his Hyung who also looked at you empathically before they went to a vacant table. You walked over to the counter to retrieve menus and a notepad. As you did so, you instantly felt lightheaded. 

You probably didn’t drink some water, so for a speedy recovery, you filled a glass of water for yourself and downed it in one go. You inhaled then exhaled, pacing your breathing. You felt a little better, but the headache was still there. You thought you’d be fine for now. But as you took a step, your vision got blurry even having three sets of Kenji walking by. You shook your head, trying to clear your head. You were fine, you were fine.

But you had to walk step by step instead of at your usual speed. You felt getting lighter, but at least your sight was still clear. Once you got to Taehyung’s table, you didn’t notice the concerned look on him as you asked them for their drink order. Seojoon talked for them, but for some reason, his voice muffled like he was underwater while a ringing pinched into your eardrums. You squirmed softly, catching Taehyung’s attention once more.

“___, you don’t look so good.” The idol frowned but you were quick to ignore him.

Not even getting their order, you hummed. “I’ll get them right away.” As you turned your back and walked methodically, Taehyung watched at a distance with growing panic.

“She doesn’t look right.” The idol informed and turned his head at his rather calm Hyung.

“Maybe she has an off day.” Seojoon simply said. “It’s concerning though, but I know she’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know her like I do though.” The idol spoke tensely. “I don’t buy anything she’s saying right now.”

“I guess so,” The older man snorted, shaking his head. “By the way, what’s up with you and her? I know you said she was your friend. Don’t tell me you’re trying to get with her.”

“I’m not cheating,” Taehyung emphasized. “___’s my friend, I grew up with her. Just trying to spend time with her.”

“At her working place?” Seojoon questioned, cocking his head to the side in wonder. “Can’t you just ask to hang out outside?”

“Well, the thing is…she doesn’t like me.”

“I can see that. It’s like you’re torturing her with your presence.” The actor brutally replied. “Why are you making so much effort if she doesn’t want you in her life?”

Taehyung sighed as he tapped his fingers on the table. ”It’s hard to explain, but…she was a big part of my life and I hate that we ended things.”

Seojoon nodded, understanding his youngest friend. “So she was only your friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Really? That’s all?”

“Yes? What do you mean ‘that’s all’?”

The older man was intrigued, only because Taehyung was the type to give up on things so easily, like how he did with playing the trumpet, film photography, working out, and the list went on. So for him to do the most, Seojoon wanted to dig deeper into who exactly you were and if there was more to what Taehyung was letting out.

You finally made it to the counter. That was so hard for no reason at all. You feebly gripped the edge of the table, trying to pull yourself together. You lifted your pounding head and blinked rapidly. Your eyes got hazy and felt a whole lot better and you cheered mentally. Maybe you needed more water.

You shifted your body and reached for a cup when unexpectedly, your legs gave out. Your headache stabbed your mind, your vision fogged up your surroundings, and your head leaned back as your eyes rolled back. You crashed onto the cold hard floor, your body curling in immense pain.

The last thing you saw was Taehyung running towards your body, calling your name before blacking out.

-

The second you opened your eyes, you gasped and snapped up. But the dulling pain in your cranium continued its presence, making you fold and hold your head. You winced at how badly it hurt, even feeling the tears forming in your eyes.

“Blue!” You weakly opened your eyes once you felt arms and a whole broad chest around your body. You felt him nosing into your hair while his thumbs rubbed circles on your back. “Thank goodness, you’re awake. You had me worried.”

You frowned and ripped him off of you. He was taken aback by your action, but he continued to stare at you with a worrisome look. You glared with a disturbed pout before scanning through your vicinity. The window showed the twilight of the firmament. Judging by the beeping monitor on the other side, a needle inserted into your skin, the bed, and the white cooling room, you were sent to the hospital. 

The last thing you remembered was getting a glass of water for yourself and nothing else. Your stress levels were through the roof. Your vision was blurry, you couldn’t move your body, and your mouth was dry. But as if he knew, on cue, Taehyung handed you a glass of water. You looked at the cup and then back to him. Without saying anything, you raised your hands to grasp it but you were trembling excessively which made the idol notice.

He took the effort to lift the brim of the glass to your lips. You weren’t in a position to complain about the gesture so you accepted it. You went forward as he tilted the cup, helping your drink. He didn’t stop until you finished the whole thing, which you did since you were very much dehydrated.

You respired, sitting properly on the hospital bed. Your irises watched Taehyung put the glass down on the bedside table, then sat down back at the table. Though you said nothing, you wanted answers to everything like why was he here.

Again as if he knew, he began speaking, “It’s currently three in the morning. We rushed you here and you were out for more than seven hours.” He scooted his chair toward you until you were within his reach. You could only gaze at him with tired eyes. He too looked like he didn’t sleep. “The doctor said you fainted from dehydration, starvation, and overworking your body. What led you to do that? We were so scared, Blue. I was worried sick.”

You blinked dizzily, not by your condition but by what he said. He was worried sick? Were you hearing that correctly? How fucking bold of him to tell that to you. What was he doing to you? Why was he being kind and sweet like the Taehyung you once knew? This was the same person who hurt you. Why did he do all of this? Why does he even fucking care for you at all?

Mindlessly, you slapped his shoulder to the best you can since you weren’t in the best shape. The smack made him jolt, gawking at you bug-eyed. But it wasn’t enough for you. Smack! He needed to feel pain. Smack! He needed to be hurt. Smack! He needed to feel what you felt all the years before. Smack! During those years. Smack! Now. Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Owww, Bl—Fuck!” Taehyung whined, trying to force your hands away from him. Your lips quaked as you slapped him again and again. “Blue, that hurts!”

“You asshole! Stop it!” You shouted, your skin heating up and your tear ducts swelling up. “No, stop! Stop calling me Blue! Stop coming to the shop. Stop telling people about our past! Stop begging! Stop, stop, stop! Just stop it already!” You hit him once more, but it came out helplessly when the walls in you broke down and the dam exploded. You let sobs as your stature shook, having no control anymore.

Taehyung saw you, shaking his head. He absolutely hated seeing you cry. He innately hugged your weeping form and nuzzled into your hair again. Only this time you gave up pushing him away and took it. “___, please. I’m sorry, I just really wanted you ba—”

“Why would you even? You hurt me, Taehyung!” You punched tiny fists onto his chest that made no real damage before shoving your dampened face to his front. His touch soothed you so familiarly that it pained you at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Blue. I’m sorry.” His body trembled around you. Your hair felt wet, finally being aware that he too was crying.

 “You called me a needy little bitch who had no other friends!” The throbbing memory was so vivid you remembered it like it was yesterday.

It has been over a year since Taehyung left Geochang for Seoul to pursue his dream of becoming an idol. His departure was a bittersweet “see you later.” This was the first time you and he would be physically apart, being kilometers and hours away from him.

If you had the chance to, you’d tag along and stay with him, but you had no money and you weren’t as talented as he was. So a simple choking hug, many farewells, reassurance of how much you’d miss and love one another, and a kiss on your temple would suffice.

Every night he’d called to update you on the process and ask how you were with school, which was tough considering your best friend in the whole world wasn’t there for support but you knew he was there for you in spirit. 

You astonishedly made a genuine friend to be your buddy throughout high school and you told him. He got jealous. He told you who his members were, even sending you a picture of who’s who and what were they like. Jimin seemed sweet especially since Taehyung talked about him all the time. You got envious, but the both of you knew no one can replace either of you.

However, recently the contact was stagnant. Of course, while he was busy with training and preparing for your debut, you were busy with school and helping your grandparents out. They were getting older, so you tried your best to help around the house and farm. You would call him every night, but it would go straight to voicemail. You texted him, but he wouldn’t reply until days later and the response would be ‘Sorry, been busy.’

You tried your best to understand he has been working hard on this and you were proud of him, but you worried if he was okay. You wanted to know how he was doing or what was happening in his personal life. You just wanted to know. But now texts were rare and phone calls were miracles yet short and under two minutes.

Maybe you were being too much but quickly remembered what Taehyung told you before. It was after that big fight you had. He told you honestly and with solace. Regardless, you decided to give him a little space to avoid being overbearing.

But that only lasted two days because the unexpected happened.

After finding out, you naturally ran to your safe haven—your room—and cried your heart out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The guilt consumed you, never even saying goodbye because you were at school and no one told you until after. You held onto your soaked pillow tightly. You felt vulnerable, and cold, and searched for comfort.

Then you remembered Taehyung.

You grabbed your phone and dialed his number. There was a ringing, but it went to voicemail. You dialed again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voi—

“What?!” Taehyung snarled. “Why are you calling me so much?”

“Hyun—Hyungie!” You cried. “I nee—”

“Blue, I’m so tired. I can’t right now.” He groaned and you can imagine him scratching his cranium.

“B—but, it’s import—important.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“Hyungie ple—”

“___, call tomorrow!”

“No, you’re not un—”

“Ugh, seriously. Why are you being a needy little bitch?” He spat through the phone. “I know you have no friends and all, but I’m busy!”

This was the first time Taehyung yelled at you, the first time he was mad at you. He never was like that with you. Those words were hurting you, but you pushed them aside to reason. Your lower lips shuddered in denial, “No, no, Hyungie—”

“I swear, can’t you think about my needs for once other than yourself! Fuck.”

“I do and I’m sorry I upset you, but I need you ri—”

“___, I have to go. Namjoon Hyung is calling us to the living room. It’s important.”

“Hyungie, please. I nee—”

The call ended.

You tried calling back again and again, but he wasn’t answering so you left a voicemail. “Please, Hyungie. I’m sorry I made you mad, I’m sorry. I need you right now. I’m scared and lonely and I want my best friend. Please answer back. I love you. I miss you so much.”

Once you finished your message, you sat in the dark contemplating what he told you. Were you smothering him too much? Were you that needy? But Taehyung reassured you. He always has. But why was he saying it now? Did it finally get to him? No, no. Of course, not. He was your best friend of all time.

Every single day for the next week, you called him as much as possible. But there was no avail. You sent texts and phone calls until you found out that he blocked you. You stared at the screen for a good hour with the little pop-up saying a message cannot be sent.

It hurt so much for him to say that, to do that. It really was how he thought of you. You only ever had him, the person with so many friends, and he was gone. You were too needy, too much to handle. You caved into your body and pulled your knees to your chest as you bawled. His words always meant tremendously to you, and you didn’t realize you looked at yourself in that new light he showed you.

You came to a realization that you didn’t have a best friend. You lost him.

You lost your grandmother and him.

“___, I’m so sorry. They were lies, I never meant it!” Taehyung explained, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I never thought of you like that ever!”

Your reddened puffy eyes lifted to meet his equally swollen ones. “Taehyung, my grandma died that day.” You swore his face and heart dropped at the information. “She went into a cardiac arrest while picking crops and dropped dead.” You sobbed as more tears ran down your cheeks. “I found out after school because no one didn’t want to tell me while I was in.”

Taehyung cupped your cheeks with his hands, wiping the streaks away but it was pointless. “I’m so so—”

You grabbed onto his forearms, so he could look directly into your eyes. “When my grandma died, I needed my best friend. I needed you, Taehyung!” You screamed and squeezed him with your might. You observed him as he had his lips between his teeth and looked down in shame and remorse eating him alive. “You ignored my text and calls when I needed you the most. But I didn’t have that anymore. There was no one.” You whispered the last sentence, knowing the loneliness you felt for years.

“Blue, I’m sorry. I didn’t know!” His shaky voice was filled with regret and sorrow, not realizing what you’d gone through until now. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

“I tried telling you! But you pushed me away!! You didn’t give me a chance!” You slapped his chest faintly hard but it still wasn’t enough to break him. He lets you do so because he deserved it. He deserved every hit, every scream from you. He was a shitty best friend to you and he didn’t know the severity of it. “I lost you and grandma that day. It hurts, it hurts so much.”

Thinking you’d hit him again, you surprisingly encircled your arms around his torso and pulled him closer. On instinct, he did the same, tightening his hold. “I lost you. I needed you, Hyungie.” 

Streaks went down his face at how weak you sounded and it was all because of him. He hated himself for it, he hated the way he acted at you, you never deserved any of that, but he was an asshole. An asshole to his innocent and sweet best friend.

“You didn’t lose me, Blue. I’m here. I won’t leave, I promise. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He promised, then whispered all the apologies in the world to you. A critical promise that he will keep in his heart until the day he died.

-

You don’t know how long you were in this position, but dawn was soon arriving. The tiny peak of the tangerine shined among the skyline. You watched in tranquility with inflamed irises and dried stains on your features. Somewhere along the line, Taehyung climbed himself onto the elevated top bed and had you in his arms. 

At this point, you don’t bother because he wasn’t going to listen and you had to admit that the feeling of him alleviated you like how you recollected. You missed it so much and you maneuvered into his chest.

Taehyung wasn’t asleep. He was weary, but couldn’t sleep. In the meantime, he watched you while you stared out the window. He enjoyed it, acknowledging the yearning to have you back near him. He thought about it before but now, he wanted to beat himself up for ever letting you go. Though the crying stopped with a few sniffles here and there, the pounding in his heart didn’t stop. There was so much to be said, so much for him to ask and beg, all he hoped was that you accepted them.

“Blue—”

“Don’t call me that right now.” You muttered without even looking back.

“Sorry. Uhh, ___.” He called and you hummed in response. “I know I fucked up and hurt your feelings and I regret them. I swear, the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He gulped and exhaled unevenly. “I said the most fucked up things to you and took you for granted. You aren’t needy, you did nothing wrong. You’re innocent. It’s all my fault. I was a dumbass, obnoxious, and selfish. But I want you to know that you never lost me and I’m gonna keep reminding you of that. I promise I’ll never leave you again. I wanna make things right and rekindle our friendship. I wanna ask you for your forgiveness, please?”

Your irises shifted from the view outside to his nervous face. You sighed, then sat up. He followed you and waited patiently yet anxiously for your answer. “I forgave you a long time ago, Taehyung.”

His pupils dilated while his mouth parted, “You did?”

You nodded with pure honesty. “It took me three years, but I did.” You knew he was about to question it, so you quickly added. “I saw that BTS documentary and you talked about the struggles and adversity you all had to face, even with the early termination you avoided and personal life.”

He was shocked to find out that you followed him and the group, which melted his heart, and wanted to know more but now wasn’t the time. So he nodded. 

“I forgave, but I won’t forget it.” You stated. “Because, Kim Taehyung, you’ve hurt me so badly that it got me traumatized to opening back up to people.”

It was true. After your friendship broke, you shut down and avoided peers other than group projects. People tried but didn’t get very far. There was no effort due to your lingering fear of disappointment and your insecurity about being clingy. You went to school and then home, sometimes helping your grandfather out. You did have Taehyung’s siblings, but once his family moved, you really had no one.

Other relatives visited you and your grandfather, but that was basically it. It went like this from there until the end of your undergraduate years.

“You took our friendship for granted. Yes, we’ve changed and we’re strangers now…” You spoke like this was nothing but it tore Taehyung on the inside. He never wanted this to happen. “But there’s a scar in me, it’s still here and it’s a reminder.”

“___, you shouldn’t do that. It’s not good for you.” He approached. “The loneliness will continue.”

“But how can I not?” You whimpered with glossy eyes. “I’m afraid, because of you!”

Your words punched him in the gut, wincing at the emotional sting. “S-scars can heal over time, but it takes a while unless you get help.” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “Let me help you heal your scars.”

You leaned back as you fidget your fingers, hesitantly shaking your head. “N-n—I don’t know if I can.”

“I’ll help you! I’ll help you like I always did when we were together.”

“The past—”

“Please. You said it yourself, even if I hate it, but we’re strangers now. It’ll be different this time. We can start fresh, or back to where we left off before I moved to Seoul, I don’t care as long as I have you and our friendship back in my life. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“You know it’s really hard to start fresh when I think about how we were years back.” You pronounced, still uneasy about the tempting recommendation. 

“Then let’s go back where we left off!”

“Can’t help but also think about what you did.”

Taehyung was desperate and felt defeated by your hard and impenetrable stance. But he didn’t want to give it up when he was so close. “Please, ___. I miss you so much. Back then, you were the only person who understood me. You probably still are and I hope that.”

“Please you have your friends and members, your girlfriend, who know you much more than me.” You retorted at his ridiculousness.

“Never, and I know that deep in me.” He said in no laughing matter. You pursed your lips, remembering how serious he can get.

Your pupils moved away to look back at the rising sun. “It’s been years though…”

“Then there’s a lot of time to be made up.”

You sighed, “Taehyu—“

“Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Ple—”

“Fine, fuck! Jesus Christ, you’re annoying.” You burst out, making him flinch. “We’ll do it.“

The angels answered his prayers. The broken pieces of the bond twitched as they’re attempting to find their way back to each other. The flames were about to ablaze with hazard protection the second you agreed.

“R-really?” He asked dumbfoundedly.

You gave a swift nod, “But I will remind you.” You grasped his tendrils firmly and tugged him to you, causing him to squirm painfully. You glared daggers at him with pupils enlarged. “You fucking broke my trust and heart, and this is something you’ll have to earn back.” Your hold tightened harshly, letting him yelp. “I don’t care how many pouts, expressions, begs and pleas you give me. You earn it. Understood?”

“Ye—yes, ma’am.” He replied without missing a beat.

You released your grip and removed your hand away. He groaned at the blunt ache. He knew you were harsh when you wanted to but damn. He was about to touch it, but you yanked his head towards your chest.

You wrapped your arms around his neck before your fingers gently brushed through his raven locks. He flinched, but only because it stung. However, your digits carded through and lightly scratched his scalp. “Did I hurt you?”

The sides of his lips curved, absorbing the tenderness he knew you had even if it was only a small piece. He rested peacefully into you and shook his head. “You could never hurt me.”

Though he never saw that smile on you at that moment, it was going to be okay. Hopefully, there will be more with the reconnection. It was complicated and conflicting, there may be holes. If people found out, they may question it, but they would never fully understand unless they were in your shoes.

The bond was yet in the dark due to lost time. But the reminder of that gravitational pull between you two was consistently there and progressing to its liking. Maybe little by little or jumping through barrels, who knew? All that mattered was that you were separated for almost a decade—

You’d always find yourselves back to one another.

-

It has been over a week since you and Taehyung had that fight. It really disappointed you that he forgot your parents’ death anniversary, but it bothered you even more that this was your biggest fight yet. You’ve done so much for your best friend and always tried to do what he asked you despite it being uncomfortable sometimes. He knew, he knew you knew. Yet he would still ask.

Asking him this one thing, this one important thing and he forgot it like it was nothing. It wasn’t something you could let off easily with Taehyung’s apologies and his intricate pouts. You had to be a little more stubborn than usual, so here you were—in your room alone on a sunny Saturday morning.

Since then, you haven’t spoken to Taehyung no matter how much he tried. If he did, you’d ignore him like the wind. When he tried hugging you, you pushed him off of you even going as far as throwing him on the grass. It was one of the hardest things to do especially when he lived next door and invited himself over at all times. You hated the distance. You missed him and his presence, but it had to be done for your voice to be heard. An apology wasn’t going to cut it. 

He was an insistent pest, calling your name and begging for your forgiveness from every angle you could think of. If only he knew you already forgave him, your heart couldn’t reject your best friend like that.

Today was not like the rest. After your fight—well, even before—Taehyung was your human alarm clock. Right on the dot of six in the morning. But it was the weekend, so it would be nine o’clock. However, there were no sounds or sight of your social butterfly anywhere. It was too quiet for your liking.

It frightened you.

Nonetheless, you went about through your morning. After washing up, you went out on the porch to water the plants. While hosing the pots down, you spotted someone coming out next door in your peripheral vision. You didn’t think anything else of it as it could have been anyone from Taehyung’s family, but then you saw the hue of bold red from his big-ass backpack stuffed as usual.

You shook your head, wondering what he was up to before paying attention back to your foliages and flora. Once you were done, you turned the hose off. You were about to turn away and go back into your house until a certain person came into your vicinity and closed the door when you tried opening it.

“Good morning, my lovely Blue.” He sounded radiant and energized.

For the first time since the fight, you finally acknowledged your best friend by staring at him right in the eyes with your tired and hurt once. The smile on his face grew the second the contact was mutual.

Before either of you could say anything, you pried open your front door. You made it in, but you couldn’t slam it shut as he ducked down and his arms wrapped around your waist then lifting you in the air. You yelped at the sudden action and unfortunately, it came naturally to encircle yours around his nape for support.

You felt him letting go, slipping in his hold which made you grip tighter. But then you noticed him maneuvering his hands under your thighs, putting you in a comfortable position.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you go,” Taehyung reassured as he kicked the door closed. Though you were secured, you realized the position you were in and what he was doing. Suspicious of him, you wiggled to get out of his hold but he only gripped firmer. “Nuh uh, I got you now, so deal with it.”

You blew out of your nose and pulled a face of disgust. You glared at him intently, but he paid no attention as he walked you toward your room. His face remained smiley, but deep down, he was actually deathly afraid. He wanted you back and hated himself for what he did. He needed to truly make it up after he was a shitty best friend to his sweet true best friend in the whole universe.

Once in your room, he propped you down on your bed. You crossed your arms, avoiding his eyes by staring forward at the wall. There was no way he’d get to you this easily. You had to continue your stance.

You heard him sigh before walking towards you and kneeling in front. He laid his hands on your lap before gazing up, “Blue, please talk to me. I miss you.” You stayed silent, ignoring him. “I’m sorry for forgetting your parents’ anniversary. It wasn’t my intention to, but I did for some stupid party for friends who are no way near important compared to you.”

Your heart stung a little—friends. The same friends he’d go to have lunch with. The same ones who were in football with him. The same ones who invited him to parties and hangouts. The same ones he managed to forget your time with him.

You looked away and batted your eyes to keep the tears away. You didn’t want him to see you cry just yet. It was way too early in the morning for that.

“Blue, I know I can’t apologize enough for it. I’m stupid.” You really wanted to say “you are,” but bit your tongue to keep quiet. “So what I’m trying to say is…” He got up and reached out to hold your cheeks in his palms. “Let’s go have an adventure.”

His sentence threw you off to the point where you snorted and spoke for the first time. “I’m not going anywhere with you right now.” You retorted, slapping him away from you. “If you fucking think that a da—”

“Please, there’s a reason for it! But it’s a surprise.” He quickly countered. His eyes rapidly tried to find your agreement, but there was none…yet.

“Do you even deserve my time?” You spat back, making him internally bruise at your cruel words. You felt guilt roaming in you when you saw how hurt he looked, but you repressed it. “You should hang out with your other friends. I’m sure they’d want to hang out with your surprise. I’ll be fine alone.”

“___,” He spoke quietly. “Please, I miss you. I want my best friend back.”

“But do you even want me back?” His expression grew perplexed and had no response back. “Just forget what I said.” You shook your head. “Leav—”

“I’m not leaving you.” He protested. “This adventure is important, the reason is important, you are important, ___. Please.”

Your jaw clenched as you glared fiercely at Taehyung. He looked back with fear in his eyes. You were always the one in your friendship to get annoyed or angry very easily while Taehyung never did anything back. He was patient and usually the idiot to blame for his antics. He never was mad at you…at all.

Though you were still wary of him, you were curious about what exactly this adventure was. When he said these things, he would have reasons behind them and they were usually mindfully good. He knew he fucked up, so he should know not to do anything that would upset you even more.

“So what should I wear for this adventure?” You asked. Though you didn’t explicitly yes, he knew you were on board with this.

He smiled widely, forming his boxy structure at you that you missed so much. He grabbed your hands into his before sliding his nose on the back of them, just wanting to feel your skin. “Just change and be yourself.”

You nodded before kicking him out of your room. Sure, he has seen you bare (kinda) and vice versa but he was still on thin ice with you. By the time you were done, you had a small bag, fresh pair of going-out clothes on, and an unenthusiastic smile written on your face.

When you both went out of the house and down the front porch, he stopped you. You glanced at him, wondering what did he want. “Before we go, I want you to keep these on.” He grabbed something out of his bright backpack and presented it to you.

It was a blindfold.

You furrowed your brows, a bit disturbed and very confused. You opened your mouth to refuse, but closed it up when you reminded yourself that he wasn’t gonna give you a clear answer. With that, you nodded to let him put it on you. You were too nice to him for your own good.

“So am I just gonna walk blindly the entire time?” You asked once he tightened the fabric around your eyes.

“No, I’ll be your eyes,” Taehyung reassured. “As long as you trust me.” You gulped, staying quiet yet your face twisted at his words. That caused him to frown immediately before intertwining his fingers with yours. “Blue, you trust me right?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation in your voice. “I always did, but…” You looked down despite seeing black in your vision. You knew he stayed right back at you, you could feel his eyes lingering. 

“I’ll make it up, I swear.” He promised, squeezing your hand. You could only hum, but it still wasn’t enough to convince you yet. “Just follow me, I’ll protect you.”

Somehow he managed to keep the blindfold on you for almost two and a half hours despite your begging and complaining. He told you to watch out and helped you step exactly where you should walk in and out of places.

Your other senses were heightened, eventually noticing how you went on a subway and then a bus ride through the sounds of the transportation. Yet you still didn’t know where you were exactly going. Halfway through you gave up and slept through the bus ride with the darkness around you, even cuddling to Taehyung’s side to which he accepted and laid his head on yours.

He woke you up to get off the stop. You were still in a daze, but you let him help you walk down the steps. But to your misfortune, there was still a long walk more to go and you were so tired and hungry. Taehyung linked his arm with yours, careful not to get you hurt. The distance felt so much longer with your eyes covered, you were getting annoyed again. 

“Taehyung, how much longer?” You whined, basically dragged yourself.

You heard him laugh, “Just this hill. I promise.”

You were about to complain again, but stop when you wafted the aroma of flowers near. Did he go through all this trouble for fucking flowers? Sure, you loved them but you didn’t think they were enough.

The environment was a soothing stillness though. You haven’t heard others around you for quite some time. Even the bus ride here felt empty. Where was he taking you?

It felt like climbing the hill was over because he finally lets go of you. He told you again to keep the fabric on, so you just waited. You heard rumbling and rummaging through his backpack and other things you couldn’t quite specify. 

You took a deep sigh, then you felt his presence near you, in front of you. You felt his hands going behind your head to loosen the blindfold off of you. He slowly removed them to help you adjust your eyes back to the light. You blinked rapidly, taking in a slightly blurred Taehyung before rubbing your pupils.

“You okay now, Blue?” He questioned, searching for any troubles. You nodded as you looked back at him, then turned your head to figure out where you were. In an instant, your irises widened with your mouth slightly apart.

You’ve been here before, exactly a week ago but this time, it was with your best friend instead of your grandparents. Right before your eyes rested the tombstones of your parents side by side. There was a green gingham picnic blanket placed down adjacent to the graves with packed meals and fruits laying on top of the fabric. Two glass bottles of flowers sat perfectly on each side of your parents.

You were completely mesmerized by the sight before you. Your tear ducts couldn’t be saved as tears fell down your cheeks and the sniffles started inflating your nose. Your body throbbed, releasing all the emotions you’ve bottled up until this point.

Taehyung wrapped his body around yours, immediately relaxing you and leaning into him. He kissed your hair as he swayed you both. He knew this would happen, feeling your emotions that he too cried with you as he finally was able to see your parents.

After what felt like forever, the two of you finally settled down and ate your lunch and snacks. You spent the entire afternoon with your parents, talking and reminiscing memories on your part. You explained to them who Taehyung was in your life and how much he meant to you. While you blabbered onto the tombstones, Taehyung’s eyes were only on you smiling at your teary smiles and giggles, enjoying every second of it.

“Thank you, Hyungie.” You told him with a loving smile and a warm hug to the side. “Thank you so much.”

He pulled you closer, bringing you to sit on his lap as he encircled his arms around your waist. You rested your hands over his, tilting your head back. “No need to thank me. I’ve been an idiot for letting you go through that.” He rested his chin on your shoulder as he gazed at the graves. “You’re my Blue; I’ll do anything for you.”

You sucked your lips into your mouth, wondering if it was time to tell him the truth. Maybe he’ll understand you much more, and be aware of how much you felt. “Taehyung…”

You never said his name unless you were serious or mad. He closed his eyes and scrunched his face in fear. “Am I in trouble again?”

You lightly chuckled and shook your head, “No.” You paused for a moment and let it out. “A-are-are you���do you even like that I’m your best friend?”

You turned back to face him, faces a few centimeters away but you didn’t care to dig deeper into that. His attention focused on you. You saw his hesitation, but it wasn’t because of what you expected. It wasn’t of regret or denial. It was something else that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. You’ve seen it before, but you could never figure it out.

“O—of course, why is that even a question, ___?” He finally replied.

You finally faced away from him and viewed your parents. “You’re a social butterfly, Hyungie. You’ve always been. You’re kind and sociable, and you put your heart into every single one of your friendships.” You began, but your eyes were reddening by the second. “You could have anyone as your best friend, but…you chose me.” The salty water flooded your tear ducts and your chest grew tighter.

Concern wasn’t enough to express how Taehyung felt when he saw you crying again. He never wanted to let go. He turned you around so that way you sat sideways as he made you lean yourself into his chest and neck, rubbing your back and letting you sob again.

“Why?” You wept softly, the whimpering breaking Taehyung’s heart. His face creased in puzzlement, still not understanding you. “Why did you choose me? I’m nothing like you. I’m quiet, it’s so hard for me to start a conversation! You’re so popular and fit into every group, and I feel like I’m so far behind you…and…I don’t deserve you!”

Taehyung lets out a sob, stubbornly shaking his head in denial. He pecked your forehead as he joined another crying session. “Never say that again. You deserve all of me as I do with you.” Words injected with sorrow and disappointment. The only disappointment in him was seeing another skin of you insecure about your ten-year friendship that he knew nothing about. He understood what others thought and did to you, but you never mentioned how you truly felt. “Why didn’t you tell me this is how you felt?”

“I never wanted you to feel bad about something you couldn’t control. You’re outgoing, Hyungie; I’m not. I didn’t want you to pity me just because I only rely on you.”

“I would only want you to rely on me.”

“And I’m also younger than you. It may be only by a year but it does make a difference since I don’t see you throughout the school day. Plus you have your football team.”

“I don’t care about that because right after school and practice, I’m excited to come back to you.”

“I’m a fucking hermit crab who likes to stay in and you love partying and enjoying the outside!”

“I love being with my little crab more than being outside.”

“Hyungie—”

“___, listen.” He hushed you, gently patting your hair as he watched you with teary warmness. Leaning into you, he rested his forehead onto yours. The both of you closed your eyes, breathing yourselves into one another. Muted weeping spilled out of you when you listened to him. “It was never, and I mean never my intention to let you hurt like that. I didn’t know how you felt about it. Other than forgetting, was that also why you were so angry and hurt?” 

You pouted and nodded. “I feel like I’m losing you as we get older. We’re getting our own values and interests apart from one another you’d want someone who fits more into you instead of this awkward needy recluse. I worry if I’m even a good best friend for you.”

He pulled back, making you open your puffy eyes. This was the most serious he presented himself to you. He breathed in and out before speaking, “You’re never going to lose me. If I do, which won’t happen, I’ll come back with a sword fight to have you again.” You grinned at how absurd he sounded but it all meant earnestly. “We’re getting older, sure, but I don’t want anyone like me. Have you met me?” You chuckled and moved into his chest. “I never thought about having another besides you. You’re more than a good best friend, ___. You’re my Blue and that will never change.”

Your lips quivered at his soft reassurance to you. You were so fearful and nervous about growing apart from him that all that was said overwhelmed you but in the best way possible.

“I’m sorry for forgetting again. Please forgive me.” Taehyung told you again.

“I will always forgive you.” You nodded before you laced your fingers with his. “Even if I’m mad or upset or hurt at you, I’ll always forgive you.”

He diverted his pupils toward the stones. “I’m sorry, auntie and uncle. I didn’t mean to miss meeting you. You have the most loving and tolerant daughter in the universe for being friends with this annoying bug.”

“You’re not a bug.” You cooed.

“Hey!”

You giggled then faded when you had to let something out, “I’m sorry for being so needy. It must be a lot for you.” 

“I love you being needy for me too.” He smiled pridefully. “It just means you want me all to yourself.”

You smacked his shoulder, blushing brightly. “That’s not what it means.”

“Yeah, sure, Blue.” Taehyung rolled his eyes as he wiped your stained features with his thumbs. “You better not be needy for anyone else.”

It was your turn to smile cockily. “Why, doesn’t seem a bit much? Maybe I should do it to someone else to take the load off.”

“It’s never too much for me. Give it to only me.” He pouted, tightening his hold to which you laughed. “Remember Blue, no one can replace you. Whether or not I have millions of friends, you’ll be my best friend, my Blue, the only one I want. No one else, I don’t care what others think. My Blue, okay?”

Your mouth curved shyly, then nodded sincerely. “Then you’re my Hyungie, okay?”

“That shouldn’t be a question. I’m the only Hyungie in your life.” He scoffed, baffled at your ask, letting you feel more at ease. “I love you, Blue.” He kissed your temple numerous times.

“I love you too, Hyungie.” 

You continued your time there in each other’s embrace, having so much weight lifted off. Solace and comfort remained, feeling alive once again in each other’s eyes. A promise being held so high and mighty to reassure the other that they were the only one in the world for one another.

A promise that may seem broken years later, yet still kept so eminent that no one could even see. Not even you and him.

Tagged: @manuosorioh @kaal-ee @thvxstf

[theia-eos]

How old do you think the dragon laguz are?

I'd like to preface this answer by, an answer to this question will vary from person to person, as there is no hard set answer given and so the answer depends on how you want to interpret various canon and canon-adjacent facts (Canon facts being explicitly what is contained within the games and nothing more, canon-adjacent coming from artbooks or developer interviews and such things).

I've already explained in depth how I get to my interpretation here, but the basic gist is that the canon-adjacent chart that's commonly passed around as "canon aging" comes from pre-development of FE9 and it: contradicts canon facts; contradicts things the devs say in interviews post RD; and contradicts the hawks' designed ages in the same art book. Therefore, I mostly throw it out when I'm setting up how laguz age within my own interpretation of the age of various laguz and Branded within the games. That's not to say other people who use it, or people who came up with their own ideas, are wrong, but I have my own opinion and they have theirs and we can coexist.

But you asked me, and so I will provide my interpretation. The tl;dr for quick reference:

Dheginsea: 862 in FE9; 865 in FE10

Rajaion: 365 in FE9

Almedha: 304 in FE10

Kurthnaga: 103 in FE9; 106 in FE10

Ena: 233 in FE9; 236 in FE10

Nasir: 563 in FE9; 566 in FE10

Gareth: 451 in FE9; 454 in FE10

More info and details about how I arrived at these answers are below, but it is according to the detailed chart I provided here when going over how I think laguz likely age.

Dheginsea: Since the Pact with Ashera's heroes occurs in the year 131 BT ("Before Theocracy" which is a term being made up by me to function as BC/BCE does IRL), and the flood occurs in the year 155 BT, and the games occur during 645 BE ("Beginion Era" which is used by Almedha in RD) and 648 BE, and Dheginsea is designed to appear around 50 for a dragon, my best guess is that he was born around 217 BT, and therefore around 86 when the pact was formed and 862/865 in the games. (According to my timeframe of laguz aging, he was about the equivalent of 16 during the war against Yune. Young, sure, but Ike is 17 in FE9, so I'm chill with this).

Rajaion: Well, he was fun, because in his profile, he is designed to appear around 23, but Almedha, his younger sister, is designed to appear around 26, so one of those had to go, and it was Rajaion's designed age. With the freedom to pick my own age for him, I settled on a rough equivalent of 30, meaning that he was born around 280 BE and is around 365 years old in FE9, simply because I don't think dragons are having kids back to back to back seeing how long Ena is pregnant for (anywhere from ~4 to ~23 years, and I'm siding on the ~23 end of things).

Almedha: As stated above, Almedha is designed to be around 26, therefore I set her to being born around 344 BE, with an age of around 304 years old in FE10.

Kurthnaga: We do have, per canon, Kurthnaga is at least 100 years of age, so with him being designed to appear around 17 and the canon facts in mind, I see him being born around 542 BE with a rough age of 103/106 in the games, as it appears the Japanese description of his age is "roughly 100" (ああ見えて、ざっと１００年は生きているはずだ, and I am, as always, using Google Translate, so I am unsure of the accuracy of this translation), whereas the localization says "more than 100" and 103 is true on both counts.

Ena: While she was designed to appear around 18, that would only make her around 122, which just bothers me thinking about the fact that she and Rajaion were an item at least 20 years before the game, if not earlier (making her 16-17ish). Therefore, I decided that she was born around 412 BE, was around 233/236 years old in the games with an equivalent age of 23. It makes me feel better.

Nasir: He has a designed age of around 32, but that would only make him around 414 years old, or 181 years older than Ena, which is not grampa age (292 years older, while at least possible, is also not really grampa age for dragons, if I had stuck with the looking 18 thing for Ena). Therefore I set him to being born around 82 BE, giving him an age of 563/566 years of age in the games, and an equivalent age of 38, and he would be 330 years older than Ena which would allow him and his child to get to around 165 years old each before having a child (20-21ish) and not bothering me with how long dragon pregnancies seem to take.

Gareth: Thank Ashunera, we are finally no longer dealing with anyone who has to account for Rajaion and Ena's relationship. He has a designed age of around 35, so I set him to being born around 194 BE with an age of around 451/454 in the games.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Archon War anon - and no worries if you thought that just Osial and Chi were enough! It's just that the way it gets talked about, I always felt like there had to be just a ton more gods fighting?

no absolutely! it does get talked about like it's thousands of them. which, like i mention in the previous ask (i know i should've read and answered this one in the previous also but i didn't check lmao) is also a huge hole of information that we simply do not have in-game. we don't know who the fuck was morax fighting. they tell us osial isn't the only one buried under guyun, but haishan can't be there bc beidou is the one that kills him, and beisht is out and about, so who tf is? i can't see liyue going to war with sal vindagnyr nor mondstadt or sumeru, let alone fontaine, and we know for a fact that he did not fight havria (...right?). so who was it?

chenyu vale did tell us that there was a different god in charge of that area, and i think it either also tells us or we can assume that said god had several adepti-equivalents with them that also fought morax? but if its only adepti-equivalents were fujin n co, then that leaves only the god to fight since those three deserted. it likely wasn't only those three but still, i can't remember rn. my point stands.

one of he books mentions that the dunyu ruins were home to a different god altogether? i think? but we don't know the age of those ruins. and even then, they're the exact same architectural stlye as the rest of liyue, for the most part. like the only time i've seen non-guili style architecture in liyue (that isn't the domains or the chasm) was in yelan's story quest? i think? which took place under qingxu pool??? so there might've been a god there. there's also a sea god mentioned in another one of the books. we don't know who tf that was, if they were even real, or if their timeframe even matches the archon war.

so again, i think the best explanation we have so far is that we know of no gods that fought morax (beyond osial n chenyu vale's lord) because the way we find that out in-game in other regions is if they had another civilization to their own. kinda how deshret and rukkadevata had their own people (though those two didn't fight). so if we see no other sign of a civilization other than the guili assembly in liyue, then we stand to reason that the entirety of the nation (bar chenyu vale? but even then the ruins there are the exact same style so) was one unified nation.

which would mean it was a china situation, where everyone fought eachother within the same nation until only morax remained standing. which is why we don't know of anyone else – they left no marks of having had a civilization of their own, and so we cannot know if they ever did exist. the only reason why we know havria and chenyu vale's god existed is because the game told us about them. if the game hadn't told us, and we'd only seen the ruins of their civilization, we would've found the exact same style of the guili assembly and then assumed morax simply controlled those places as well.

osial is a different topic entirely, i don't think he counts hahah

edit: forgot about xiao's master, so i guess that's another confirmed god he fought? alongside chi, whom i also forgot about. still, i think chi was more of a land beast than a god with a people, and xiao's master i have no clue about. (am i tripping or did chenyu vale insinuate that the god in charge of that area was xiao's master?????? maybe i'm just confused. if it was, that just takes one god off the list, since xiao's master and chenyu's lord could've been the same person. if not, i've no fucking clue where xiao's master fits into all of this. like i'm not sure if it's ever stated that it was a god from liyue? it must've been. but then, where were his people? did he even have any? idk. you get my point)

[sigmastolen]

ok all my blaze campaigns have now ended and that, friends, was an interesting experience!

i paid for the smallest package for each one, 2500 "impressions" which is i guess what they call it when they shove the post onto someone's dash; because of the deal that was doubled, so each one had a goal of 5000 impressions. friends, every single one overperformed. they break down some of the stats for you afterward, including separating out "paid" impressions and engagement (when they put your post in someone's eyeballs) vs. "earned" impressions and engagement (when someone encountered/interacted with the post "in the wild" as it were -- bc another user had reblogged it of their own free will rather than having it inserted in the feed). even the paid impressions far outstripped the stated goal of 5000, sometimes by a couple thousand and sometimes by almost double.

now, just because 9000+ users see a post doesn't mean they will interact with it; for me, engagements were smaller by an order of magnitude or more, ranging from 88-261. that, too, was broken down into engagements with paid impressions vs earned impressions, plus every kind of engagement (share, reply, reblog, or like) was also broken out and broken down.

tumblr also tracks how many clicks you get from a blazed post, presuming there is a link in that post to click on, and how many people decide to follow you from the "follow" link on that post (i presume a follow would not get counted if the user clicked through to your blog first, though), again broken down by paid vs. earned. so like, i guess those metrics would be useful if i were approaching this from a marketing perspective or whatever, although of course in my case i don't give a fuck.

the campaigns also lasted well past the 24-hour mark, or at least that is my impression based on how long my notes were exploding, despite the to-the-minute timeframe laid out in both the approval and completion emails. anyway, i certainly don't want to experience this amount of attention all the time, but it was a pretty brilliant idea and it was fun to see everybody's blazed cats (and, idk, it warms my heart or eases my grief or gives me validation or something to see other people appreciating my guys). i'll reblog the posts i blazed after this, for the record and so y'all can see them too.

[reh-ldjen]

Timeline of Red Embrace Series

So here is my take on the timeline. It’s actual pretty understandable. 

Warning!!!

Spoiler up ahead!!! 

For Red Embrace, Red Embrace: Hollywood, Red Embrace: Mezzanine

There some that says when something happened but everything is up to the unknown. 

So the first is Hollywood happening in 1996 from October (actually September when MC is arriving at the state but that doesn’t really count) to probably December 

After that game there are two things happening after the game. 

One Red Embrace. Ash meeting the Vampires and getting to know them. Along that Bishops downfall. Depending on the Ending. But I believe that the rebellion happened since in Hollywood there was a moment when Bishop called Saorise for help because he couldn’t control the coven anymore. 

I know that after playing the game again and noticed one single detail. Close to Luka’s end where Bishop tells Luka about the contract Isaac had with MC of Hollywood. There was 1 year time limit before they could have a chance meeting. My guess is that they timeframe is along when the war in hollywood happened and addition of calming the aftermath of war. To protect everyone involved the Isaac made the deal to the MC to keep both humans save. 

Well that’s my guess you can be against it but think about it.

At the same time Mezzanine is happening and we can assume which ending of this game is the canon  one. I will tell everyone this Beth being turned is a must. 

Other thing no matter what the 4th House must exist to have Paradisus. 

[theboredwritertm]

hi if you write smut.... maybe mando being the reader’s first time?? if not, ignore this :))

Innuendo 

A/N: I’m going to admit this was the first request I received (ever) for The Mandalorian and it’s been gathering dust for the past couple of weeks (because I’m a simp for Cobb Vanth apparently??) Anyway, so sorry it’s taken this long, anon. I haven’t written this kind of thing before, but always love the chance to try new subject matter. Thanks for sending it through! I’ll admit this piece felt kind of clunky as I was writing it, but since I’m (sorta) sticking to a posting schedule now, I just wanted to get it done. And apparently, I can’t write something without backstory, so it got a little long!

Rating: 18+ for adult situations

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: Awful jokes and innuendos, awkwardness, a clueless Din, probably swearing, consensual sex, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5930 (Once again, consider the first 3000 words terrible foreplay)

Summary: After putting up with months of your supposedly-unintentional innuendos, Din finally takes charge…only to find out things aren’t quite what he expected.  

He’d picked you up like a Bantha tick and hadn’t been able to shake you since.

You’d managed to argue your way into a semi-permanent position onboard the Crest after what he would call a rescue, but what you still stubbornly referred to as an ‘assisted retreat’, and it didn’t look like you planned on leaving any time soon. 

So, he was stuck with you. At least that’s how he liked to think of the situation.

Never mind that it was nice to have someone to come back to after a long mission that could actually talk back to him. Or that you kept the ship neat and tidy. Or that you were practically a live-in babysitter for the little one at this point. Not to mention the way you always managed to throw together decent meals for the three of you that didn’t always come out of a pack – and that you seemed to enjoy doing so. 

And never mind that he liked listening to your soft, happy hums as you stirred together whatever ingredients you had managed to pull together, and that he’d stand in the doorway, silent as a shadow as he took this in, thinking to himself that if a Bantha was half as lucky to pick up a tick like you, it could do much worse for itself.

But what really got to him were the jokes.

You weren’t what he would consider shy, not since you seemed to have no problem at all talking back to him when he had grown so used to others shrinking back at the mere sight of him – still, he hadn’t been expecting the first comment that had just sort of slipped out of you after a few weeks of being in each other’s company. By that point you were comfortable enough to throw the odd sarcastic quip around at each other without having to worry about someone getting offended, so that’s what he had decided to take it as: a joke. At least, the first time. 

Since the Crest was prone to the odd malfunction, given its age and what he guessed to be a few too many battles before it was decommissioned, it hadn’t surprised him to walk into a cockpit full of smoke one day. What had surprised him was the way you had stepped into the room, taken one look around as you waved the smoke from your face, and said, “Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

He’d taken it as he thought he should. A bad joke. You were prone to them as he had come to find, and there’d been plenty of times that he’d heard you use the same kind of lines on people you needed something from. In his case, he guessed that something was shelter and a place to lay low for a while. And he had obliged.  

The second time wasn’t as bad. It was worse. Terrible, even. He had no idea what you’d been going for, but as he’d approached the ship after a particularly grueling job and found you standing on the ramp, one foot balanced on a crate and look of mock-seduction, you’d cocked an eyebrow and greeted him with, “Hey, handsome. Looking for a ride?” 

His response? A semi-confused, completely weary, “It’s my ship,” as he’d passed you by.

The third time he thought maybe he’d just taken it the wrong way.

You’d been discussing his work, how long it had been between jobs, and how you were both getting a little light on credits. You’d shaken your head, lounging sideways in the co-pilot seat in a way that always looked uncomfortable to him, but seemed just fine to you, when you’d said, “I don’t get it. There’s got to be work out there somewhere.” Then you’d paused for a moment before adding, “If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I could find a few openings for you to fill.” He had frowned and glanced over, certain he’d caught the passing ghost of a smirk on your lips before you resumed looking completely innocent, as if you were simply pondering the tricky predicament you found yourselves in. 

Then there was the touching.

At first, he’d found excuses to move out of your reach, an attempt to make his knee-jerk reaction to shrug you off look less obvious. Then one day he’d exercised some restraint as you’d popped a warm, friendly hand on his thigh before getting up from the co-pilot’s seat, announcing you were ready for bed, and he’d realized…he kind of liked it. What, to you, (he was sure) was just fleeting, friendly touches – something ordinary and human he had been deprived of growing up – started to become something he would linger on for hours, sometimes days afterwards. There was something frustrating in the way you could make something that felt so intimate to him look so casual to you. 

Another time, more recently, was probably the worst of the lot – but only because of the effect it’d had on him.

During the last stop-off, you’d both been standing in the holding bay surveying the handful of acquisitions he had stored in carbonite. Work had finally picked up, and you’d proven surprisingly helpful in acquiring them, but in that particular instance, there had been a slight problem – two of them were destined for the same planet, but the cities were in complete opposite directions. The timeframes to meet the employers would never have allowed him to make both trips. So, you’d stepped up, placing a hand on his arm as you’d surveyed the captives and said, “Look, I’ve never been much of a delivery person, but I’m more than happy to handle your package for you, just this once.” He’d stared at you, glancing down briefly at the hand on his armor, then up at your smile. “What do you say?” you’d asked, eyes never leaving his visor.

It had taken a troubling amount of self-control not to close up the ramp and show you just how okay with that proposition he was. Because it had been a long time since he’d last gotten the chance. He’d blame the dry spell on the kid, on new responsibilities that hadn’t been there before, but it had been like this for well-over a year, way before the Child had even come into his life. Gone were the days of his youth where he could pick someone out of a bustling cantina crowd and lead them off silently to some grimy bathroom or backroom for a quick fuck – them, for the thrill of being with one of his kind, and him, out of sheer physical need. He’d made peace with the fact that those days were behind him (and considering the state of some of those bathrooms – and some of the partners – it was probably for the best). But that didn’t mean that the need went away. And then there was you.

You, with your perfect skin and the glow of youth still about you. Your long, shiny hair that always made his fingers twitch with need to reach out and run them through it. Your (cute) annoying laugh, and the way you would crinkle up your nose as you found something he’d said particularly funny for some reason he could never figure out (him, fumbling with switches from the pilot’s seat as he attempted to focus, ignoring the smile prickling at his own mouth as the sweet sound of your giggling flipped the doofus switch in his brain). You with the form-fitting pants you sometimes wore when a mission called for something you could move easily in, ones that made his own pants feel a little more form fitting when he stared for long enough to let his mind wander. 

You and your damn jokes.

In the end, much to his surprise, it wasn’t a joke that had finally sent him over the edge. It was a simple word, and this time you actually had context to back you up, to assure him that it wasn’t you just fucking with him. Given the situation, it absolutely shouldn’t have had the effect on him that it did. But it had triggered something in him that even he didn’t know he was into.

The kid had been seated in his usual spot, in the seat behind Din’s, when you’d walked in and spotted his big eyes beginning to droop. You had developed a routine with him now – dinner, a bit of bonding time with Din in the cockpit, then bed – and so far, it had seemed to work well for the little guy. You were new to the whole childcare thing, but it made it easier for you to know where punishment and reward was warranted – especially since you were terrible at telling him off. One look at his little face and all wrongdoings were forgotten, something Din never seemed particularly impressed with (even if he was just as guilty of it as you were).

You approached the seat, reaching down to scoop up the sleepy bundle, and pulled him close.

“Come on, little one. Let’s leave daddy to his thing. Time for bed.”

As you turned and headed for the steps leading down to his cot, you failed to notice the way Din had stiffened in his seat. He turned his head to watch you go, eyes dropping down to linger on your ass as the word replayed in his mind. Then he turned back to the flight console, hand lingering over it in a split-moment of indecision, before he flicked on auto-pilot and got to his feet.

Enough was enough. 

*

You had absolutely been fucking with him.  

The first time it had just sort of slipped out, you’ll admit. After years of dealing with the Guild, which what was honestly a bit of a boys’ club, you’d developed the shitty flirting as a reflex to seem more at ease with whoever you were working with (and, okay, sometimes it got you better jobs, too. So what?) But after catching Din’s initial reaction (back when you knew him solely as the strong, silent Mando) you knew it was a thread you had to tug at. And tug at it, you had, just to see the man unravel. 

You knew the risks, knew the Mandalorian’s reputation, but part of you had wondered how far you could take it…how far you wanted it to go. 

You were about to find out.

As you pressed the button to close up the baby’s metal capsule, smiling as you caught one last glimpse of his sleeping form, you turned to find yourself face-to-helmet with the man himself. Even without seeing his face, there was still an intensity to the way he was looking at you, how he leaned in until you have no choice but to back yourself up against the cold steel of the wall. 

“This needs to stop,” he says, tone full of warning. Though you could have sworn there was a touch of something else to his voice. You want to say it sounds like desperation, but that feels a little self-indulgent, even for you.

“I’m sorry. Did you want to put the kid to bed? I just thought—”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His hand comes up to rest beside you on the wall, as he leans in closer, effectively boxing you in. 

Oh, boy. 

You wonder if this is the same technique he uses on people he’s trying to get information from and if it should be having this effect on you. You’re almost certain it’s fear that you should be feeling, not, uh, this. You clear your throat and look up at him, wracking your brain for what you’ve done or said in the last ten minutes to warrant this kind of reaction from him, especially given the more obvious attempts to rile him up over the past couple of months. You’d picked up the kid, same as you did every other night. Maybe it was the way you’d bent over to do it. You glance down briefly at your clothes, but it’s not a particularly revealing outfit. You’d worn much less in front of him before with far less reaction. Maybe it was something you’d said?

Come on, little one. Let’s leave daddy to-

Oh. 

Oh.

The word leaves your mouth as a soft question intended mainly for yourself, a thought given voice. Din stiffens immediately, across from you. You look up at him, realizing at the same time he does that you’ve caught on.

“Wait, really? Is that what this abou—?”

His other hand comes up towards your throat, and for a moment you think he’s going to choke you (and you’re a little concerned that the feeling you get from that thought still isn’t fear) but his touch is gentle. His hand comes to rest on the side of your neck, thumb against your cheek as he looks at you for a moment before his voice comes through once more. 

“Say it again.”

You keep your gaze trained on his visor, where you’re sure his eyes are currently burning into you, and feel heat flooding in opposite directions in your body; up to your face, and down between your legs. And you feel ridiculous. You had never been into that kind of thing before, and you feel silly saying it; but if there’s one thing you are into, it’s the big guy in front of you – the one telling you to say this one little word, just for him – and having him this close talking to you like this, well it might just be worth the humiliation. Hell, maybe that’s something you’re into, as well.

“Daddy?”

The hand on the wall next to you pulls back as he growls, and slams forward fast enough to make you jump, smacking against the light switch, bathing you both in sudden darkness. You feel him lean in closer, certain that if you were to move your head even slightly forward it would come into contact with the cold beskar of his helmet.

“Do you want this?” his voice, gravelly with lust, sounds through the modulator, as the hand on your neck begins to slide downwards.

Shit.

Even if you had wanted to say no before – you hadn’t – you’re sure the low rumble in his tone would have changed your mind. You’d never heard him keyed up like this before. He always had a way of keeping it together, of staying in control, but you’d been messing with him for so long, teasing, casually throwing your innuendos around, knowing exactly what you were doing to him. You don’t know why you feel so surprised that it’s finally come down to this. It was kind of like a daydream, a fantasy finally coming true, and you feel completely unprepared.

“I do, Din, seriously, but, uh, there’s just—”

“What is it?”

You wonder how you’re going to break it to him. Honestly, you feel like a fucking fraud after everything you’ve put him through. You feel like you’ve been leading him on. You sigh and duck your head as you make your confession.

“I’ve never done this before.”

You don’t know how to explain it, but you feel him suddenly deflate, as if the tension in the room has been replaced with something akin to disappointment. 

“You’re joking?” And for once, you’re not.

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out the way they do, and even though he can’t say he’s any less turned on by this revelation he knows there are implications there that can’t be ignored if he wants to keep going. Only, right now, he’s not feeling very patient. 

You wince at the level of exasperation in his tone. “No.”

There’s silence for a moment and you have to reach out to feel that he’s still there, your hand landing on his chest plate. His hand comes up to rest on top of yours, and you think that maybe its to pull it away, that the lights will come back on at any moment and this opportunity will disappear forever, but he holds it there, thinking things over. 

“How much experience do you have? Any?”

There’s a change to his tone, now. He sounds curious.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve…”

Why does this feel so fucking awkward suddenly? You’ve spent the last six months in this man’s daily company, and while that might not seem like a lot of time in terms of getting to know a person, a majority of that was spent in the confined space of the Crest. You know each other’s routines now; all the little habits and pet peeves you can only pick up on when living in close quarters with someone else. You know he likes silence at meal times, but that he’s more open to conversation after time away on a job, and you’ve come to be able to tell just from his posture if that job had gone well. You know some of each other’s history – him mostly learning yours, since you’re by far the chattier person – yet, still, your face is hot with embarrassment as you recall the handful of experiences you’ve had. You’d never talked about this kind of stuff. You’d only ever joked about it.

“You know, like, mouth stuff.”

“Mouth stuff?” he repeats, and you swear there’s laughter in his voice when he says it.

Your face is beginning to feel unbearably hot, and you’re sure that if he decided to read your heat signature right now your skin would look like you’d just spent a week straight wandering the Tatooine desert. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully, like he does and that maybe he’s picturing it, “What else?”

“Hand—”

“Hand stuff?” he cuts you off, undeniably making fun of you now. 

You smack him in the chest plate, only managing to send a sting through your hand in the process, then push forward as if to move past him, like you think you could make your way anywhere in this darkness. “You know what? Maybe I don’t want this, after all.”

It’s a blatant lie, but you’re starting to think maybe humiliation’s not your thing after all.

He stops you and you don’t resist. You’d been wanting this pretty much from day one, back when he’d assisted with your retreat after a hunt had gone sideways – from the moment you’d watched him swagger into the cantina and stand calmly between you and the half-dozen armed men who were protecting their wanted leader. Back when you’d been just a young, fellow hunter in need of aid.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks you now.

You think about it for all of two seconds. “I want y—This. I want this.” You stumble over what is almost too much of a confession. It feels too soon to tell heavy truths like that, so you settle for what you already know he’s offering. “Just…go easy.”

There’s a silence that seems to drag out in the darkness, then a hiss as he removes his helmet. You feel his body move closer to yours, and you swear that’s his hair brushing your cheek as he leans in and says, “I can do that.”

He scoops you up without warning, reminding of how quick and strong he can be even when he’s weighed down by all that armor, and you find you can’t help yourself as you say: 

“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

Without the helmet, his sigh meets your skin as a warm huff across your face.

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” you reply without hesitation, feeling him still beneath you.

“No more jokes. Please.”

You laugh at the exasperation in his voice and find yourself caught completely off guard when you hear a huff of breath escape him that might have passed for laughter, too, but before you can say anything you find yourself being whisked away towards what you assume is the small space of his sleeping quarters. He seems to know his way well enough to not bump into anything along the way, but even so you hug yourself in tight to avoid any knocks to the head. You look up as a door rasps open in front of you and you can only barely make out the outline of the bed. Din is quick to place you down on it before he drops his helmet to the floor and starts tugging off his armor, placing it somewhere nearby. You sit on the edge of the mattress staring awkwardly into the darkness, knowing you should probably start undressing, too, but suddenly feeling self-conscious despite the pitch darkness that surrounds you. 

“Do you want me to undress you?” Din asks, and his tone is gentle enough for it to be a serious question. 

You shake your head in response after thinking it over for a minute before remembering he can’t see you. 

“You’ll have to use your words,” he says, “The lights need to stay off.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Is that okay?”

You know it’s not him asking if you’re expecting him to betray his creed in order for this to happen; it’s him asking if you’re okay with not being able to see anything for your first time. 

Your first time.

Urgh. It sounds so juvenile when you think about it that way, but so far, it’s living up to the adolescent kind of awkwardness you had expected, back when you had actually been an adolescent. You were past that now, and if you’re being honest with yourself that’s part of what’s making you feel self-conscious about this whole thing. You feel like this should have happened a long time ago. You wonder if Din thinks it odd that you’ve left it for this long.

“That’s fine,” you tell him quickly. Though you wish you could see him, not only to know what you’ll be working with, but also because doing it this way adds a layer of anonymity you didn’t necessarily want to associate with your first time. You’d always pictured it being with someone you felt close to – as cliché as it sounded, someone who was special to you. And even though that was true in this case, not being able to see that certain someone was detracting from the whole experience. 

You feel movement in front of you and a large, warm hand finds your knee, running it over the fabric that still covers your body.

“We don’t have to do this if you’ve changed your mind,” Din tells you. His voice is different without the helmet; softer, gentler. Or maybe it’s just the circumstances that has him talking to you this way. You’d heard him use this kind of tone on the Child, and you had always admired the level of patience he always managed to show the kid, but you’d never found yourself on the receiving end of it like this before. It’s comforting.

Comforting enough to confirm your decision.

His hand moves away as he feels you start to shimmy out of your clothes. Your top goes first, up and over your head, joining his pile on the floor, then you reach down for the button on the front of your pants. You pause, realizing how exposed you’ll be, even with the cool air meeting your already-exposed nipples. This is a different kind of exposed, you think; more intimate. You give yourself a moment. 

“May I?” he asks, and you’re surprised enough by his politeness that you nod, forgetting again he can’t see you, and breath out, “Yeah.”

You move your hand and let him take over, feeling his deft fingers make quick work of your button and zipper before he starts to tug the fabric down your legs, taking your pants and underwear all in one go. His hands find your knees and you sigh at the skin-on-skin contact, never expecting the man to feel this warm. You hear him drop down to his knees and suddenly feel warm breath between your legs. You make to close your legs at the unexpected sensation, unsure about having him this close to that area, but his hands come up to pull them back apart.

“What are you doing?” you ask, only to distract you both, because your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest at how fast this is moving.

“Mouth stuff,” he replies simply.

It’s simple, dry humor, but you swear he never makes you laugh more than when he catches you off guard with stuff like that. You don’t think anyone else would believe you if you tried to tell them how funny he can be without even trying. The joke manages to diffuse some of your anxiety and you relax back onto the bed, trusting him with whatever he’s about to do. Still, you gasp when his mouth meets your core, and he hums happily against you. You’ve done this with someone once before, but the memory feels clumsy compared to what Din is doing now; his grip tight around your waist and tongue immediately finding the right places. You try not to think about where he’s had the practice, focusing instead on the sensation he’s creating with a simple flick of his tongue.

You start to make noises you don’t think have ever come from you before, unable to help yourself with the sudden assault on your sensitive nerve endings. He pauses from what he’s doing as if struck by a sudden thought, smiling at the way you whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

“Have you ever cum before?” he asks.

“I think so,” you reply, but if you were being completely honest, you’re not sure. And least, not with another person. You’re pretty sure you’ve gotten there on your own. You think. You feel like that’s something you should know for sure.

“You think so?” he repeats, sounding unconvinced. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve had, you know, urges, I took care of them, then they were gone.”

He makes a thoughtful sound and ones of his thumbs finds your clit, rubbing a couple of circles before he dips it down to your center to scoop up some of the wetness there to bring back up again. 

“You don’t sound very sure,” he says casually, like he’s not driving you crazy right now with a simple touch. Feeling slightly pathetic, you can only whine, your brain feeling scrambled as his assault on your clit empties it of all coherent thought. “Next time I ask you, I want you to be a little more certain,” he tells you, and without warning dives back in, his tongue taking over from his thumb at a much faster pace. Your back arches off the bed and he slips his free arm across your hips, holding you in place. 

You soon feel pressure at your entrance as he presses a finger carefully against it and in your frenzied state you push forward onto it, forgetting in a moment of desperate need your body’s inexperience with something like that. You’re wet enough that it doesn’t hurt, but it’s still a foreign feeling having something inside of you, and you realize that’s only one finger. Before you can start to imagine how something larger is going to feel, he presses the finger upwards inside of you and hits a spot you’ve never felt before. You cry out, caught completely off guard as the tight feeling in your lower belly breaks and you cum hard against him, hips bucking uncontrollably against his face. He growls against you, but doesn’t stop moving until your hips do. 

“Fuck,” you whine, still panting as he slides his finger out of you and gives you one last lick. Still sensitive, you yelp and jerk back from the sensation, making him chuckle.

“Now you can say you’ve cum,” he tells you, and hell if he doesn’t sound proud of himself for giving you that. 

“Yeah,” you agree, still barely able to form a proper thought. Then one comes to you. You sit up. He’s getting to his feet in front of you and it’s put him at the perfect height for what you have in mind. 

He’s not expecting it when your hand finds his length, giving away his surprise with a sharp intake of breath. You take a moment to guess at his size, thinking once again how it’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, but any thought of pain is completely overridden by the very idea of having him inside you at all.  But one thing at a time – you want to explore a few things first.

“Do you mind if I return the favor?” you ask him. You’re feeling different after your orgasm – feeling a sudden, renewed confidence – and the way his breath hitches as you start to pump him up and down sends a thrill through your body. He doesn’t reply, answering instead with a simple touch as his hands find your head, brushing your hair back from your face. You’ve done this before, too, but unlike your partner’s attempt on you at the time, yours had proven more successful.

You bob your head forward to find him, lips meeting the head of his cock and parting to let it enter. As your tongue laps at its underside, Din drops his head back with a moan that only encourages you further. You take as much of him inside your mouth as you can, letting the salty taste of him hit as close to the back of your throat as you’re comfortable with, and his grip tightens on your head as he fights the urge to buck forward. You’d said to go easy, and he’s mindful of that, but picturing what you must look like right now, face pink and glowing from your orgasm, mouth stuffed with his cock, he wishes he could flick the light on for a second just to see it. You guide your head back and forth, taking in all the sounds he’s making for you, testing particular places just to see what else you can make him do. All the while he continues to stroke your hair, murmuring praise that sounds strained as tries to force the words out, things like, ‘Good girl’ and ‘Yeah, just like that’.

All the praise starts to go to your head though, it seems, as you forget your earlier feelings of humiliation and whisper back, “You like that, daddy?” Then you pick up your pace and have him moaning to the point where he has to stop you. He gently grabs your head, pulling his hips back and plucking himself from your mouth with a slick ‘pop’.

“We’re going to have to stop there, sweet girl, or your going to make me cum.”

You simply look up to where his voice is coming from and make a sad little hum, any self-conscious thoughts or anxiety long gone at the sound of his half-ruined tone, and you find yourself eagerly awaiting the next step, your body begging for further touch. He chuckles at your reaction and leans down to find your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss, both of you groaning as you taste each other. It’s the first kiss you’ve shared with him, and as he moves forward and forces you back onto the bed, you find your legs come up automatically to wrap around him. That’s when you feel him, hard and pressing into your thigh. 

“How do you want to do this?” he asks, as he grabs his length and rubs his tip between your folds to coat himself with your wetness. You moan when he passes over your clit and give yourself a moment to bask in the sensation as he continues to rub over that area. 

“Just go slow,” you tell him, then you feel his cock move down from your clit to your entrance, now that you’ve finally given him permission. He only applies the slightest pressure, letting you get used to each new sensation as he introduces it, but you’re so slick down there that he begins to slip in. You tense, waiting for the sharp sensation you’re sure is coming.

“Relax.” Din’s hips have stilled, and he reaches up in the darkness to run his thumb across your cheek, soothing you. “Deep breaths, okay? I’ll make it feel good for you.”

You nod, and this time he feels the movement against his hand and doesn’t ask you to voice it, instead taking it as his cue to continue on. There’s a momentary sharp, burning sensation deep inside as you feel everything stretch, but as he slowly begins to move his hips, you find it fades more and more with each thrust, your wetness coating him and amplifying your pleasure. You’ve never felt this full before, not in this way, but he’s big enough to be hitting all your best spots at the same time. You’ve never felt this close to cumming this quickly.

“Shit.”

Hearing that single word, he starts to pick up speed and you clutch at whatever part of him you can reach, giving yourself up to the sensation as you feel that electric, tightening sensation starting again in your lower belly.

“Do you think you’re close?” he pants, because he knows he is – dangerously so – but he wants to keep true to his word. He wants to make this experience just as good for you. 

You fail to answer, unable to stop the harsh cries leaving your mouth instead, and you don’t have time to tell him before the feeling breaks inside of you again and you’re pulsing around him. You cry out, louder than before, and this is enough to send him over the edge, too. He slips out at the last moment, and you feel warm bursts of liquid squirt across your stomach.

“Sorry,” he pants, grunting as he braces himself on one hand and then shivers through a couple of aftershocks, “I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, voice just as breathless. And it is fine. You couldn’t care less about it. Your entire body feels more relaxed than it has in months. You feel spent in the best possible way and right now you’d be fine to just fall into a pile on the sheets and sleep.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body close to yours in the small space, warm and sweaty, and you’re surprised when he slips an arm underneath you to bring you closer. “So, was that okay? Do you feel okay? Sore?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, I’m okay.” The words come out as a few huffs of breath and, still high on endorphins, the noise makes you laugh. 

Din gives you a squeeze at the familiar sound, smiling to himself in the darkness. Then he makes a thoughtful noise.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…You’ve never been in here before.”

“So?” You gaze around in the darkness, thinking it is a little cramped compared to the space you’d made for yourself in the much larger cargo hold, and realize maybe that’s what he’s hinting at.

“I think you should cum here more often.”

“Did you just…?” You sit up to look at him the darkness, never in a million years expecting such a horrible, so very like-you joke to be uttered by the man and he yanks you back down and pulls you close, ignoring the sticky mess he’s made of you.

Then you hear a sound you’re not familiar with, and feel his warm breath against you as he laughs. 

“Din Djarin, that joke was terrible.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head and heaves a sigh that suggests fast approaching sleep. “I learned from the best.” 

[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter Three

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 6.1k

Chapter Three

By the twelve-day mark, you started getting worried. You knew Mando could take care of himself, that was a given, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety as it shoved its way into your blood stream permanently for three whole days.

Fifteen days and no sign of the Beskar clad hunter. Fifteen days seemed like an awfully long time for him to be gone—unless he was doing that thing again—not coming by to visit you anymore.

You wanted to believe he wasn’t doing that. The last two times you’d been together, he’d made no indication of being uncomfortable, despite the fool you can become under immense arousal and horniness, apparently. You just had to ask him to stay, didn’t you?

You just had to place a kiss upon his fucking helmet.

Stars—maybe he really had decided not to come back.

You busied yourself with work like usual, working through the thoughts and the worry and the fucking stress of not knowing if he was okay. It was stupid; you knew what it meant to be a bounty hunter, you knew the struggle of racing after a quarry, of having to figure out the timeframe of your job, of calculating where to get your fuel from, your Bacta from, your upgrades from—

But still you found yourself feeling incredibly uneasy about the fact he hadn’t returned yet, despite the clear signs of it being a longer job, or a harsher client, or whatever else.

You stopped polishing the blaster you currently had, suddenly frowning at nothing. Your heart panged in your chest, your brow started to sweat, and stars, you felt tears in your fucking eyes.

You didn’t often think about your past, too overcome with the memories of what had gone wrong. You were too young to have been doing what you were doing, but you did it to survive. When there was nothing else in this universe for you, it was the only option—

It was all you knew.

It was just ironic that you ended up settling on Nevarro, another planet crawling with bounty hunters; none of which knew your name. That was something you always kept to yourself. You chose not to even have an alias; they could get messy, fast. Besides, if anyone knew who you really were already, you wouldn’t be alive to even be worrying about the Mandalorian.

You would have been killed as soon as you stepped on the planet, as soon as someone realised who you were.

Mando and yourself had more in common than he’d ever know, and you didn’t plan on telling the hunter about your past—he was still a mystery, still unknown to you, and you didn’t know if he’d simply turn on you immediately after revealing your old alias to him.

You forced yourself to rub your eyes, angrily wiping away the stray tears that you’d allowed to fall down your cheeks. Stars, you knew you had problems about thinking back. You knew your mind was plagued with those memories, you knew you could remember them too vividly, that sometimes you got sucked into them again, in the body of your younger and more naïve self, tripping over rocks and fallen trees and avoiding blaster shots—

“Stop,” You said once, sternly. Your voice echoed throughout your empty shop, before dissipating in the air until there was nothing but white noise filling your ears. You were here, on Nevarro, polishing another fucking blaster and waiting for a glimpse of Beskar. You were here—not there.

You sighed deeply, forcing yourself to stay present, to stay focused upon your work. You cleared up your desk as the sun began to set over Nevarro, casting your shop with an orange and yellow glow that felt pleasant against your bear arms. You took inventory, keeping the door of the shop open all the while you were packing up for the end of the workday. When you were done, you strode to the door, shutting it with a frowning smile as you realised it was another day without seeing Mando.

Stars, if he’s dead, someone is going to pay.

You locked the door sadly, swivelling on your heels and thinking about getting the whiskey out again, when the most subtle of knocks tapped from the metal of the shop door. You were immediately on edge. You rushed to your desk, grabbing your blaster, before you slowly tiptoed towards the door—

Your heart was in your throat, your limbs were frozen in fear, but you felt adrenaline course through your muscles right on time, spurring you forward to be totally on your guard. The knocks sounded again, louder this time, but you didn’t falter. You approached the door, holding the lock with one hand, before you quickly clicked it and swung the door open, aiming your weapon at light speed—

“You told me to knock after hours,” Mando stood in your doorway, arms and gun by his side. You’d guess he wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised at how you looked right now—defensive stance, gun pointed at his skull, breathing shallow and controlled.

This bastard breaks into your shop more than he’s ever knocked. No wonder you were fucking scared.

You let out a stuttering sigh, dropping your weapon, but not quite being able to let go of the adrenaline spike that just slammed through your body.

“What happened to picking my lock?” You stuttered out, annoyed.

“It’s less fun when you expect me to do it,” He replied, and stars, as much as you fucking loved it when he actually joked, now wasn’t the time. You raised hands to your forehead, pushing your hair back and trying to calm yourself down. You were awash with a shaky feeling as your heart continued to try and crawl up your throat.

Mando took a tentative step forward as he saw you on edge, reaching out a hand to touch your arm, but stopping himself before he could. “Hey—,” He began, and you exploded.

“Fifteen days,” You let out slowly, not even trying to cover up the wobble in your voice. You’d been worried sick, you were certain your hair was going to start falling out if he was gone much longer. “Fifteen kriffing days, Mando—,”

“I know, I’m late,” He interrupted, taking a few steps towards you and into the shop. He turned slowly, shutting the door and clicking the lock. A sound you knew well, one that often made you excited, but right now only existed to make you overthink to oblivion.

What if he never came back one day? What if he never came back and clicked that lock again like he always did?

You continued to try and calm yourself down, all too aware of Mando standing behind you. Stars, you wanted to hug him—and that was the most idiotic thing you’d ever admitted to yourself. What the fuck had happened to you? How had this bounty hunter reduced you to an ancient portrayal of a woman; waiting around for him to return, worrying about him when he was gone, feeding him, for stars sake?

“I need a favour,” He spoke up once more, and you scoffed immediately. Maybe it was from hurt, maybe it was from something else, and as much as you wanted to laugh at this situation, all it did was boil your blood.

“Right,” You said firmly, finally turning to face him. You placed your hands on your hips, staring him down like a pig for slaughter.

“I need you as collateral,” Mando said awkwardly. “Karga was expecting me back four days ago. If you’re there, it may just stop him shooting me on behalf of the Guild,”

You froze in your spot. “You’re kidding,” You stated. Mando didn’t reply, he didn’t even move. “You’re not kidding,” You added, bringing a hand to wipe down your face. Fuck. This was just great. “Why me?” You questioned, shooting him an almost scowl.

“He knows you. And Karga loves a pretty face that he can shove shots into, as bad as it sounds,” Mando said honestly. You would have been more pissed if he’d made it up, but it was the truth; Karga was as easy to manipulate with a woman as you were when Mando touched you in any sense. Like butter.

You thought for a moment. As much as you wanted to vomit at the prospect of needing to butter Karga up, you were also doing it to avoid Mando’s execution—

You could live with that. Stars, you could definitely live with that.

But if Karga actually shot him, there was no telling what you’d do to that slimy Guild contact in return. You glanced at Mando, softening your expression. You could tell he felt uncomfortable— he didn’t want to put you in this situation, ever, but he almost had no choice. And stars, you weren’t about to let him go to his death.

“What’s the plan?” You said abruptly. Mando let out a pent-up breath. You heard it trickle from his modulator; relief, thanks.

An hour later and the plan had been laid out. Mando would wait while you went to the bar first. You were wearing the most revealing outfit you owned, just as an added bonus. Your shoulders were bear, your trousers were flush against your skin and your blaster belt fit snuggly around your waist.

“I’m about to enter the bar,” You spoke to your wrist. Mando had insisted on giving you a communicator, just to know when he should rendezvous with you inside the bar. “Give me ten minutes before you come inside,”

“Ten minutes. Copy,” Mando said sternly. Your heart fluttered at his hunter voice—the tone he adopted when he was on missions, out in the galaxy by himself. “You... look good, by the way,”

You almost jumped at his words, as a blush appeared across your cheeks. Not that he could see it, though. He was safely back in the shop, instructed to lock up and bring the keys with him when he made his way to you and Karga.

“I’ll say a proper thank you to that when we both leave the bar alive,” You stuttered back, clenching your jaw painfully. Stars, now wasn’t the time. You muted the other end of the comms line, so noises on Mando’s end couldn’t be heard, before you entered the building.

You knew Karga was at his usual table. His cronies patrolled the booths around him, just waiting to see if any trouble broke out. You approached the droid at the bar, getting ready to order, when Karga spoke up from behind you—

“Back again so soon?” He said. You had to stop yourself from smiling as you turned round to face him. Exactly to plan. “Need a change of scenery, again?” He added, shooting you a smile.

“Am I that predictable?” You sent him one back, playing yourself up to be more of a sweet-hearted being than you were ever capable of actually being. Karga shot out that chesty cough laugh once more, before gesturing his hand to the booth seat opposite him.

You nodded sweetly, practicaly skipping over to sit opposite him.

“Is business any better since our last toast?” Karga began, clicking for glasses like he’d done before and revealing the same blue liquor bottle. You forced yourself to pout slightly.

“It’s been... okay,” You replied sadly. Karga took the bait, leaning in slightly closer to you.

“Oh, I don’t buy that,” He spoke softly. “Money troubles?” He questioned. You nodded sadly, forcing on a small, quivering smile when a droid came over and deposited the glasses on the table. Karga was looking at you the whole time, analysing your face, your body language—you knew he wasn’t an idiot, but he was so easily swayed when it came to women. It was every man’s weakness; almost every man’s weakness.

He filled the glasses up one by one, pushing one over to your side of the table. You took in a sharp breath, raising your hand to the glass before he’d even taken his own fingers away. You let out a giggle, forcing down the sick feeling you had in your stomach at what the fuck you were actually doing.

“Oh—sorry,” You let out, pushing some stray hairs behind your ears and bringing the glass closer to your side of the table.

“It’s no trouble, dear,” Karga said in response. Stars, you wanted to hit yourself. Mando was not getting off easy for this, the bastard. He raised his own glass, bringing it to the middle of the table. “To getting back on your feet,” He proposed. You sent him another puppy-eyed smile, clinking your glass with his and letting it linger, just for a few moments longer than you needed to, before both of you downed your shots.

You made the fucking stupidest face imaginable, playing up the taste of the alcohol as it slinked down your throat once more. You let out a breath. “Is it just me or does it get stronger with every shot?” You and Karga laughed together, as your desire to kick yourself only increased.

“It gets easier eventually,” Karga began. “When you’ve been sitting in the same bar, drinking the same liquor and dealing with the same hunters for as long as I have, it becomes easy,”

You tried not to fucking glow at his subject choice. It was perfect for what you needed to discuss with him.

“Stars, yes, your job,” You replied, acting more interested in him than you had ever been in the seven or so years you’d known the snake. “Tell me about it—oo, who’s your favourite hunter?”

Karga smiled smally, but you could tell by the way his brow had furrowed that you were heading into unchartered territory. He was probably as secretive about his role in the same way you were about your name.

When he didn’t reply, you had to think on your feet. “Sorry, that was probably overstepping,” You let out sweetly. “It’s just... that guy, in all the armour, what was his name—Mando?”

Karga perked up at your mention of him, softening his face back into something more animated and less thoughtful. “Mando, that’s him. Our resident Mandalorian,” Karga explained, going to refill both of your glasses.

“Stars, he’s scary,” You trickled out. You could only imagine what Mando was like, hearing you say all of this while he listened intently on the other end of the communicator. You were never going to live this down, he was probably laughing his fucking Beskar covered ass off. It boiled your blood just thinking about it.

“Scary? No,” Karga scoffed. “He likes to think he is, but our Mando is more heartfelt than a lot of other hunters,” Karga grabbed his glass, raising it to the sky once more. “It’s a shame that he might be dead, but we’ll have to see,” You grabbed yours as well, clinking it with his once more and downing the shot quickly, almost forgetting to put on the dramatics.

“D-dead?” You stuttered out. Karga nodded grimly.

“In both senses, I suppose. He was due back almost five days ago, but he hasn’t arrived. Lateness is not usually tolerated in the Guild. So, he’s either dead, or he’s as good as if he ever comes back,”

Fuck. He wasn’t kidding.

You immediately put on your best pout. “But, that’s so sad. Isn’t he an excellent hunter?” You asked, and Karga immediately nodded, noticing the sadness washed all over your face. You saw him gulp slowly, like he felt bad.

“One of the best, arguably. He’s always been so on the ball. I’d be curious to know what happened this time around, if he’s actually still alive,” You nodded severely, making this conversation out to be incredibly scarring to your poor, weak, womanly heart.

“I hope he’s not dead,” You spoke up. “He’s been good for the Guild, as you say. Probably gets you a lot of credit as his contact, right?” Karga was silent as he went about refilling the glasses for the third time. Stars, you may actually get a bit drunk without meaning to. You hardly drank anymore, unless the situation arose. “I bet being a bounty hunter isn’t easy,” You added, prompting Karga to nod sullenly.

“It’s not an easy profession, not an easy life,” He replied, before perking up slightly and smiling at you widely. “But you don’t need to concern yourself with that, dear. You’re strong for making your home here, for doing what you do, even without hearing about the cut-throat world of bounty hunters and the Guild,”

You nodded in what you tried to get across as thanks, despite the strong urge to throw up. Karga pushed the full glass in your direction once more, and stars, you didn’t want to drink it. Nevertheless, you persisted. You picked up the glass slowly, giving Karga the sweetest eyes you had imaginable—but then Karga looked away from you, shooting his eyes to the door of the bar.

He slammed his glass back on the table as a mixture of happiness and something sinister crossed his face. “Well, well. Mando,” He said. You made a show of gasping, looking round behind you as he approached your table slowly.

“I... I better go,” You spoke quietly, rising up, but Karga stuck out a hand for you to stay sat.

“No, that’s okay, dear. Stay. This won’t take long,” You did as you were told, sitting back in the booth. To your surprise, Mando shoved himself into the booth next to you, until you were pressed up against the side of the seat to show you were fucking terrified.

Terrified. That’s funny.

“Let’s make this quick, Mando. You’re scaring my guest,” Karga added. You made a show of facing forward and being utterly frozen while Mando tilted his helmet in your direction. You had a feeling he was trying not to laugh, and honestly you didn’t blame him. You looked fucking ridiculous.

Mando let out a sigh. “It was an ambush, Karga. I had to hide for two days before getting back on track,”

Karga nodded, but you had a horrible feeling in your gut. He clicked his fingers once and all of a sudden, the table was surrounded by his cronies, all pointing their guns at Mando. He raised his hands slowly in surrender, but you fucking lost it—

“No—wait! Please—,” You stood with your hands out, slightly covering Mando and putting on the shakes like you were an A class actress from Naboo, showcasing her absolute stardom. You looked to Karga, willing tears to pool in your eyes. “Please—there’s so much death. I know it’s not my place, and tell me to be quiet if I haven’t already overstepped every line, but Karga... please don’t kill this man,” You pleaded with him, using all of your strength. “There’s just... so much death,” You let out a shaky breath, descending back to your seat and pushing yourself away from Mando once more.

You allowed two tears to trickle from your eyes, wiping them away in silence, but noticeably so. You prayed this was enough—a crying woman, a shaking body—for him to listen, or at least try to appeal to what you wanted.

Honestly, you were simply trying not to think about the true way you felt, and how it almost matched up with your acting displays right there. The tears, sure, it was a tad overkill for you, but just the thought of Mando being killed in this way was enough to activate your fight or flight—and evidently, fight always came out on top.

“You owe me, Mando,” Karga finally let out, raising his hand to pull away his cronies. They retracted their guns, stepping back once more. “You get three pucks this week, instead of four. And you get half your pay. If you’re late again, I won’t be as kind,” He stated, and Mando nodded once. Karga dropped the pucks on the table, along with half of his pay. Mando picked everything up, placing it in his satchel.

“Loud and clear,” Mando replied sternly, but you could hear the triumph in his voice. He stood from the booth, and you finally let out a breath.

“Karga, I should go, too. Before I cause anymore disruption,” You spoke tentatively, keeping up the act despite it making your gut physically hurt. Karga regarded you kindly, before shooting a stern look at the Mandalorian.

“You owe this woman your life, Mando,” He was blunt. “Walk her out,”

You stood shakily, making your way out of the booth, when you fully tripped up— your foot snagged on the underside of the booth, causing you to topple forward right towards Mando—

He reacted immediately, catching you as you almost fell straight to the floor. Karga let out a small chuckle at the unfolding scene, and as much as you were ready to throw hands, you kept the act up for a few moments longer.

Mando got you back upright, popping you down to stand next to him, before he turned on his heels and immediately went to leave the bar. You shuffled on the spot, nodding at Karga one last time before you scuttled away to catch up with Mando.

When you both left the bar, the anger rose to your surface immediately. You strode off, faster than Mando, heading back to the shop as you disgustingly wiped your hands on your trousers to get any sense of Karga off of you. You muttered to yourself, absolutely seething, all the way back to the inner city.

When you reached the shop, you turned to Mando, a few paces behind you. “Keys,” You demanded. He threw them at you without any hesitation and you caught them swiftly, unlocking your front door and storming inside. God—you were exhausted.

You stormed round to your work desk, grabbing the bottle of whiskey beneath the counter and pulling the cork off aggressively. You downed a large gulp of the liquid, grimacing as it travelled down your throat and settled in your stomach.

Stars— you couldn’t believe you’d actually done that willingly. Your skin felt dirty, remembering the way you’d spoken and the expressions you’d given the old Guild contact made you fucking shiver.

Mando entered the shop, shutting the door behind him, but not locking it this time.

You immediately turned to him, red in the face. “Why didn’t you lock it?” You said, annoyance utterly present in your voice.

Mando stood awkwardly before you. “I... didn’t know if you wanted me to stay or not, this time,”

Fucks sake. This man, after all he’d asked you to do, was still somehow making you feel something. He was so soft, so awkward, stood right before you. He’d known putting you through that was horrible, he’d given you the opportunity to refuse his company.

But stars, you’d just done all of that for him. You didn’t want him to leave, not one bit, never.

You scoffed from a lack of what else to do, too afraid you’d utterly embarrass yourself more by making it clear that, honestly, you’d probably go through all of that shit again just so he didn’t die.

“You’re insufferable sometimes, Mando,” You whispered, knowing that your words sounded harsh. You softened your expression, slamming down the whiskey on your desk. “But not as insufferable as Karga— or these kriffing trousers,”

You suddenly were all too aware of how your waist was being sucked in painfully. You stuck your hands in the waistband, pulling them in an attempt to stretch them out. You took of your blaster belt, letting it drop to the floor as you continued to struggle.

And those chuckles— those goddamn modulated chuckles filled the room. You glared at Mando, watching the way his shoulders were bobbing up and down subtly, the way his helmet was tilted away from you in an attempt to conceal his laughter.

“You think this is funny?” You raised your brows, widened your eyes. As much as you wanted to yell at him, you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth upturning into a smile. It was uncontrollable.

“No,” Mando said breathily. The bastard was blatantly lying. But—it was hot. And that was the most annoying thing of all.

You steamed towards him, going to give his Beskar chest another smack, until you remembered the pain it had caused two weeks ago. You stopped your balled fist in front of his chest abruptly, and he stopped, turning to face you. A gloved hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, the other one fitting snuggly on your waist.

Alright. He’s used to this now. Good.

“Remember what Karga said, Mando— you owe me your life,” You shot him an amused smile, but his grip didn’t falter on you. Instead, he pulled you in closer, helmet staring down at you unwaveringly.

“Then let me help,” His voice had changed in a matter of seconds from playful, to hungry. The tone slid over your body, forcing you to simply accept his grasp and melt into his embrace. That’s when you gasped—as he knelt to the floor slowly, until you heard the unmistakable sound of his Beskar knee pads making contact with the metal ground.

You didn’t know what the fuck to do—place your hands on his helmet? Place them in your pockets? You had no idea what he was doing, or what he was going to do, but either way, your senses were dialled to a hundred in a matter of milliseconds.

You dared to look down at him, and the sight that beheld you was one that made you cease to breathe; Mando was taking off his gloves. Slowly, gently, finger by finger releasing the leather from around his hands, until he pulled them both off and dropped them to the floor without a care.

The breath caught in your throat the moment his fingers found your waistband. Your cheeks blossomed a neon pink and adrenaline began to pump into every crevice of your body, making you feel everything, every graze, every poke, the heavenly feeling of his fingers finally touching your bear skin.

You took a moment to look at his hands, finally, with nothing to cover them from your eyes. His skin was tan, worn. His finger pads were calloused and rough, scratching at your skin softly like sandpaper, but the sensation was already making your legs wobbly.

Stars, you had to stop yourself from moaning when you felt his fingers reach the buckle on your trousers. He was taking his time, finding his own way around this part of your body that he’d never experienced before, and fuck—you loved it. He heard you, despite his laughter, he heard you complaining about those godforsaken trousers and how they were literally cutting off your blood circulation—

And he was fixing it, and sexily, which was just a massive fucking bonus.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly. All you could do was nod in response, not being able to find any words to fit the bill. Then, he stopped completely, you groaned as he retracted his hands, having to steady yourself by leaning on his shoulders. You looked down at him, utterly broken, wondering why the hell he’d stopped. “Tell me. Is this okay?” He demanded once more, but with more ferocity. You exhaled shakily, peering into his visor.

“Yes,” You said quickly. “Yes—stars, yes,” The words tumbled from your lips involuntarily, existing only to make Mando latch himself back onto you, fingers travelling up and underneath your shirt with one hand, while the other continued to work on your trousers.

You were in ecstasy, feeling nothing but him, and his warmth—a warmth that was usually taken up by the coldness of his Beskar, but stars, you loved his hands more. The feel of his fingertips, all too aware that he was close to unbuckling your trousers—

And then what? The slow and utterly painful suffering of him peeling them off of you, stopping every so often to place his hands around your bear thighs, or, god forbid, he moved up, finally giving in and making you utterly unwind from the pulsing spot between your legs.

You could almost cry just imagining it, so you had no idea how you’d cope if he actually did all of that—but there was no time to prepare, not after the buckle on your trousers finally opened. Mando unzipped you the rest of the way, being careful not to snag the fabric of your underwear in the metal zip. That’s when his hands reached for your waist, slowly beginning to pull down the suffocating garment.

You had to dig your fingers into his shoulders, otherwise you were going to scream. His hands travelled down your waist, your hips, reaching your upper thighs agonisingly slowly. Your pussy was right in front of him, and stars, you prayed he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of you.

Mando continued his slow descent, taking his time just like you’d expected. His fingers roamed all over, wanting to touch and feel and know every portion of your bear skin that he possibly could. You stifled a whimper, but it only spurred him on—

When he reached your knees, you heard him growl beneath his helmet, and suddenly—he ripped the trousers down to your ankles, causing all of the air in your lungs to disappear as you moaned out freely. Before you had time to lean on him, he was lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he brought you to the work desk and placed you atop the surface.

“Mando— I—,” You started, but his bear finger trickled up to your lips. Where a leather covered thumb would normally be, it was now replaced with his bear thumb, swiping back and forth over your bottom lip and making your gut coil with arousal. Fuck—you were putty in his hands.

“Not finished yet,” He growled out, almost threateningly. It made you squirm, as your gut continued to scream within you. He dragged his fingers down your legs, allowing his nails to scratch you all the way down, until he reached your ankles. One by one, he pulled the fabric off of you, opting to throw the trousers behind him after they were completely off.

You stared at him, not stopping to think about what you looked like. He was up close, he could see the arousing droop of your eyelids, the way your mouth was permanently dropped open as a shaky flow of air flooded in and out of your aching lungs, the blotches of red blush that speckled your cheeks, like freckles that only appeared when he was this close to you.

He gripped you with a ferocity that you fucking craved. His fingers felt every bump, every scar, every dimple that your thighs had to offer, as he pushed himself further between your hips suddenly. You yelped out in pleasure, having no other option but to wrap your arms around his shoulders and push him closer—

Closer to your sweet spot, your poor and utterly aching pussy that had been waiting for a moment like this for a collection of agonising months.

“What’s your name?” He whispered through the modulator. You froze up immediately, as your heart catapulted into your throat. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak, maybe you didn’t breathe for a few moments, until you realised you were running out air, spluttering out a shaking breath.

Mando slowly peeled you from your grip around his shoulders, but he kept you close—he just wanted to see your face, to see your eyes and the expression you held; one of utter surprise—

One of utter terror.

“I’m—sorry,” He stuttered out, upon seeing the fear washed all over your face. “I let my curiosity get the better of me,”

Stars, you were an odd pairing, weren’t you? A man with no face and a woman with no name, with their limbs wrapped around each other and holding on for dear life, taking in every shudder and moan and growl and feeling.

“It’s okay,” You finally spoke, albeit in a coarse whisper, having lost your voice amongst all of the events. You allowed yourself to smile at him sadly. “I—I’m scared,” You let out involuntarily, just from the simple look of his fucking helmet. God, you’d spill everything to that helmet if you could—

You’d spill your past, you’d spill your present, you’d spill just how much you wanted him to fuck you.

“You don’t have to,” Mando replied, bringing a hand to your face slowly. You shuddered, shutting your eyes as he placed his palm against your cheek. His hand, his actual hand, laying upon your face for the first time. Your stomach swelled with a warmth you could no longer control.

“I want you to know my name,” You admitted, keeping your eyes closed. Mando was slow and gentle, as his fingers roamed the entirety of your face. They fluttered across your forehead, swiped down the bridge of your nose and trickled over your lips, working their way back up around your cheeks and repeating the pattern all over again.

Stars, this was it. You were about to tell him your name, your actual name, not your old alias. No one in the galaxy, besides your very long-gone family, knew your birth name. It was sacred to you, and you held onto it for dear life. But this—

You were trying to rationalise your decision. You wanted him to know it, you wanted him to call you it, whether that was like this, close and sweating and fucking hot, or slumped in your usual chairs, laughing about useless bullshit. You wanted him to yell it, as you gave him pleasure or opened yourself up to him completely—

You felt him tense, stopping the usual pattern of his fingers over your face—because, stars, you’d just blurted it out, right then and there, while you were still thinking about whether to say it or not—your name. He knew your name.

You’d just pulled the trigger, sent the bullet flying and fucking shot yourself in the foot by mistake.

You fluttered your eyes open, taking in the unwavering gaze of his chrome visor and noticing that, despite his tension, his hand was still on your cheek warmly. His hips were still placed within yours, one of his arms still holding your legs tightly around him.

But fuck—that’s what he said it back to you.

As clear as day in his modulated drawl, sounding out the letters and letting it trickle from beneath his helmet into your ears. Honestly—you could have cum right there. You felt your entire body shudder as the sound of him saying your own name floated over, fucking destroying any sense of composure that you had left.

It only made him grip onto you tighter. “I like it,” He added, after noticing the wreckage he’d done to you, just by saying a simple name.  

Your eyelids drooped even further, as a sudden and inconsolable exhaustion flooded over you. “I like it when you say it,” You let out, not fully knowing what the hell you’d just admitted to him. Mando seemed to like it either way, as he flicked his fingertips over the side of your jaw, placing a few strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Now, I’m finished,” He said, as he slowly began to retract himself from you. You were ashamed of yourself as soon as you heard the whine that left your lips. It was somewhere between a no and a please stay, but you couldn’t understand which came through more.

Mando let out a soft chuckle, before he slipped his arm underneath your knees, the other coming up to grab you beneath your shoulder and wrap around your back. He carried you, bridal style, to your bedroom, popping you down on your bed before you could protest.

When he stood, you grabbed onto the closest thing of his—his hand. Your fingers held his own, feeling the groves of his prints and the roughness of his calloused skin; but you loved them. God, you loved them. You weren’t going to get over his hands anytime soon.

“Mando,” You spoke up, causing his gaze to move from your hand to your face. “Thanks for the help,” You finished, before unapologetically curling yourself into a ball and basically immediately, falling asleep.

“You’re welcome,” He whispered out, but you weren’t in any position to hear him properly.

That meant you didn’t hear him say your name once more, rolling it over his tongue slowly, before leaving you to your dreams.

[eroticshortstories4women]

How to Properly "Edge"  Him

The real art with  "Edging"   is to learn exactly how to get him as close as possible to an explosion without actually Allowing him to erupt. If you pay close attention while you fondle and play, you’ll learn precisely the clear warning signs of an imminent ejaculation. There’s nothing quite like habitual and routine  "edging"  for subliminally building a guys libido and desire. Not only will he cherish you more, thanks to neurochemistry, but within a short timeframe his vulnerable and exploitable mind will be totally under your feminine control…

Here are some tips:

1 - Make him always tell you exactly how close he is. Kind of obvious, but Insist that he tells you when to slow down and when to stop. Especially in the beginning while you’re learning how to read his body language. Keep talking to him, ask him how it feels, what is best. You’ll soon get the feel of it and he’ll love you even more for it…

2 - Feel for his body and muscles tensing, him holding his breath, arching his back or even tensing, all are signs he’s getting very close. Learn to read and understand the signs and don’t worry if you go over, you’re learning. Just be sure it’s a libido-building ruined orgasm…

3 - Move from strong to soft strokes, from his vein filled shaft up to his tip constantly. Change it up, take your time and make sure you get him ultra rock hard for maximum dopamine production in his vulnerable brain… I personally like lots of lube and oil and fast but not too tight of strokes, and then as he gets closer and closer, move to a looser grip and then focus on his hypersensitive head and frenulem (the strip underneath the head at the top where guys are most sensitive). Also take breaks frequently. It’s better to stop one second too early than one second too late, stroke - edge - deny - repeat…

4 - Make it ultimately his fault if he erupts. So again, if he does explode make sure you properly ruin it. Stop all rubbing and stimulation as soon as he starts to climax. Or if he’s tied down, you turn it into a post orgasm torture, after the ruined orgasm, where you use his slippery cum as lube to keep rubbing his hypersensitive Joystick, scolding him by saying: you’re so naughty, I didn’t give you permission to cum…

5 - When you do want to enjoy his pent up explosions, make that part of the tease too. When you’re planning to make him climax and erupt, this is a great time to also practice your edging techniques. Use it as an opportunity to see just how crazy you can make him, where you’re not worrying about accidently taking him over the edge…

6 - Oh and you can add a wonderfully sadistic element with this line: If you can hold on for just five minutes more my love, I won’t ruin it when you do cum, okay baby…

Thanks to FemdomDoneRight (on tumblr) for this effective mindfuck and programming tool.

Extra notes by: HerIntoxicatingBodyOnMyMind

1 - Routine is critical.  Edge Him Every Day.  For best results: One short session (15 minutes) every other morning; one medium-length session (20-30 minutes) every evening before bed; and at least one long session (40+ minutes) every weekend.  If this seems like a lot of time, consider how much time you spend alone doing things you wish he was interested in (like watching your favorite shows on Netflix).  This is one activity he will eagerly join.  Edging is addictive to male neurochemistry, and it very specifically addicts him to you, as long as you do it regularly.  The more you do it, the more deeply he bonds to you, and the more he will crave spending time with you throughout the day.  This feeds on itself, and before long, your nightly “quality time” together becomes perfectly natural for both of you.  Even if you’re already in love, married, and devoted to each other, your connection can still go deeper - and the fire of wilder days can be rekindled.  No more going to bed alone!  Also, any time spent having sex or pleasuring you can count toward his edge time. (at your discretion) Daily orgasms for you, his heat beside you as you drift to sleep, and an eager, attentive lover totally addicted to your touch - what’s not to love?  No matter how busy or tired you are, you both have the time for this, I promise.  Do it for a week, and you will start making time for it.

2 - Edge him more than once.  For most, this is obvious. But for some new to edging, it needs to be said.  Don’t just edge him once and assume you’re done.  Depending on his stamina (and how long it’s been since his last orgasm) it can take a while to build him up to his first edge of the night.  It’s important to think of it that way: “first edge of the night.”  Because once you’ve guided him to his edge - and stopped - he is still highly aroused, and edging him again becomes easy.  All that build-up was time invested to get him to his most blissful state.  Now “cash in” your investment and keep him there, by edging him over and over again.  It should be easy.  A single, slow, tight pump is sometimes enough.  Watch his reaction and enjoy the show! (Women report that this is usually their favorite part - guiding their loved one from edge to edge with subtle touches, watching him, and knowing the exquisite gift he trusts only her to give.)

3 - Keep him guessing.  Every single time you touch his cock, he should never know if you intend to edge him, ruin him, or give him a full orgasm.  Lie to him.  Tell him you’re going to stop, then don’t.  Or tell him you’re going to ruin him, then give him a full orgasm.  Or congratulate him on the orgasm you’re about to give him, then “change your mind” and stop for the night.  This only works if you also sometimes tell the truth.  Once he learns you are unpredictable, his body will naturally prepare for orgasm, (every time!) giving him the rush he craves - while his mind reels in fear of the alternatives.  You are fucking his mind, in addition to his body - in a very good way! Watch how he reacts - from the curl of his toes to the flare in his eyes.  It’s incredibly hot.

4 - A “ruined” orgasm is when you let go and cease all stimulation, a split second before he climaxes.  His cum will sort of just leak out, and it’s not as satisfying as a full orgasm.  “Ruined” is a misnomer, though, because he still gets some small pleasure from it, so don’t be afraid to ruin him regularly.  He might thrash, beg, or try to finish it himself, so this is a good time to playfully experiment with restraints - something as simple as tying his wrists together behind his back with a belt or necktie will do the trick.  The important difference between a ruined and regular orgasm is that the male libido does not diminish after a ruined orgasm.  He will stay horny, eager, erect, and attentive, as though he had no orgasm at all, and you can continue playing, if you wish, after a short break.  You can even ruin him twice in one night - the second one is usually harder to achieve, though.

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Demon Alya AU: Half a Soul by crisisdparity

Max raised an eyebrow at what his classmate was saying. “You want me to barter my ‘soul’ for ‘safekeeping’?” “Well… basically,” Juleka admitted. “I must admit this is a novel approach. Usually when I come across ‘sell your soul’ scams, they’re promising things like wealth, power, intellect, or greater sexual endowments. This is the first I have heard of someone wanting my ‘soul’ for the purpose of keeping it ‘safe’. I feel a need to ask why.” “Yeah, those things were probably scams, just not in the way you thought… Basically, there’s a… demon… that has targeted our class with the intent to take their souls through bargain or trickery and make them into her slaves. My… benefactor… and I want to stop her.” “And you concluded that the best way to prevent her from getting our ‘souls’ was if you already had them.” “In a nutshell.” “Such an action would be in character with what I have observed of you in the past, presuming your portrayal of the situation is accurate. However, I shall first need proof that souls exist and can be taken to even consider this agreement possible. If you can provide such proof, I shall of course have further questions on the mechanics behind such a thing.” “Yeah, we figured. You doubt the existence of souls, which makes it that much harder to trick you out of yours. The problem is the demon we’re worried about is apparently very good at pushing people’s buttons without getting caught and we don’t have the time to do this subtly. So… we’ve prepared a demonstration if you can promise to keep everything discreet.” “Very well, let me get Markov yo record this for my own records and review.” “I hope you understand that this information is very… sensitive.” “I will instruct Markov to engage ‘client confidentiality’ protocols. No one but us will know what transpires here.” —— Alya tried not to squirm as Max seemed to dissect her entire explanation with his gaze. “You’re claiming that Marinette managed to unknowingly cause a literal demon to pull a Heel-Face Turn simply by being a good friend?” “Er…” Alya fidgeted. “Yes?” Max nodded. “I find this imminently plausible.” “You do?” “Of course. Marinette is one of the friendliest people I know. If anyone could redeem a literal demon of Jell through the power of friendship, it would be her.” “So you agree to, Er, loan us your soul for safekeeping until it is safe for us to return it?” “If you can provide sufficient evidence for the existence of a soul and your ability to collect it, I will agree to a 24-hour trial basis with Markov monitoring me. If Markov detects any significant negative deviation in my demeanor by the time my soul is returned at the end of this agreed timeframe, the deal is off. If this is completed successfully, we will discuss further terms at that time.” “That’s my cue,” Juleka said. “Alya, I agree to relinquish my soul to you in exchange for its return in an unaltered state ten seconds later.” “Agreed,” Alya accepted as she plunged her hand into Juleka’s chest and withdrew an orb the size of a billiard ball that swirled with purples, indigos, and a streak of solid brilliant golden light. “Fascinating.” Alya then began tickling it. “Hey!” Juleka protested as she fought against the giggles this action induced. “S-stop that!” “Nope! Mine for five more seconds!” Five seconds later, after much uncontrollable laughter on Juleka’s part, Alya put her soul back and turned to Max. “Is that proof enough?” “While I still have my doubts, it is good enough for now. I will agree to you taking custody of my soul for precisely 24-hours after which it will be returned. I will make no other conditions and instead judge your intentions - as recorded and analyzed by Markov - by what you do with such open-ended permissions. If Markov judges that I am in any way compromised by your possession of my soul, the it shall be Markov who decides whether to accept or reject any further deals between me or any other demon.” “Wait, would that even work?” Juleka asked. “I’m honestly not sure,” Alya admitted. “I don’t think anyone downstairs

ever considered third party involvement in soul deals before… I guess we’ll find out together?” “I suppose in the interest of mutual discovery we must proceed as-is.” “Guess so,” Alya said as she stuck her hand into Max’s chest and tugged. And tugged. And tugged some more. All to no effect. “What seems to be the matter?” “Your soul is… stuck,” Alya finished lamely before withdrawing her hand from Max’s chest in defeat. “Stuck.” “Forgive me,” Juleka interjected, “but how does a soul get ‘stuck’?” “It doesn’t! Shouldn’t! It’s like… like half his soul just isn’t there!” “You are saying that you can’t take my soul because half of it is already gone? That makes no sense.” “No, it’s… You can’t just ‘take’ someone’s soul. Their soul is literally them in basically every way that counts. A person’s soul is bound to them as strongly as anything can be bound to anything. To take it, you either have to get the person to voluntarily relinquish that bond (whether they realize it or not) or you have to get them to commit a sin that is contrary to their sense of self to ‘loosen’ the bond (it helps if the sin is aligned to your demonic essence). It can actually get pretty nuanced because virtuous people are harder to convince to sin, while habitual sinners need a comparatively bigger sin to ‘knock their soul loose’. Having just half your soul means that the rest is anchored somewhere else, which means that I would need to loosen THAT bond as well before it will go anywhere!” “What I’m hearing is that our… other demon… isn’t going to have any more luck taking Max’s soul that we are.” “Well, yeah, but I just don’t understand!” Alya threw her hands in the air. “I mean, I’ve heard of this kind of thing, but it’s so rare it’s like an infernal urban legend! Sure you get artists ‘putting their soul into their work’ all the time, but that’s like a sliver at most! Something barely missed and easily restored in a week tops with a halfway decently healthy lifestyle! The number of people who can fully dedicate that much of their soul to ANYTHING are almost unheard of, and the side effects would have been debilitating! Forget the effort you put into your video games, this would have had to be on the level of a magnum opus the likes of which could never be repeated in your lifetime and involving an effort that would have nearly killed you!” “Max was hospitalized from acute exhaustion after completing my construction and programming,” Markov supplied. “He was placed on three months of required bed rest and fluids before he was declared fit to return to school and was on a strict enforced sleep and rest schedule for a year before doctors proclaimed him fully recovered.” Alya, Juleka, and Max all blinked. “I recall that. I remember feeling like it had all been worth it because you were completed.” “I too am grateful to have been completed.” “Yeah,” Alya admitted after a moment, “that would probably do it.”

-

RIpp nice job!

[aerial-jace]

Figuring out cat ages: The Followers of the Sun Trail

So, y’all remember that fic concept I threw out? Yeah, I decided I want to actually write it. But first, I need to figure out some cat ages because if we’re touching on the kithoods of Clear Sky and Gray Wing I need to have some sense of who are their peers and who are their seniors. I’m deciding to throw it out to the internet just in case anyone has thoughts of their own or can smack me with some textual evidence of why I’m wrong. Also, it’s just fun to map out cat ages and relationships, I’m having way more fun than I’ve ever had with this kind of prepwork for some reason.

For reference, let me throw some useful pages from the Warriors wiki: here’s the allegiances for The Sun Trail, and here’s a timeline of events of the whole series. I’m cross-referencing these with my own copies of the DotC books in case anything sounds fishy but by and large I trust the wiki.

For this particular post, I want to trace mostly the ages of the Followers of the Sun Trail, that is to say: Shaded Moss, Rainswept Flower, Tall Shadow, Moon Shadow, Cloud Spots, Dappled Pelt, Turtle Tail, Shattered Ice, Quick Water, Bright Stream, Hawk Swoop, Jackdaw’s Cry, Falling Feather, Clear Sky, Gray Wing, and Jagged Peak. Other than our protagonists we have very little evidence of any of their ages, but I like to think the group skews young adult which for the sake of these being cats I’m defining as around 1 to 2.5 years old. There are certainly older adults as well as younger members of the group, but the vast majority of ages will be in this range.

Future posts will touch on the ages of the rest of The Tribe of Rushing Water at this point in time as well as any parental relationships for cats who would’ve been kits within the timeframe of the story. I’m just going to say it up front, I’m going to just ignore fathers when figuring out families (aside from the one canonical father given I guess) because it’s less of a headache and I like the idea of queens just not being required to disclose parentage.

First off, our protagonists and their siblings!

Gray Wing and Clear Sky are noted to have been kits just last sunny season which the wiki interprets as them having been born in Greenleaf. I don’t particularly like this because that means that at maximum the two are about 8 moons old which... I don’t know it seems kinda young for them. I think a more sensible solution is to have them be around 12 moons/1 year old (we’re rounding down the 12.34 lunations a year for simplicity’s sake). I think it’s pretty reasonable for the journey down the mountains to have taken approximately one moon, with Newleaf just starting by the time they arrive. If Gray Wing and Clear Sky were born within the last moon of Leafbare, that would mean they are under 6 moons old (what the series takes as a benchmark of the transition out of kithood, though that may be a later cultural thing for the clans) for 2 out of the 3 moons of Greenleaf (again, working with simpler whole numbers) and I think that fits.

Now Jagged Peak and Fluttering bird are noted to have been born in the cold season which the wiki interprets as Leafbare and, yeah, no argument there. However, noting the fact that I take the journey to take the last moon of Leafbare, that would make the two a whole 2 MOONS OLD! Holy shit, Jagged Peak is a fucking infant by the start of the journey, just barely having been fully weaned! It’s honestly crazy how Quiet Rain just kind of accepted the fact he was gone and just sent out her son as the only means of protection. I would’ve been going feral in her place trying to get back my child!

Ahem, so that small freakout aside, I wanna talk about Shaded Moss, the leader of the group, next. However, he has a daughter, Rainswept Flower, and I can use her age as a benchmark for determining her father’s age. I like to think, for no particular reason, that she is 1.5 years old and just for the sake of making the numbers look nice I think I’m assigning Shaded Moss an age of 3 years old. That sounds about right.

Talking about the adults of the group, Cloud Spots! I want him to be somewhat older than Shaded Moss, perhaps by a year or two, so that sets our age range at about 4 to 5 years old. Considering the timeline says that the events of Dawn of the Clans take place over about 4 years (though for some reason the Shadowstar’s Life novella is still not included in the timeline and that seems to take place after the last events listed in the DotC era), I think it’s believable that he lived that long and is headed for retirement just as soon as he finishes mentoring his apprentice, Shivering Rose, who appeared in Thunderstar’s Echo.

So, for family relationships we have 2 sibling pairs which I believe while not explicitly stated are meant to be read as being littermates: Tall Shadow & Moon Shadow, and Jackdaw’s Cry & Falling Feather. Considering Tall Shadow is Shaded Moss’s second in command I like to think she’s closer to him in age so perhaps we can go with that upper limit of what I’m counting as young adult and have her and her brother at 2.5 years old. Now, for Jackdaw’s Cry & Falling Feather the best evidence we have is that the allegiances describe them as “young”. This is like... really vague and the fact there is a need to mention it implies to me they’re the youngest in the group, baring Jagged Peak. I think the most interesting choice would be to have them be a season younger than Clear Sky and Gray Wing, putting them at 9 moons old.

Now let’s talk about the love interests, Bright Stream and Turtle Tail! I want them to be older than our protagonists but still young enough that they would’ve spent a significant amount of time together as kits. I want to have them somewhere within the 13-15 moons old range just for the sake of having them be older than Clear Sky and Gray Wing but not by much, not really settled on a particular age. I also like the possibility of Turtle Tail being Dappled Pelt’s littermate so I’ll have her at 13-15 moons old too. We'll see if they remain sisters once I start having to figure out mothers for all the kits that will be running around when the story begins with Gray Wing and Clear Sky’s birth.

And last of the Followers of the Sun Trail I actually have any strong opinions on age about, Hawk Swoop, Jackdaw’s Cry’s mate. I think the best would be to have her be around the same age as Clear Sky and Gray Wing for the same reason I settled on Bright Stream and Turtle Tail’s age, plus the fact she’s not described as young. So she’s going to be at 12 moons old. I don’t think this is a particularly problematic age gap since there’s a whole 2 seasons in between them setting out for the journey and having Acorn Fur and Lightning Tail, time by which they are both within my somewhat arbitrarily designated category of young adult cats. So, yeah.

And to get them out of the way, Shattered Ice and Quick Water. I’ll just throw out the number 21 moons/1.75 years old. I think this range of ages within the spectrum was a bit empty so I’m just plopping them there.

[echodrops]

I’m obviously late to the tumble party... but I stumbled across your Notagami Essays posts and they are absolutely Fabulous! Love your writing and the amount of detail you go into :)

So I figured you may be a good person to ask - if you just had to guess (bc as far as I know it’s never been officially confirmed?) but if you had to take a guess or give a rough estimate, how old do you think Yato was when he first met Sakura? We know he’s estimated to be at least a thousand years old, we know he’s - from the start of the series to present - estimated to be somewhere between 18 and his early 20s (physically)... but I can’t find a single thing/discussion/post/stickynote/whatever where it talks about how old he might have been when he first met Sakura - let alone the emotional/psychological effects of Sakura coming into his life and introducing healthy mindset/morals/maternal-influence etc. etc. (obviously no mom and Father’s neglect played a big role in him not knowing how inappropriate it was for him to ‘accidentally touch’ and yell “boobs!” but you can also just say he was so young he didn’t know how inappropriate that was?) My point is: how old do you think Yato was (physically anyway) at the time of their meeting? and Do you know of any discussions or care to share your opinion on how being the no more than the age of blank affected his mental/emotional understanding of Sakura teaching him a new narrative?

Sorry this is a random out of the blue ask 😅😓 if I rambled on and you don’t feel like answering, I get it, just figured it was worth asking :)

I fell down a serious rabbit hole trying to see if I could figure out the answer to this question about Yato’s age but unfortunately I’m mostly coming up empty-handed.

The answer to this question actually depends on two different pieces of information which--as far as I can remember--we’ve never actually been given for certain.

1) We would need to know when Yato was actually born.

The manga has kind of hinted at a total (not physical) age for Yato in the flashbacks which showed him as a young child during the Heian era (putting him somewhere in the vicinity of a little over 1000 years old) and Father not making masks before ~1100 years ago, but the problem is we still don’t know how many years might have passed between this scene (the youngest we’ve ever seen Yato):

And the next flashback scene, where Yato meets Nora:

If gods age normally when they are children, these two scenes might be only a handful of years apart. But if gods don’t age normally, then these two scenes could be decades or centuries apart, which leads to the other missing piece of information (under the read more to save people’s dashes):

2) We would need to know the aging process for gods who are just born/reincarnate.

Up to this point in the manga, we’ve only seen two gods reincarnate--Ebisu (who reincarnated too recently to really help answer this question) and Takemikazuchi. The implication of Takemikazuchi’s backstory is that his shinki forced him to reincarnate and then hid his reincarnation from all of Heaven. The only way they could have kept other gods from noticing that Takemikazuchi had reincarnated would have been by not allowing him to go out at all until he had grown enough to match his previous reincarnation in appearance. This seems to suggest that gods probably do age normally when they are children--hiding Takemikazuchi away for ~20 years seems a lot more likely than being able to hide him away for centuries, after all... (I also feel like I have very vague recollection of some scene in the manga where someone comments on Takemikazuchi not having been around for a “few years,” but it’s been so long since I reread I can’t recall if this is a real moment from the manga or just me misremembering.) 

Overall, however, based on what we’ve seen in the manga, my guess would be that when they’re young, after just being born or being reincarnated, gods age pretty normally. This would suggest that, for the first few years at least, the physical and mental ages of reincarnated/newly born gods actually overlap; baby Ebisu acts like a little kid because he is, in fact, both mentally and physically a little kid.

That would mean that, for all intents and purposes, Yato’s physical and mental ages lined up when he was young and meeting Sakura, and he acted like a little kid because he really was just a little kid, god or not.

(Detour for a second though: 

This line always struck me as interesting in that it might, just might, give us a more specific timeframe for Yato’s “birth”: although the constellations, of course, are visible in the sky every single year, this particular combination of concepts (kanoto-tori, yin metal rooster) is known much more commonly as one of the sixty years on the cyclical Chinese calendar, also used in Japan. Counting back on the calendar, 961 A.D. was a yin metal rooster year and would align just about right for what we know about the timeframe in which Yato later met Sakura (~970ish). Just referencing constellations doesn’t mean Adachitoka was pointing to a specific year, but it might have been another hint as to the timeframe of the flashbacks.

Okay, detour over.)

Anyway, without 100% confirmation on either of those pieces of information--when Yato was born and whether gods age at the same rate as humans after reincarnating--I don’t think it’s really possible to pin down Yato’s “real” age (physically or mentally) at the time he met Sakura. We mostly just have to estimate. 

Personally, based on his size and behavior at the time, I’d put him somewhere between seven and maybe up to ten, but the way Adachitoka draws characters kind of makes it impossible to judge their ages by appearance; Yato is about the same size as Nora when he meets Sakura, implying that he and Nora were around the same physical “age” at that time; meanwhile, Nora is later portrayed as being roughly the same age as Yukine, suggesting she was maybe 12-13ish years old when she died. So, despite being drawn tiny, it’s possible Yato was meant to be anywhere from a little kiddo (6-7) to all the way up to Nora’s age by the time he met Sakura.

But all that said, I think what you were really asking about was more the mental state Yato would have been in when he met Sakura and how his young age would have impacted his ability to change his world views, right? The answer to that is... complicated and could be approached a lot of ways. Coming from a background of working with and educating social work students, there are several common psychological theories of child development that might apply here, for example. 

I’d recommend checking out Erik Erikson’s psychosocial stages of development, though. 

(Pulled from here.)

I don’t have time to explain the entire theory with the complexity it might deserve, but the basic idea is that, as children develop, they experience a series of crises or challenges that they must overcome. Successfully overcoming each challenge results in successful psychological and social development; failing to overcome a challenge in childhood will result in long-term negative impacts later in the child’s life. (There are plenty critiques of this theory too, so don’t take this as gospel or anything--just a theory worth thinking about!)  

Given Father’s lack of interest in teaching Yato basic concepts of humanity, I would put Yato at approximately the “Initiative vs. Guilt” stage when he met Sakura. At this level of Erikson’s theory, children struggle with asserting themselves and developing a healthy sense of how their personal desires might conflict with the expectations and rules set out by others. In this stage, giving a child positive feedback for their actions teaches the child that those actions are “right,” while giving negative feedback teaching the child that their actions are wrong. In order to overcome this particular challenge, children need to begin taking initiative and aligning their actions with social standards; the child acts, and the parental figure reacts--through this process, children learn “I can do X thing but I cannot do Y thing.” 

When you hear things like “Children are cruel,” most often what people are referring to is that it takes time for children to learn empathy and to experience guilt when they cause harm to others; children do not natively understand the repercussions of their actions. It’s only through a process of testing the boundaries, of receiving praise or punishment, that children define what is “right” versus “wrong,” and begin to feel bad when they do something deemed wrong.

And this is pretty much word-for-word what we see Sakura teaching Yato.

If they have healthy role models and caretakers during this phase, children develop successfully. Successful children in this phase get their first taste of personal responsibility; unsuccessful children are (supposedly) plagued for years afterward by a sense of guilt and shame when their actions produce disapproval from everyone around them.

Yato... doesn’t exactly make it through this development stage unscathed, because he receives conflicting definitions of right and wrong from his Father an Sakura:

Which ultimately results in, years later, the Yato we know and love who still does his Father’s bidding to kill humans even though it fills him with a horrific sense of guilt:

Through his time with Sakura, I think it could also be argued that Yato moves into the next stage of Erikson’s theory as well, getting into the “Industry versus Inferiority” crises. 

Meeting Sakura brings out Yato’s true, deep down desire as a god: to help people. (I think it’s important to note that this isn’t something Sakura teaches him--it’s a quality Yato already possessed; it was explicitly Yato’s desire to please people that led to him murdering in his father’s name.)

Once he learns what makes people happy, Yato immediately pursues that with intense focus:

The primary goal of this phase of psychosocial development is to experience a sense of confidence in one’s actions. When children practice their skills, pursue areas where they are praised, and gain new skills and aptitudes through mentoring from healthy role models, they gain confidence in their ability to excel, to fit in with peers their age, and to create meaningful things. By encouraging Yato to pursue positive behaviors--playing peacefully with other children, appreciating natural beauty, and creating useful things like boots for the needy--Sakura moved Yato toward successfully completing this phase and developing a sense of confidence in his actions and his ability to achieve positive things in the world. 

Of course, Father cannot have that (because confident children with a sense of self-worth are much more difficult to abuse), so he puts an immediate end to Sakura’s influence over Yato in the most insidious way possible: although he clearly manipulated the situation to achieve Sakura’s death, out loud, he blames Yato, implying that Sakura’s death was all Yato’s fault, the results of Yato taking unwanted action “industry” and yet failing--creating a sense of “inferiority” instead.

This, of course, haunts Yato all the way to the present, as he--again and again and again--blames himself for things outside his control or failing to live up to expectations that no one in his situation (still being manipulated) could possibly hope to get “right.” 

Finally, you could say that Sakura’s presence is Yato’s life is ultimately what sows the seeds of the manga’s main plot up to this point, with Yato’s quest to create an entirely new identity for himself as a god of fortune instead of a god of calamity. Personally, I would say that Yato is currently still in this phase of development, still working out how to define himself and who he will ultimately become once he is finally free to decide on his own path in life. It was Sakura’s gentle influence--his desire to become the kind of god who could make her smile--that eventually sparked his conflict and finally led Yato to the brink of catastrophe. If he wishes to become the god Sakura told him he could be, he can no longer suffer his father to live.

So, long story longer, I think it can be argued that Yato meeting Sakura at such a young age is EXACTLY what made it possible for him to change, and exactly what has led to his crisis in identifying himself and redefining his sense of right and wrong. 

Uhhhh... I hope that answers your question!

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Ner naak (My peace)

Pairing : Din Djarin x earthling!reader

Warning : none

Summarize : Din Djarin meets you, an earthling, with no idea of the existence of an outer space. 

Words : 1795

A/n : Hello there! So here it is, the chapter 4! I feel that this chapter is very slow, I mean, the timeframe. I don’t know how many chapters this series will have because I want to keep it like this, in a slow motion. I hope you don’t mind! Otherwise, enjoy your reading!

Masterlist. // Ner naak Masterlist.

"Welcome to my home!" 

Din was observing your entrance from floor to ceiling. You could see him linger on certain features, such as the carpet under his feet or the vintage chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He seemed enthralled. Then he noticed a picture frame. Your family was there. You were there too, next to your father. He took it in his hand, looking carefully at the picture. 

"This is my family." You said. 

"Do they live here?" He was worried.

"No. My father died five years ago and my mother went to the mountains to get some fresh air. It's just me! "And your dog sniffed at you, jostling you slightly. "And Banjo, of course," you laughed. 

He put the picture back in its place as you got rid of your jacket and shoes in a closet. 

"Please make yourself at home, the bedroom is upstairs on the right and the bathroom's down the corridor, I'll make some food and..." 

"You don't have to." He cut you off. 

"Huh, aren't you hungry?" You asked.

"No, just for the little one." He said. 

You were puzzled for a moment and suddenly you heard his stomach grumbling. You raised an eyebrow, with a slight smirk on your face. 

" Your stomach said the opposite. Don't worry, I love to cook, so for two or three it makes no difference. "You said. 

"No, I, huh, I can't." He said. 

"You on a special diet? No problem, I can adapt, tell me..."

"That's not..." He sighed. "I can't take my helmet off." 

" So, you're really stuck in there?" You teased. 

"Sort of." He agreed. 

It made you smile, but you understood. You invited him to venture further into your little house, offering to settle down in your living room. 

"I'll prepare a tray for you." He was about to protest, but you stopped him in his tracks. "I'm going to bed early, I'm exhausted and then tomorrow I'll get up early to get all the pieces for your ship, you'll have the house all to yourself." You finished as you headed towards the kitchen. 

Din felt like an idiot. An idiot because he was grateful to you for accepting his condition so easily. He didn't know how he could repay you, he had no idea, so he felt like an idiot for having to accept kindness from an earthling. Especially from an earthling, in fact. The rumors were so unfounded that they were becoming ridiculous around you. He wanted to return the favour, he wanted to thank you but not knowing how, drove him crazy. 

And then you suddenly stuck your head out of the kitchen door. 

"By the way, I knew I'd forgotten something... My name is y/n!" 

He said nothing but nodded. You left to take care of the meal, but a few minutes later, when you didn't hear him say his name back, you put your head back in the doorway. 

"I guess if I can't see your face, I can't know your name, but what can I call you?" You asked. 

Your eyes literally burned with goodwill and it was the first time Din felt deeply touched by it. He laid the child comfortably on the sofa before he joined you in the kitchen. 

"Mando." he said. 

"Mando?" you asked back. "It's fine with me." 

You were focused on the meal, a number of ingredients were spread out on the table and you seemed to know exactly which ingredients mixed perfectly with one another. Din watched you juggle with ease between the kitchen tools. It has been a very long time since he has seen someone cooking and watching you do it brought him back to the time when he was just a child. He had very little memory of the pre-war period, but he remembered the smell of a good homemade meal that was still steaming. 

You took one look at him and seeing him follow your actions with such interest made you smile. You wondered if he would like to help you and as you were preparing a quiche, a simple meal, you held a knife to him, pointing the leeks at the end of the table. 

"Would you mind cutting the leeks for me?" You said.

His helmet glinted with confusion. He looked at the knife, he looked at the green and white stems that you had shown then, he looked at you. Maybe you had misinterpreted his wish, but you were convinced that he wanted it. You could tell from the way he behaved. He had come closer to the table with one hand on the table and he had studied your every move carefully. 

He stared at you and the knife and then decided to take it gently. You smiled kindly at him, rummaging through a cupboard and pulling out a cutting board which you put in front of him, then you grabbed the leeks and brought them closer to him. 

"It's very simple," you began. "You cut here, at the edge of the green and the white part, then you cut the white part into small dice and you put them in there." You pointed to the colander.

He nodded slowly as if he was still trying to grasp what you were asking him and waited for you to lose interest in him before hesitantly giving his first cut. 

Your dog had decided to join you and he sat at Mando's feet, watching him attentively. Din was so focused in his task that he had not even noticed him until he felt an insistent look on him. He looked down at the dog, who seemed to mock Din's caution with these pieces of leek, which definitely did not look like small dice. 

"Stop looking at me." He said. 

Your dog's tail began to wag gently against the ground, and he tilted his head to the side, listening carefully to what Mando intended to say to him.

"Go away." he added. 

Din wasn't comfortable, but your dog had another idea in mind, and he moved even closer to Din, who slammed the knife against the table as he tried to move away from him. The jingling drew your attention and Mando turned to you, a question mark hanging on his helmet. 

"I think he wants you to pet him." You said, with a smile on your face. 

"To pet... him?" 

"Yes, scratch his head, he'll leave you alone afterwards." You said.

Mando lowered his head back to your dog. Banjo was still staring at him intensely. He'd come closer again, sitting up straight at Mando's feet, and Din obviously didn't know how to do it. Mando looked at you again and you nodded to encourage him while you finished mixing the ingredients together.

Din was looking at the dog. It was a very strange thing for him. Certainly not the strangest he'd ever seen, but strange in the way it behaved. He seemed very affectionate towards you and the child, affectionate and playful. But Din had also seen the fangs in his mouth when the animal had only yawned. 

He stared at the dog and slowly directed his hand to the top of his skull. Instinctively, he had tightened his fingers around the handle of the knife on the table as he hesitantly placed his gloved fingertips into Banjo's fur. He scratched it for a second before removing his hand and satisfied with the semblance of affection Mando had just given him, your dog went into the living room. 

"I told you." You said, with a smile on your lips.

You took the pieces of leek that were actually more chopped than diced and added them to the preparation before putting them in the oven. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Mando apologized for the state of the leeks. 

"No, thank you for preparing them." You said. 

You leaned against the counter before you stared at Mando. 

" Can I ask you a question?" You said.

Mando nodded. You were about to speak, but your mouth didn't seem to find the right question. In fact, you had so many that you didn't know where to start. How could you know where to start anyway? You were looking at someone from elsewhere. An elsewhere so vast, both frightening and magnificent. Mando was waiting for your question, but he could see you looking for the words you needed. He waited patiently for you to come out of your thoughts, but he noticed that you were lost in what you were supposed to ask him. 

"Why the helmet?" He ventured out. 

" Yeah, I think we'll start with that." You nodded quickly, relieved that he'd taken the lead. 

And then you listened to what he had to say. He didn't really go into details, but you knew enough to understand why he couldn't take his helmet off and where he came from.  And that was enough. At least for now. 

"It must be incredible." You said. 

Mando had sat in a chair during his story and you were checking if the quiche was cooked. Din didn't quite understand what you meant at first, so he kept quiet until you went on.

"I mean, to be able to travel in space. You know, everybody here dreams about it, but I don't think anybody's really ready for it. In fact, people aren't ready at all. They're so afraid of the unknown that they'd lose their minds just at the thought." You conclude. 

" Still, you seem okay. " Mando noted. 

"I don't count." you laughed. 

"Why?" 

You shrugged. Maybe it was because you never really felt at home. Maybe it was because you always felt like you were missing something, but you had never been able to put a finger on what it was. 

"Maybe I'm already part of the unknown." You joked.

You finally get the quiche out of the oven. Its perfume spread quickly around the room and you noticed Mando taking a deep breath. He enjoyed the light smell of the food and his stomach growled a little more at the thought of taking a bite of this homemade pie. 

"You don't sound like the rumors." Mando said. 

"The rumors?" You asked as you cut several slices of quiche. 

"About earthlings. There's a lot of stories about you." he said.

"How come the universe knows about us, but not us about you?"

Mando sighed. He knew why, and it saddened him that he had to tell you because you were far from what the rest of the galaxy was saying. 

"Earthlings are considered pets, stupid, self-centered, haughty and highly judgmental." Mando said. 

"At least that makes me feel better about one thing." You said.

"Which is?"

"Well, they're not so different from us after all." 

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[ms-demeanor]

After reading your "ultra-long postivity post", now I have kind of a weird feeling because i relate a lot to pretty much everything you said, but i ended up approaching the "not everyone can x" from the opposite side, being the "gifted kid" teachers used to hold everyone to unrealistic standards (that i knew most couldnt achieve in the given timeframes), and now i get frustrated when i dont develop skills immediately, because i have done it before and feel like i should be able to and aaaaaaaaaa

Funny story: when I was a kid my parents had both my sister and I tested for learning and developmental disabilities. This testing included IQ testing.

It identified that we were both “gifted” kids* and that I’m dyslexic.

It totally missed my ADHD, though!

The problem with that is that my parents. Hm.

Okay my parents both grew up in very poor families. VERY poor. And they both wanted to go to college and knew the only way that they could was through scholarships. So they became debaters. They met at a tournament in high school.

Debaters are weird. You need an efficient working memory and strong recall and the ability to think quickly on your feet. Being witty and kind of an asshole are also good traits for debaters. Basically you’ve either gotta be really fuck-off smart to be a competitive debater or you’ve gotta at least *seem* really fuck-off smart.

And my parents were champion debaters at a national level. The Whittier College debate trophy has my mom’s name written directly under Richard goddamn Nixon. My dad was on the USC debate team and competed against Harvard and won. Not only that but he ended up coaching debate for USC and Cal Tech.

So as kids who grew up in extremely poor families and were able to go to college and get middle-class jobs and buy a house because of intellectual ability my parents placed A LOT of importance on intellectual ability.

So that IQ score became a large part of my life.

First we attacked the dyslexia. The approach was basically teaching me a bunch of sight words because sounding out phonics doesn’t work when the letters get screwed up. And because I was *gifted* we did a lot of really BIG sight words.

It took about six months to get me up to speed from “memorizing the pages of a story to match the pictures because I couldn’t read along in class” to “the first book I read on my own was The Hobbit.” I guess that counted as “cured” because that was the last time I got any kind of educational assistance.

At that time I was at a gifted school, a really tiny private school that was also an after-school daycare where we did full-day classes and then did gymnastics and swim from 3-6pm. I also was there over the summer because my parents worked.

So going from “tiny private school where the teacher has you stand up in class to read your failing grade in front of everyone so that she could shame you into performing better” to “fine public school in a suburb wealthy enough to have arts programs” was a major, major change. They did an aptitude test because I was transferring in from a different district and there was much discussion about whether or not to move me directly from the second to the sixth grade.

The district refused, thank fuck.

The public elementary school didn’t *have* a gifted program so it took very little time for me to become the Certified Weird Kid. My third grade teacher had me read aloud to our class for twenty minutes a day. I taught the class the multiplication table.

When it got to be time to go to the junior high school my mom went to a meeting for the school’s gifted kids program. APPARENTLY one of the kid’s dad’s basically said “I don’t understand why you’re wasting school funds on field trips for the stupid kids, the school should spend more of its resources on kids who have a chance of actually meaning something to the world” and my mom decided that while being gifted was important it was less important than making sure I wasn’t exposed to assholes of that caliber on a regular basis.

(thanks mom, I actually do really appreciate that reprieve)

Several teachers pushed me into advanced classes - my math teacher insisted that I take the advanced algebra classes in the seventh and eighth grade.

The GATE kids *WERE* assholes and were extra bonus special assholes to me because math was the only advanced class that I was in. (At my junior high school you had to pick your elective based on what level of classes you were in - to take the GATE classes you HAD to take a music elective; if you took art, drama, shop, or home ec you couldn’t take the smart kid classes. The algebra class was a new, separate addition to the program so *some* of the kids in the “electives for dropouts” program could take algebra. Schools are really fucked up, guys, in case you didn’t know schools are really fucked up and that was BEFORE No Child Left Behind).

I got a C in that algebra class and sat in my room for literally an hour screaming at myself for being such a selfish, distracted idiot that I let myself read my books instead of studying harder for the class. (clearly very healthy, normal twelve-year-old behavior)

When it was time to go to high school my teachers made a united plea to the district to transfer me into honors/IB/AP classes.

The kids in the honors/IB/AP classes continued to be kind of awful to me. I got extremely depressed and basically started doing the lazy-but-brilliant thing of completely ignoring homework or in-class work but performing spectacularly well on tests or essays in the classes that I wasn’t catastrophically failing

I was the only person at the school who got a perfect score on the vocab part of my SAT. I was the only honors kid who hadn’t been in SAT prep classes. There was only one other kid who graduated with the same number of units as I had, we’d outstripped the valedictorian and salutatorian but three classes each. I only applied to one college - I got accepted for painting but my interviewer urged me to move to the writing program and I got accepted for that too.

My financial aid didn’t come through and my dad wasn’t willing to cosign for loans on “an art program at a trade school.”

I got accepted to Pratt Institute on their Writing for Publication track which included an internship with the New York Times for third-year students in the program.

At that point I had a Columbia Scholastic Press award for my work on my high school yearbook.

Let me tell you, the community college that I went to and spent five years variously failing and succeeding at had a fucking *killer* newspaper and magazine when I was there. The local community newspaper that hired me when I was 21 was also much better designed and edited than it had any right to be for the three years I worked there (getting paid a whole eight dollars an hour and sometimes working 20 hours straight to get it in to the printer on time).

When I transferred to the state school I got perfect grades and worked full time and won every contest offered by the school’s English Honors society (which I couldn’t join because I was a transfer student and hadn’t done honors classes my freshman and sophomore years). I started a literary magazine with some friends when I graduated; we published four full issues online before it fell apart.

You know what’s also funny?

Even the food-service job I had to pay my way though the community college I felt terrible about attending was a skills test. I was a barista, so of course for a while I was a competitive barista.

I disappointed my parents a lot. I heard a lot of “we know you’re better than this.” I got told I was too smart to be screwing up this bad. I mentioned it a couple weeks ago but my results from that IQ test got compared to my sister’s and that was the justification for holding me to a higher standard. “You’re measurably brilliant, why aren’t you acting like it?”

Here lies the corpse of a gifted kid. Look on my works ye might and despair.

I am the perfect picture of a twice exceptional gifted kid and the reason I wrote all of this out is to tell you one thing:

“Gifted Kid” is a label that someone applied to you, it has nothing to do with who and what you ARE.

It’s very, very unfair that the adults in your life used you that way. I have an exceptionally terrible memory of being singled out as the only one who passed the first test in my IB World History class; “Why is Alli the only one of all of you who is writing at grade level? You’re supposed to be the smartest kids in the school, why did you all fail?”

That’s awful for the kids around you, that’s awful for you. It doesn’t do anybody any favors if people around you are being informed that you’re setting the curve they’ll be judged against. And it really, really doesn’t do YOU any favors because it doesn’t take long *at all* for your brain to learn that that’s all you’re good for. If you aren’t the best at a thing then what’s the point, you HAVE to be best because they already SAID you were best and if you aren’t then all these other people hate you for setting a standard that even you can’t keep up with.

You end up competing with past versions of yourself and focusing on those things that make the grownups in your life praise you because the grownups in your life has praised you in such a way that it’s turned all the other kids against you.

You know who bullied the fuck out of me? The kids I taught the times tables to, the kids I read to for half an hour a day.

Those kids were MEAN to me but the teacher who told me to read Boxcar Kids to the class after lunch everyday was NICE and she told me not to worry, they were just jealous and I should be proud of my gifts.

“Anon did this in three minutes. What’s taking the rest of you so long?” - what a terrible weight to put on a child. You’re right. Not everyone can do everything.

Fucking hell.

Adults what the everloving shit is wrong with us? Please don’t treat kids like that.

Okay.

Okay.

But here’s the other thing:

If there’s any time in your life that it’s easy to acquire skills with no apparent effort it’s when you’re a child surrounded by a support system that is engaged in making sure that you can acquire those skills.

It took three adults, two dictionaries, and several hours a day to teach me enough sight-words to throw me into “look at baby genius*” territory but from my perspective as a little kid I was just reading cool stories.

I spent four hours a day in the yearbook room and ditched and failed other classes so that I could work on the yearbook. I collected hundreds of magazines to get an eye for layout. But from my perspective as a teenager it was a fun activity that I did with the closest thing I had to friends.

I’m sure that there are some skills that you had a natural aptitude for, some things that came naturally. But I’m also sure that you didn’t learn those skills with no effort, it’s just that now as an adult with a life and other shit going on it takes more effort to learn to do things.

In all likelihood you weren’t a savant who did everything perfectly the first time you tried. It just seems that way because even really smart kids don’t know when they’re bad at things and are mostly being compared against other kids (with the few rare exceptions of music prodigies or math prodigies or those kids who end up in science grad programs at 12 and boy howdy do I think there’s a whole other can of worms when it comes to the way child prodigies* interact with the world).

You wanna know what probably saved my life in the last few years?

That “anti-capitalist love notes” tumblr post.

You are worth more than your productivity.

You are worth more than your productivity.

You are worth more than your productivity.

I was actually kind of offended the first time I saw that post on my dash. “No I’m not,” I thought. “You’re only worth what you can do, everyone knows that. People care about what you do for them.”

And why the hell would I think anything else? That’s what I’d learned for pretty much my whole life.

It took me a really long time to understand that I was wrong. I matter outside of what I can do for people or how well I perform. I matter more than being able to perfectly recite poetry from memory or do calculations on command or sit down at a piano and play a piece I’ve never played by sight-reading it.

And you matter outside of that too. You’re more than your performance, you’re better than being gifted. There are people who love you for the way you make them laugh and how you listen to their stories and for the simple joy of your presence.

It’s nice to be clever, it’s handy in a lot of situations even if it does come with a lot of baggage for some people.

But god damn, it’s important to be kind.

* Personally I have issues with the way that society constructs the concepts of giftedness, genius, and prodigies. There are a lot of “gifted” kids who were the kids who scored in the top 5% of their class in school but there are also gifted kids who were doing high-level math or reading novels as toddlers; there are prodigies who showed an aptitude for music young and who were then schooled in that instrument to the exclusion of all other activities (and I bet there are a fair number of kids who might be considered prodigies if they were trained to play flute for nine hours a day and didn’t have friends but thankfully we don’t *do* that to very many people - side note, ask me my opinion about olympic athletes some time). Words like ���genius” and “gifted” are very nearly meaningless and almost *never* accurately reflect skills proficiency or long-term success or are reflected in income or respect. People think that geniuses are hypercompetent robots with their shit together but literally every adult I know with a genius-level IQ is some variety or other of total fucking tire fire.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Negative Space || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Following Lydia’s death, Morgan and Deirdre search for ways to pick up the pieces.

CONTAINS: discussions of death, dying, and grief. brief mentions of Lydia’s human captives.

“The clinic was a mistake.” Deirdre grumbled as she drove, hissing her complaints as she pulled the Subaru to a stop, massaging her temples in a desperate attempt to summon back her vision and the senses it offered. Her mind had been imprinted with the beeping and whirring of the clinic’s machines, the very same that had kept her sustained, and lent her the energy now to be driving at all; the doctor’s droll voice, asking her to stay another night, because she needed it; and the whispering of other fae, annoyed that a non-fae was in their presence, in their space, and her own voice, shushing them. She slept well, with Morgan in her arms and medicine in her body, but time had a horrible way of eating at memory, and a worse way of moving things around. Lydia’s body might not be in the alley she was murdered in anymore; if someone went to such lengths to kill her, they’d be disposing of her too. The two of them weren’t just too late, it was like they were operating on a whole other timeline. Deirdre hated it. She hadn’t touched the rest of her vision of Lydia’s death; the faces, the voices, the sounds and scents, those she wanted to save for when her mind needed them. Right now her mind needed a location...and a drink. Deirdre groaned and threw her head back. “If she was trying to leave town, then she should be here. But I’m not feeling anything.” She eyed her doctor-recommended crutches and then the sidewalk. “Maybe we should go by foot.”

“The clinic made you better,” Morgan mumbled. She didn’t especially enjoy being looked at like she was a dog wetting the living room, or being whispered about in Gaelic like she hadn’t made time to learn the words for ‘human’ and ‘filth’ online. But Deirdre had held her all night and she’d been able to follow the monitors tracking her recovery and listen to her heartbeat and believe, to an extent, that they would be okay. “I can pop out the wheelchair they gave us, if you want to take a swing around the next block or two,” she suggested. “I can take over driving, if it’ll help you concentrate. I won’t go so fast, or slow or…” Or whatever she’d done that had contributed to missing Lydia and her body. She knew by the light of day that there wasn’t much to be done about having a mental breakdown under the double trouble trauma, but having some responsibility meant she wasn’t completely helpless.

“Not the wheelchair,” Deirdre grimaced, turning the car off. “Anything but the wheelchair.” She didn’t have the energy to be wheeling herself around, and there was something deeply embarrassing about having Morgan push her. By comparison, the crutches were slightly less embarrassing, though still enough for her to forgo them as she stumbled out of the car. “Let me use you to lean on?” She called out, hobbling towards the passenger side to meet Morgan outside. “It’s better than anything else.” She smiled bright, and though she’d spent most of the car ride tensely silent or cursing at the air, even in her state, it wasn’t hard to see Morgan wasn’t doing well. Lydia’s death was a rumbling echo, but time had moulded her sadness into anger—her depression to urgency; guilt to stubbornness. She hadn’t asked what plagued Morgan, she’d almost forgotten to. Maybe she didn’t conduct the same alchemy of emotions that Deirdre did. “Do you want to take another break, my love?” She asked, for all her desperation to find Lydia, she was continually astonished and horrified at the ease in which she could offer pause and rest to Morgan. Caring for her girlfriend was not a task that she deliberated on, or regretted, she only hoped that Lydia beyond the grave didn’t hate her too much for wanting to care for the woman she loved. Even if respite was the last thing she wanted. The clinic had been agreeable only because pain and medication captured her brain, if they stopped now, she would start thinking. In that moment, Deirdre could think of no greater torture—except, of course, everything Lydia endured. But that was just it; that was the thinking. “We can think of this as a nice stroll if you’d like. Like we’ve always taken.”

“Sorry. I just thought…” The wheelchair would be faster, smoother, easier on Deirdre’s hands and the rest of her body. Morgan could wheel them around in a few minutes. Even sidewalks without accessible ramps wouldn’t be a problem with her zombie strength. She was three days without a meal now and could bust through or lift most things she put her mind to. “Anyway, you should at least bring your cane. I’ve already ordered a nicer one, but it’s not going to come in for a couple of days.” She stumbled over her words to appease Deirdre’s hardened grief so much she almost missed her love’s gentle offer. “Of course you can lean on me, if that’s what you want,” she said. Her eyes nearly watered at Deirdre’s smile. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours out from when she had stopped breathing in her arms, since she had run and disappeared and fallen apart in bloody pieces and stopped speaking to her altogether unless it was to give instructions. As Morgan got out of the car to meet her girlfriend and pull her into her arms (gently, so as not to upset her healing sores), she couldn’t help but feel like some part of her was still cowering in the driveway, stuck to the ground with all that blood. “We don’t need to stop,” she said into Deirdre’s shoulder, carefully giving her a squeeze. “I know we need to do this. I know why we’re here. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll--” She shivered. “I’ll do it. I’m doing a lot better today, and I can carry you if you get tired, and I um…” She couldn’t think of anything else to specifically offer. She looked up into Deirdre’s eyes, promising her anything with desperate intensity. I’ll be good. I’ll find a way to make this better.

Deirdre glanced over at the shoddy stick, more tree branch than cane. The fae enjoyed their ties to nature, Deirdre would sooner use the crutches—which were grey and dull but notably not dirt-stained. “I...think I’d rather just lean on you.” Even in sickness, there were standards to be upheld. And while Deirdre found a measure of humour in it, she looked to her girlfriend to see that she didn’t. “We have time,” she smiled softly. They really didn’t, her stomach churned and her mind battled with her to assert a timeframe. They didn’t have time, except that Deirdre smiled as though they did, and spoke slow, measured, as though there was no rush. She pressed her body beside Morgan’s, just the way the two of them knew how to walk tangled in each other, with added weight against the zombie’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” she gestured for them to walk forward with a careful pace, seemingly unbothered. She felt fractured; there was the part of her that cared so deeply for Morgan that even against her own desperation, she could summon whatever kindness Morgan needed. And the part that burned for Lydia; the slow growing storm that just wanted to find her. In these moments, it was easy for her to remember that Morgan was suffering too. When left to herself, everything else seemed to slip her mind. Storms were often consuming, but she had practice taming them. “We can talk about it, if you want; whatever’s bothering you. Besides the obvious, I guess.” She laughed weakly, staring up at the sky. Something about the early morning air was always acrid, it stung her eyes, but it was of great importance to her that they left the clinic as soon as she woke up. She’d forgotten to ask what Morgan thought. “I’m sorry I haven’t been exactly…” she looked to Morgan with her own desperation. “...like I should be. I just want to find Lydia, I just want to get to her.” Deirdre shook her head, sighing. “You’ve been very good to me, despite everything. And I haven’t even thanked you for it. I’m sorry, my love. Will you let me ask after you now?”

“O-obvious?” Morgan wasn’t sure what counted as obvious and what didn’t. She averted her eyes and started to hobble with Deirdre the way she wanted to go. “No, we can just…” Morgan swallowed thickly, trying to summon up some wall to put between herself and the fear and guilt she didn’t know how to relocate. But she was always herself around Deirdre. She didn’t know how to pretend around her, even if it was what would help the most. “You don’t have to be anything more than how you are. We can go find her, we don’t have to stop for anything, I’m sorry if I’m...I’m not trying to hold everything up, I don’t mean to be so…” Her eyes were burning again and she tried to focus on walking with Deirdre. She never would’ve thought walking up and down their house wrapped up in each other would come in handy before. But here they were, stepping in the way they knew so well, enough that Morgan could remember how they usually were. Not the happiness, but the ease, the intimacy of their openness.

Morgan met Deirdre’s eyes for a flash of a moment, hoping that she could be good and find whatever strength she needed, however unfamiliar, to pull herself up and help Deirdre find what she needed to. But as Morgan held her gaze, the tears came free and her insides crumbled. “You don’t need to thank me, or be sorry. Honestly, I don’t really feel like I--” she hesitated. “I know I...I tried, I did, but I screwed it up...” she clenched her jaw and tried to keep her composure as much as possible and brought them slowly to a stop near a sidewalk bench. “I know I can’t do anything to fix what happened, but if I could just do something to make any of this better or easier for you…” She clenched her jaw and breathed again. “I know you’re angry. And I know I’m at least partially responsible for us being in this situation. But…I’m sorry. I feel like I’m making everything worse right now. I should be comforting you. You shouldn’t have to worry about me after losing your best friend, your family, but...you were gone. I got off the floor and you were gone and then you were bleeding and you wouldn’t tell me anything and you wouldn’t stay or take me with you and...I should’ve just gotten the car, fucking stars above, I should’ve just gotten in the car and picked you up and maybe then we… but I just thought ‘she couldn’t have gone far, we’ll figure it out.’ I didn’t understand what was happening, and...you were dying! You went from running away to looking me in the eye and saying you weren’t going to live and then you couldn’t walk or use your hands and there was so much blood everywhere and I was scared! Out-of-my-mind scared! I would do everything different now, I would, but...I didn’t know anything except that the world was ending. You were dying and it was the end of everything and I was scared and it broke me. I didn’t even realize you’d gotten up after the call, you were just gone, and nothing felt real anymore and I couldn’t...be what you needed. I tried, but I couldn’t. And I’m still--between failing you and almost losing you on the fucking driveway with no warning, I’m just not back together yet...” her voice petered out. Morgan could only just push through her shame to look at Deirdre again, searching for someplace safe in her gaze to hole up in.

“Lydia, I mean….” Deirdre breathed with trepidation; confessing the truth so bluntly was not something she had grown accustomed to in the time between her scream and now. She would have preferred, in fact, to never speak of it. But such wasn’t fair--Lydia deserved to be spoken of, remembered, loved. Even if it would just be her who held the leanan-sidhe in her heart. She frowned and anchored herself to Morgan’s side, pressed as tightly as she could manage. With great imagination, she could pretend this was one of their strolls around White Crest, at some point they’d turn a corner and make their way into a cemetery. But the gravestones in her head all read Lydia’s name. “You didn’t screw anything up…” She fell on to the bench, gesturing for Morgan to sit beside her, nearly pulling her down too. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, my love. I wouldn’t have gotten myself anywhere on foot, you know that, and it is true that my body needed rest. You can imagine the state I would be in now if you hadn’t chased after me.” Deirdre tried to laugh, the gentle, light way she did when she wanted to lift Morgan’s spirits, but the sound came out as a cough. And then another. And then a tug, taut and strange in her chest. She grimaced, leaning forward to clutch the rough fabric of the clinic-lent sweatshirt she was wearing---equally as gaudy as the cane and wheelchair. Morgan’s voice throbbed in her ears, she made out a few sentences and a handful of words. Distantly, she knew Morgan was talking about her near-death, and the trauma that followed it, but her head pulsed; vision spotty. “You don’t need to...do anything...different…” She spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. I don’t need you to be anything but how you are. It’s oka---” The cemetery with the Lydia gravestones screamed at her, ringing loud and demanding. Deirdre stumbled off the bench. She stared down the road, watching it narrow. The pull she had been searching for was clear, and it was persistent. It tethered her, strung her limbs up and pulled her like a doll.

If she was thinking, she’d realize it was in poor taste to be running off again. But she wasn’t thinking, she was sprinting down a foregin street. Pain forgotten, she burst forth with temporary speed and composure. “Morgan!” She called her girlfriend’s name just once before she turned the corner. The cemetery. The Lydia gravestones. They lived in a nameless alley; not that alley’s often had names, but she’d make sure people knew this one--the place where good died. Deirdre stumbled into it, filled with perverse relief to find Lydia. To find Lydia. To find--Where was Lydia? Deirdre threw herself to the ground, equal parts frantic and too weak to hold herself up. Where was Lydia? She committed herself to vision, to everything her death-cursed body could drum up.      

Morgan thought the clinic and the waking up and the sitting tensely in the car was a trick and this really was a magic nightmare drummed up to torment her. Deirdre coughed, ragged and painfully unlike herself. Morgan scrambled for the water bottle in her bag and handed it off to Deirdre. “Drink slowly, babe,” she whispered. “Slow, okay?” She felt brave enough, forgiven enough, to stroke Deirdre’s cheek the way she liked to when it was her turn to comfort her. But Deirdre shuddered and sank against her body. “I’ve got you. What is it? Hey—” And then Deirdre was up, running away from her again, knocking her way through the street, drunk with pain. “Deirdre! Deirdre, please!” Morgan didn’t care about the pedestrians turning their heads to look at the crazy woman shoving past them. She was just seeing their street and the trail of blood and Deirdre’s dead, icy look. Morgan couldn’t do this again. She didn’t have it in her.

Morgan turned the corner and caught Deirdre’s hand as she called her name. “I’m here. Tell me what’s happening, just fucking tell me, I don’t even care what it is!” She pleaded, falling to her knees with Deirdre, holding her up in her arms. “Are you in more pain? Do I need to drive you back to the clinic? What do you—did you find something?” She brushed back her love’s hair, searching her face for some tell about what new twist of the cosmic knife was working through them this time. She held onto Deirdre, too tight for her to break away from easily. “Please. I can take it. Just talk to me…”

Where was Lydia? Deirdre burned, clawing at her skin with bandaged fingers. She felt cut upon cut across her chest, the weight of wounded wings she didn’t own, spear through her shoulder. She felt Lydia’s pain, splashed up against the walls and spilled across the floor, but she didn’t know where she was. Her body took flash fever, starting at her knees against the ground. Where was Lydia? She heard voices, saw figures in the dark of her vision–one, two, three...just how many people had watched Lydia die? How many of them caused it? At the center, a blonde girl flared to mind, but Deirdre already knew about her; had already committed herself silently to dealing with it. She began to paw at the ground. Perhaps Lydia had been buried below, somehow, but she searched and searched and found nothing. Her body burned.

Deirdre blinked, turning slowly to her girlfriend. The apology for her actions that wanted to sit on her tongue had been swallowed down. She took dirt and ash into her hands, letting them stain once pristine bandaging before peeling Morgan off of her. The process was slow, she was in no rush now. She had found Lydia, after all. Once unfurled, she opened Morgan’s palm and dusted ash against her skin. “That’s Lydia,” she said, “we found her.” Deirdre turned back to the ground, the ash was nearly indiscernible from the rough cement, but she leaned down and scooped it all up into a pile—every grain of dirt along with it. In time, by hand, she would pick everything that wasn’t Lydia out. For now, she just wanted it all. She thought she could mold her back, like clay. She tried it; holes for the eyes first. But the nose wouldn’t stick. “How is she going to wear something nice, for the funeral?” She asked, “what if she wanted to be buried? Didn’t they ask her? Didn’t they think about her family? This is all they get to see of her now. Who would want that? Who would want ashes?” In her scraping the ground, the charred remains of Lydia’s phone mixed with the pile. Deirdre plucked it out. There was Lydia, pile on the floor, and this was the place she died. This was the place she saved Deirdre’s life. And they gave her ashes. “Didn’t they know…” she sobbed, unaware she had begun tainting the ash with her tears (she would apologize for this later, seek repentance in the familiar places she knew). “....didn’t they know? Didn’t they know that I loved her. Why would they—what did they think I would do with a body? Couldn’t they have just left her in a river or—“ Deirdre curled up on the ground, pulling Lydia to her chest. There wasn’t much left of her now, even with the ash; a byproduct of the time she wasted (she would apologize for this too). “She couldn’t stand looking at a dead body, not the beautiful decayed kind. But I think she—I think she wanted a coffin. Didn’t they ask her? Why didn’t they ask her?” Deirdre sobbed, a horrible and pathetic whimpering sound, but she knew the answer.

Morgan tried to fasten Deirdre’s hands together in her grasp to no avail. “No! If you can leave me behind like I don’t matter you can use your fucking words and tell me what’s happening!” She shook her, aching and desperate, but Deirdre was somewhere else, and nothing Morgan said meant a damn thing, if they’d even registered as words at all. And then she spoke and all of Morgan’s fear and grief punctured, crawling miserably into some dark corner inside herself to hide. There wasn’t time for this. If Deirdre was right (and when it came to death, Deirdre was always right), then Morgan didn’t get to matter right now. She quieted and let Deirdre have her way, carefully folding away her hurt in box after box to fester out of sight.

Morgan had never looked at flesh ash before. Somehow she thought it would look different, more distinct and impressive. But aside from being a little paler, there wasn’t anything to differentiate it from the dregs of a regular bonfire. Morgan closed her hand around the grainy nothing Deirdre had put in her hands. Lydia. If she hadn’t been an alchemist in another life, she wouldn't know the connection between these little particles and the woman they had both known. But Morgan did, just as she knew that whatever kind of soul fae had, Lydia’s was off becoming part of something else. Strangely enough, Morgan couldn’t find it in her to hope for peace for Lydia so much as a second chance, an opportunity to be kind, to understand that the world wasn’t stratified the way she’d been raised to believe, to feel connected to the affection that had vanished from her life over its final weeks. That’s what Morgan wanted.

But death didn’t care for wanting. Deirdre had explained that to her plenty of times. And as Morgan held her girlfriend, rubbing her back and stroking her hair as she sobbed, she reminded herself that she was part death too. She could hold and speak and not want anything. She could, if she remembered the pit inside her and let it take her a little. After watching her tiny world implode on a loop so many times in less than a day, it was almost easy. “I don’t know, my love. I’m afraid I don’t know.” she said faintly. “But I do know that her soul and her energy have already passed on and transformed. Maybe she’s in the winter flowers, or the wind, or some happy, gentle creature that was just born. But we can put what’s left of her in a nice urn, maybe something from her house. I don’t think she’d mind her house pieces being with someone who can appreciate them. Or we could get an alchemist to turn her into something you can keep with you always. She would like her body turning into something beautiful, I think. When you’re ready, you’re going to finish the water bottle, and I’ll clean it out and we’ll put her in there for the time being. And we’ll go home, and you’ll decide what you think is best for her remains when you’re ready for that too.”

“There’s no winter flowers in an alley!” Deirdre bellowed, rumbling the world around them. Her tears felt like fire against her cheeks now, and she pushed herself off the ground. “This stupid man-made shit. She doesn’t get to go anywhere! Not back to the earth that bore her, not the forests of her ancestral home. This human garbage is what she gets. You can’t grow a tree in cement! They killed her here! And they didn’t even leave a body.” Deirdre slammed her fist to the ground, shattering bone on impact and undoing her body’s attempts at healing her torn nails; she reacted to neither, an instrument of pain and anger. “You don’t know what they did to her,” she spoke to Morgan now, trembling in the force of her words. “We didn’t even get to hear all of it. But I saw, I heard, I know. They took Lydia from this world, she begged and they ignored her and now she’s ash. She didn’t want to die this way. And I promised her, I promised her—“ ‘A good death’ shouldn’t have been something impossible to give. It was her job, her livelihood; everything she was born for. “She was my sister and they took her.” Deirdre huffed, calming herself just enough to remember who she was speaking to, and what had been said. “Not unless you can dry it all out,” she gestured at the water bottle, gently taking it with her good hand. If drinking water would please Morgan, she would do it, but the point of the gesture was lost on her now. “Water will ruin the ashes. Or taint them. Nothing touches Lydia anymore, nothing that will hurt her. No water.” She took a sip, hissing as it went down. Drinking water felt like a waste of time, so much so that she stopped at just the first sip. “And no home. We go to Lydia’s.” Deirdre pulled off her sweatshirt, pushing the ashes onto the fabric. She considered that the water bottle just might have been better, but she wanted everything and she wanted it pure. “No one will be turning her into anything, not unless I know I can still feel her like that, and, anyway, not a human. I’m not letting another human touch her. Her family will decide what’s best. I’ll leave that to them.” A work of art might’ve sounded good to Deirdre, if her mind could bear to stir itself from thoughts of rage. “Are you good to drive?” She asked Morgan, speaking mostly to the ash though. “We can take a break, if you don’t want to. But we’re not going home. I don’t want to go home now. We need to go to Lydia’s, as soon as we can. Time—“ she snarled, “—clearly has done terrible things to my sister.”

Morgan took back the water bottle as soon as Deirdre made her disgust for the idea apparent. She had dumped out the rest and begun cleaning it with her sleeve when Deirdre dismissed the idea. Morgan stopped, screwed on the lid, and put the empty bottle away. Nothing to do about it now. Taking off the sweatshirt from the clinic was a stupid mistake. The ash would get caught in the fibers and almost impossible to fully separate. Some of Lydia’s remains would end up in the wash, or some cotton blend would end up in her urn, or whatever happened in the end. And Deirdre shouldn’t have promised a good death, not when she knew from Morgan’s death that sometimes there wasn’t time enough to fix anything. But nothing in Morgan’s head mattered, and nothing broke the surface of her blank face except a ‘fine,’ and later, when the silence had been long enough to make Morgan sure that Deirdre was finished, she said flatly, “You just re-broke your hand, of course I’m driving. We’ll go to Lydia’s and then swing by the clinic again.” Deirdre didn’t have enough clarity of mind to set her own bones, and she probably couldn’t, with her fingers in their state. She scooped Deirdre up in her arms and walked them back to the car. She buckled both of them in, started the car, and took them away.

Time washed away funny when you were in the pit. It was both a long time and a short time back into town and up to Harris Island. The light had changed, bright and desaturated. Morgan pulled up the drive and turned off the car and came wordlessly around to wait for Deirdre to let herself out whichever ways she was going to insist on next. Deirdre had been right about time, the air crackled with the sound of tarp bubbling in the wind. New windows still had the stickers on them, ready for the final approval that would never come. At least the security team was absent, now lacking someone to follow and crime scene tape had been strung around the perimeter. Morgan only needed to twist the handle hard enough to break it free and let them in.

Deirdre hated being carried, despite its convenience. It made her feel like a child, and of all the things to be, a child was the worst. But she did not argue this time, she had her eyes glued to Lydia, and they remained there. In the car, which she hadn’t noticed they’d gotten into, she tried whispering her friend’s name, as if coaxing her out of her ashen hiding place. Then she spoke to her softly in Gaelic, mostly nonsense, but partly apologies she could not find the words for in English. Every so often, she subjected herself to the vision again, this time she took account of every detail. She had been cataloguing sounds by pitch by the time they came to Lydia’s. “We’ll be back,” she told the ashes, which was a silly thing to do, but Deirdre’s mind had gone to a strange place. A different place. She made sure Lydia was comfortable before she left, wrapped safe in the cheap sweatshirt. Inside, there would be nice vases for Lydia to go in until she found a more permanent home. It would be better than her shirt, at least. Deirdre looked at the ashes. “Do you want to come?” She asked them. They did not respond, but she turned back and picked them up carefully, unable to part with Lydia anyway. Lydia’s house was not even in an acceptable state; too messy, too taped up and put together all wrong. Lydia wouldn’t want that. “I should clean up,” she announced to no one in particular. “But first a good home for the ash—for the ash—for the—for Lydia.” But everything was toppled over, not where it should be. Her mind was still reeling from visions, she didn’t have the capacity to log every change here. Her eyes raked over the sheer number of them, and she felt sick. “This isn’t good.” She said, sitting on Lydia’s couch. The same place she would sit, feet tucked under her, as her and Lydia chatted over wine. Deirdre’s gaze settled on Lydia’s empty spot beside her. “This isn’t right.” She looked to the ashes again, bundled with more care than she had ever held anything. “What do you think?”

“You’re not gonna clean anything. It’s a crime scene,” was all Morgan said. She walked through the first floor of the house, or as far as she could manage while keeping Deirdre in her sight. There had been a struggle, and there had been an investigation underway. Spots were marked up with numbered tags as evidence. If they only knew the worst of it, they wouldn’t have bothered, Morgan thought. She went systematically through each room, stopping in the kitchen to work on the cabinets. It was fitting and cruel and pitiful, to put Lydia in something meant for food, but there weren’t going to be many options on this floor. She took out a sculpted rice serving pot and a ceramic sugar tin, both more form than function. She washed and dried them carefully by hand. There was a lot wrong with this place, a prickling awfulness that wanted to pull Morgan out of her numbness and shoo her out the door. But Morgan didn’t matter right now, and neither did Lydia’s crimes. Maybe another day, but not right now.  Morgan brought the two vessels out to the living room where Deirdre still sat. “You don’t care what I think,” she muttered, setting them down in front of her. She’d found fault with everything Morgan had put forward so far, and this was probably going to be more of the same, so Morgan stepped away in an effort to get ahead of the next blast. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t do anything to hurt yourself.”

“What crime happened here?” Deirdre turned to the ashes, whom she thought might laugh and tell her something silly. But with things numbered up, the humans hadn’t infested Lydia’s home to try and look for her; they didn’t care she was ashes. But what crime happened here? Lydia had never done anything wrong, as far as Deirdre could think—which wasn’t very far, now. “The vases and art are missing.” She assumed because Regan had done her number against them, but it was wrong to see Lydia’s house so barren. She would’ve hated this. Likewise, she would’ve hated the options Morgan presented. Deirdre eyed them, and a moment too late, spoke softly. “I always care what you think, Morgan.” But Morgan had gone already and left Deirdre in the place that was wrong and empty. She pulled the serving bowl close, and carefully poured Lydia inside. “I’m sorry,” she told the ashes, and though she was vigilant not to spill anything, she couldn’t help but think she was losing some of Lydia in the transfer. She slipped the sweatshirt back on, bundling the ash-stained front in her hands, tugging them close to her chest. Deirdre turned her attention back to the house, she thought about mixing the numbers around, rubbing dirt over the places they thought were evidence. She didn’t know what crime they assumed was committed here, but they were wrong, and Deirdre needed to protect Lydia’s legacy. But instead she hobbled to her feet, and stumbled her way up the stairs. Falling down and over, revisiting old scrapes against her legs, wasn’t so terrible now that she had no space in her mind to think of it. “Morgan?” She crawled to the bedroom, “what are you looking at?”

Morgan had only been upstairs to visit Remmy before, and so wandered the rooms on rooms on rooms without purpose. She found Remmy’s first: empty. Morgan frowned to think that she and Lydia felt the same way about them and their absence. But there it was, a hollow shell where a life used to be. If Morgan didn’t know any better, she would have taken it for some overly personal art installation. It could be called something like, ‘regret’ or ‘disavowed’ or ‘why the heck did you stick around for so long if you were going to make me feel bad for what I need and fuck off’? That last one was more about her than Lydia, she liked to think, but she shut Remmy’s old door and moved on all the same.

There were more spare rooms and suites, some that looked lived in recently enough to make Morgan’s stomach clench. Clothes folded with neurotic care. Pencils and paper on a desk. Shoes tucked under a bed like they were hiding. It had to be Chloe. Other, too, from the looks of things. Where had Lydia found the time to take more people? How long after leaving Chloe or Sammy dying had this happened? Morgan lingered for several moments. She was one of the few people who could begin to understand the crimes that had happened here, she owed Chloe that much. How many times had she been tormented here? How many times that this felt like some sick safety compared to the torture basement? How much harder was it to bear this alone? Morgan didn’t have the stomach to bear it at all, not with the memory of Chloe’s cries in her ears. She stumbled backed away from the hallway and turned down a different one. The house seemed to change, performance and display falling away to simpler aesthetics, cozier furniture. Morgan entered the room at the end of the hall and found herself in Lydia’s bedroom.

It was the kind of room someone’s mother would have liked: soft textured fabrics fresh out of a bedding catalogue, warm light coming through the curtains, fat photo albums and well-loved poetry books stacked on the nightstand, and on a vanity shelf, miraculously intact, were arrays of trinkets and knick knacks. Morgan went up to look at each one, noticing the particularities, the mish mash of styles. This wasn’t curated the way the sculptures and paintings downstairs were. If there was any logic here, it was known only to Lydia, mysterious and personal. There were runes and gaelic dialects that must have been fae and off in a corner was a collection of bones, including a bell jar terrarium arranged around a racoon skull.

“My bones,” Morgan whispered. She had given Lydia the gift on their last planned meeting. She always came with a gift for Lydia, but this one had been her most involved; crafted by hand instead of purchased. “I thought you hated this,” she said. “I thought you hated all my presents, but I worked on this for days, hoping you’d be impressed. I wanted to remember what it was like creating something, and I thought you of all people would understand. But you never really said you liked it, so I figured you put it in some reject closet...” But it was here, carefully tended to along with Lydia’s other treasures, the moss even looked like it had been nurtured recently. Morgan surveyed the collection again, the strange hodge lodge of it, and the care they were curated with. These were gifts. These were people she wanted to keep close to her heart, and for some reason she had chosen to remember Morgan along with them, even after everything. And looking at this, how could Morgan not think of Lydia over at the house, sipping wine with Deirdre, or next to Morgan in the car, begging silently to be accepted? And then all the times they fought online and Lydia’s patience when Morgan said something stupid and offensive to her fae ears and that time they sat in the warmth of a fae funeral pyre, pressed together with Deirdre in the middle? That was real. As real as Chloe’s cries in the basement and everything else that had happened here. This stupid terrium that only mattered because Morgan had made it--this was Lydia too.

Morgan lifted the bell jar terrarium and held it to her chest, bundling her arms tight until the glass broke. Morgan whimpered. No, she didn’t matter. None of this mattered. Not the glass pressing into her skin, not her hurt, her betrayal, her grief. And yet. “What was wrong with you?” She asked Lydia. “Why couldn’t you have been this kind to—what was wrong with you?” She sank to the floor, staring into the broken offering like it might hold any answers. She reached deep inside herself for that calm, dead balance again, but it was no good. It wasn’t a place Morgan had ever known how to keep herself in. As she curled her body over the mess, sobbing into hand, it seemed that it, too, had abandoned her completely.

Morgan sensed Deirdre only faintly. She gasped for control, scrambling for something inside her heart to protect herself with. She wiped her eyes furiously and curled her body away, crunching the glass further. It came apart on her shirt, but Morgan didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to get off the floor and face whatever Deirdre would do to her next. “...Stop.” She said, her tear-choked voice just above a whisper.

“Morgan?” Deirdre called out again, crawling across the floor. If she had sense, she would have hated the child-like quality of it. If she was thinking, she would have apologized for it. “Are you oka—“ Stop. Deirdre flinched, Morgan would not catch the flicker of pain across her features, though her whimper was audible. “But—“ her argument caught in her throat. Somewhere beyond her, there were the words of care and love: you’re not okay, I won’t stop. But there, right then, all she had was quiet. Tell me what’s wrong, turned into the slow reaching for Morgan, grimacing at her flinching of the touch. Whimpering as it happened again when she wrapped her arms around her love. The Lydia spilled across her shirt spread on to Morgan, but Deirdre’s mind was a simple beast now; it did not possess the intelligence to consider intricacies. “Let me see your hands,” she asked softly, then set about picking the glass out of her. That, like all of the Lydia that had been defiled around her, was also wrong. She was learning that she didn’t like seeing the people she loved in ways they didn’t belong; Lydia to ash, Morgan to pincushion. “You were right about the water bottle,” she said, “but I do like wearing Lydia. It feels like she’s hugging me again….almost. I miss that. I held her while she cried, in that bed right there, and at the time I didn’t think to cherish the feeling. I thought I’d always have it.” She paused, trying to pull Morgan close to her, like always was—like she also imagined she would always be able to. But she had lost Morgan once, a few times before if loss by her own doing could be counted, and she knew to always hold her as if committing the feeling to memory. “What’s wrong?”

Morgan continued to cry, shrinking and cowering from Deirdre’s touches as she searched for the cold, effortless grasp of death, and a voice that at least resembled her own. She tried pulling her hands away (the cuts didn’t matter) and she tried dissolving out of Deirdre’s arms and slithering back to the car alone. But Deirdre had her, and she was trapped, and maybe it would have been the only trap she wanted to fall into if it wasn’t all a meaningless lie. “I said stop…” she croaked. “Stop lying, stop touching me like you…” Her voice snagged and whined in her throat. “Like you suddenly care. Just stop, please…” The back and forth felt more cruel than the rejection; at least when Deirdre had abandoned her before, Morgan never had to question their reunions. She could count on at least a week, often more. Deirdre’s strong, slender arms had pushed her away so rarely before today, Morgan had thought they were the key to knowing she was safe. But that had been before the nightmare day, before she’d stopped being able to do anything right or important in Deirdre’s eyes.

“I can’t do this again,” she begged in a whisper. “Don’t act like you want to stay anymore. I believed you—I believed you last time and—” And Deirdre couldn’t have been bothered to do things differently even once. For all Morgan knew, she hadn’t been listening all. “I can’t anymore. Please just stop and tell me what you’re angry about next. Were the dishes I picked out too ugly? Do you hate the windows being messed up? Do you hate me for wanting to go back to the clinic? Or do you—stars, I don’t even fucking know anymore because you’re never going to tell me what’s really wrong or listen to when I try to explain, you’re just going to leave!” And in that case, why was Morgan saying so much now? Catching the irony, Morgan slumped in on herself, trembling as she searched in vain for the dead, nothing parts of her for comfort. “Please, don’t lie anymore. I don’t understand what I ever did but doesn’t matter, so just do it...” Just go. Leave me behind.

Deirdre pulled her hands back, tucked carefully in her lap, as she listened to the strange words tumbling out of the strange Morgan. She thought it was a dream, for a moment, until a dull pain throbbed across her hand, and she noticed for the first time how swollen and misshapen it was. She couldn’t remember when or why, but she noticed it. And she looked at Morgan, and she noticed more—the betrayal claimed in her features, the torment in her voice. “What did I do?” She asked quietly, she tried to search her mind for the answer but could not remember anything outside of entering the peculiar dimension that housed this wrong imitation of Lydia’s home. “I do care about you. I always care. I don’t understand…” she blinked, found herself crying, and blinked some more. She wanted to touch Morgan, but Morgan had told her to stop, and in her obedience, she did not dare. She thought the good Deirdre, the one that could have kept her promise to Lydia, would have known how to fix this. She wouldn’t have brought Morgan to this point to begin with. But as she was now, she couldn’t logic out what was wrong, what she needed to apologize for, and what she could do to make it better. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts of Lydia, memories intertwined with regrets. She could feel the leanan-sidhe on her chest, holding her steady. “The dishes were ugly.”  But that was only because any dish would be ugly to hold Lydia, it wasn’t Morgan’s fault. And she didn’t like the windows being all broken either, but Morgan had nothing to do with that. “I don’t understand,” she said again, usually Morgan was good at explaining for her. And so she waited. And waited. And blinked, and cried, and waited. “I love you. I promise I love you. I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I do. More than my life, if I could do that. It would be such a great honour. It is the only thing I want, everyday.” Deirdre cocked her head to the side, as if the new angle might provide answers. “Do you….want me to leave?”

There were limits to how much a zombie could shrink her body, as it turned out. Morgan’s bones bent as she tried to shield herself from Deirdre’s next absence and the hateful, drowning feelings that would take her after. There were limits to her nerves too. How did Deirdre not understand? What part of anything she’d said had been unclear, now or anytime before. She lifted her head, bewildered and horrified. Was this some sick joke? Was she toying with her now? (She wouldn’t. Even like this, she wouldn’t, right?) “All I have ever begged you to do since yesterday was stay with me!” Morgan tried to scream, as if climbing near banshee decibels would make Deirdre finally hear her,  but her voice came out ragged and choked with the hurt she was too frightened to let go of. “How can you…” And Deirdre cried and promised and Morgan couldn’t bear it. The two pieces didn’t match up and she couldn’t keep guessing wrong forever. “Do you not even hear me right now? Did I die again with you in our driveway? Because I have told you and begged you! All I did today was try to please you, to make anything up to you from before, and you told me it was okay! You told me you were here, you asked me what was wrong like you wanted to know and it mattered and I believed you! And then you left me! You can’t say these things and make me feel--” Safe. So safe that she never had to hide, that even when it made no logical sense, she mattered in a way that was only possible with love. “You can’t do things like that and then leave me behind like I’m not even there!” Morgan’s voice broke with an ugly sob, forceful enough to make her sit up on her knees. “If I didn’t do anything wrong, why are you punishing me like I did? Why...why are you acting like everything I say is awful if you’re not mad at me? Why can’t you stay with me when I need you if you don’t hate me for letting her die? Why can’t you tell me anything if you love me? My whole stupid little life is built on you, and you were gone. You were dead! And then you couldn’t get away from me fast enough or bear to talk to me and I know I was too busy being broken over your bleeding fucked up body to get to her in time, but you keep acting like you forgive me and then taking it away!” In a way that struck Morgan as cruel now, she still felt too safe around Deirdre. She could hear the pitiful, child-like anguish under her cries. There was no dignity, no mask of anger or cold, deathlike apathy. She was just hurt and afraid, and though she hated herself for the pathetic quality of it, in a way she was still begging, too.

Deirdre sat very still and listened. She repeated Morgan in her head to make sure she was understanding the words, she asked herself their meanings and parsed them from English to Irish to English again until she was sure she understood. “I would’ve died for Lydia,” she said softly, picking at the ashy remains of Lydia on her shirt, rolling them against her palm. She wanted to weave Lydia into her skin, she wondered if it was possible. “I would die for Lydia. Still. My only regret with that promise was that she had to take it back. I would’ve died on our driveway for her. I would’ve died and thought nothing of it. I think of dying for her now. I think it’d be nice. I understand why my family spoke of our lives having no value, why we take no ties. We are fae, we carry their deaths, we avenge them; no matter the cost. I would die for Lydia.” Dread dug its cold fingers into her stomach, churning and pulling. “I’m so sorry. I would’ve died and left you, and I wouldn’t have regretted it. I would still do that now, and I can’t---I can’t shake it from my head. I want peace for her so badly I would wrench it from myself. But that’s not fair to you. I’m so sorry, my love.” The things she had to do, and the new life she carved with Morgan, never had learned how to fit nicely together. But her love for Morgan was not a whim to be cast aside, and not a treasure she would so easily give up. It was that same perseverance that marked her love for Lydia, too. “It’s not your fault Lydia died. It’s not your fault she’s ash. I don’t blame you, I’m not angry at you. I’m trying to stay with you. I’m trying because I want to. But it’s hard because---” Deirdre lifted her bandaged hands, one bent wrong and one normal, and tried to demonstrate a split road. “But I’m sorry.” She dropped her hands, lacking the energy to keep them up. Deirdre, unlike Morgan, had no torrent of emotion inside of her. There was anger and pain, neither she showed now, and then deep, unshakable, sadness. Something like self-loathing, but more desperate around the eyes. “I’m sorry.” Was all she could think to say; was all she knew how to say now. “I’m sorry.” And she sat very still and straight as she offered it, just the way she’d been taught. She could be a stitching of instincts and half-feelings, a mannequin of memory. But she could not be Deirdre anymore.  

Morgan shook her head. In her awful, bleating explanations, she’d closed some of the distance between them on instinct. She was close enough to touch Deirdre now, and her arms twitched, aching for her, but she held back, still tense with fear, like an animal that had been hit too many times. Morgan scoffed at the idea that Deirdre was trying, that forgetting her not five minutes after insisting she bare herself counted as trying. “I knew,” she croaked. “You would never choose me over a fae. I knew that when we started. I just thought… you would care enough by now to try to take me with you. Or to tell me that’s what you were doing. I would’ve driven you anywhere if you’d just said she was in trouble. You think I don’t still love her? That I don’t hate what they did to her? I would go with you anywhere if it would just occur to you to ask me, especially for her. I’d pack you a bag if you swore to me you could only do it by yourself. I don’t need you to look at it like it’s one or the other. I needed you to choose me too.” She looked up at her, eyes searching her strange, faraway face. ���How do I know you aren’t going to drop me in five more minutes if I believe you right now? How do I know anything will be different? That this isn’t going to be like every other sad choice I trusted in before you? How can you tell me that you can choose me too?”

“I did choose you.” Deirdre blinked. “Always. I did when I said I loved you the first time, I did when we drove to the clinic instead. I am choosing you. Do you know it’s sacrilege to let a non-fae hold a dead fae’s body? But I gave you that ash.” She didn’t exactly get it, but she understood enough to try and wrap herself around Morgan again. “But this isn’t about choosing, I don’t think…or maybe...maybe it is. I don’t know. Is it? Is it?” She buried her head into the crook of Morgan’s neck, taking her in by way of her senses. With her nose pressed up against her like this, she could smell the decay--Morgan was due a meal soon, she realized, then tried to think back to the last time she ate. “I’m sorry.” How had she let them go so far without noticing? Why didn’t she stop to ask if Morgan wanted something to eat? “I could give you a promise,” she said, wincing as she realized her offer was in poor taste. “I don’t want to leave you, Morgan. I just don’t know what to do. I didn’t think Lydia could die, and I didn’t think there was time to say anything about it. I don’t---I don’t know what to do. I said it’d be okay when we found her, but it’s not. She’s ash, Morgan. Ash!” Deirdre trembled, clinging tighter to her love. “Y-you don’t know, I suppose. Can you trust me? Can you trust that I love you more than that?”

Morgan sank into Deirdre and let her hold her. “I didn’t ask for her ash, I know she’s yours. I just want us to have gone together,” she whimpered. “I just want you to take me with you next time so we can go together. Or talk to me. I can be strong with you. Don’t you believe in me enough for that?” She latched on tighter as she felt Deirdre shudder and cry. She could’ve sworn they’d each been so strong before, that they could each stand on their own two feet without being afraid. Maybe, when the worst of this was over, they could be again. Morgan flinched and clutched Deirdre tighter at the mention of a promise, but in this moment, it still looked to her like salvation. She was so tired of holding herself in, she ached with hunger and grief, and even as her heart expanded to accommodate more anguish, there didn’t feel like enough room to mourn Lydia as just herself. (She didn’t want to, she didn’t have the same blinders that Deirdre did. She knew too much, enough to think that she and Deirdre might be the only ones crying over the good in Lydia that was lost. Grief was a cruel feeling, but grieving alone was punishing.) One death she was old hat at managing. Two, this close to her heart, and she didn’t know which end was up, even if Deirdre had come back in the end.“But I trusted you before--” she said pitifully. “You can’t do this to me again, Deirdre. And don’t tell me you’re ready for something you’re not. I would’ve waited for you to ask me later, I would’ve tried…” She might not have succeeded, but she wouldn’t have given up everything to Deirdre’s deaf ears if she’d known better. “I was right there with you on the bench, you didn’t even take my hand. I would’ve gone with you…” She shuddered, crying into Deirdre’s shoulder, trembling with tension her body was desperate to release. None of this was fair, or right, she didn’t even want to be crying over Deirdre when there was someone else who was never coming back. Not by zombies or necromancy or anything else. Her fingers dug in, heedless of any limits or habits she’d learned. Her body wanted to fasten itself to safety and hear the heartbeat that she had come to think of as safety. Somewhere, in that desperate, pitiful place, Morgan realized they already had a promise thread between them she could pull on. “Can I ask for you…?” She said in a shaky voice. “I feel like I lost you too and I need you. I want you. Can I ask you to come to me? Stay close for just… you haven’t even let me have you back for a day, can I at least ask for until morning? Can you love me enough to give me that?”

“No, you have to hold her,” Deirdre explained quietly, “you know who she was, so you have to hold her. No one else knows and loves like you do.” But her words fell away in a matching whimper, her body slumped against Morgan and the rest she just gave up on. All the fire and brimstone raged quiet and frail. She was tired now, as she had been for so long. But that was only this Deirdre; the woman who loved Morgan. She was not whole; she was part anger, part sadness, part ash. As the parts could not exist together, not any more, she hand-picked the one that needed to perform. “I’m sorry,” she said again, “I love you.” The only things that remained feeling right inside of her; apology for her inadequacies and love that would forever hold for Morgan. “Of course you can,” Deirdre pulled back and smiled, running her broken hand against Morgan’s cheek, as if nothing was wrong with it or her; a facsimile of the affection she knew to offer. “Of course.” She couldn’t tell the promise apart from her own desire to be by Morgan’s side, and she didn’t exactly know where she had been lost, but she nodded and urged for Morgan to take it. “Ask for me,” she smiled again, a small thing though her face pulled in memory of a larger one. The corner of her lip twitched. “I love you. Ask for me.” She pitched her voice up, the way she remembered warmth and affection sounding. She was trying, but she wasn’t sure if it looked more like lying. She wanted to be good, that was it. She summoned the woman who loved Morgan and told her to sit still and smile, even if emotion was a strange taste on her tongue now. She wanted to be good.

“Okay, I’ll hold her. We won’t tell anyone, but I will,” Morgan whispered, her voice smoothing out as her body eased to the tune of Deirdre’s assurances. The tune was familiar, even if it was off-key. Deirdre was hurt. Deirdre was lost, in a way. Latched onto her the way she was now, with permission granted and settling over her like a shock blanket, she could sense that as easily as the tremor in her love’s voice and the quiet outside. The rest of Morgan’s heart unlocked and she sagged,nodding and nuzzing into Deirdre’s hand as she stroked her cheek. “I need you. Will you please come to me, Deirdre? Just until morning?” She said softly. And in the saying, she knew that it was a question and no question at all. Not just because of the magic threads Deirdre had given her outside Al’s that sad night, but because that was how Deirdre loved her, as a matter of course. Morgan took Deirdre’s broken hand gently in her own and kissed her wrist, pressing in as hard as she could. “I’m sorry I need you,” she murmured. “I love you too.” She took several deep breaths. “Thank you for trying for me right now. I just need a minute…” She breathed deep again. “We shouldn’t stay here much longer, in case the police come back, and you can’t set your bones with your hand like this, we really do need to go back to the clinic. But we can take a minute…” She breathed again. Deirdre was here. Deirdre had promised. Deirdre loved her. They were both just lost and spun in different directions, groping clumsily for some kind of stability. They’d never both needed each other so badly at the same time before and they stumbled through the crisis like idiots. Morgan looked down at the terrarium pieces on the floor. Would you be angry with me, for using our promise? She silently asked Lydia. Would you be proud that losing you didn’t break us? Morgan breathed again. “We can take that jewelry box on the vanity for her ashes, if you think that would be better than what I brought you downstairs. I think everything up here is a gift.” Morgan gestured to the array of knick knacks above her. “It could be like being held by a friend…” Morgan stroked Deirdre’s cheek and searched her eyes, wondering if there was enough of Deirdre leftover to latch onto her as dearly as Morgan latched onto Deirdre’s efforts at gentleness.

Deirdre sighed in relief, falling against Morgan like the steadiness of a bed. She could rest there, she thought, and maybe when she woke there would be more of her to work with. “Of course,” she mumbled, and couldn’t tell if the promise blossomed warmth in her chest or if her love for Morgan did. She always felt tethered to her with something far stronger than a promise. “Don’t be sorry about that,” she breathed, “I need you too.” And though the fact made her feel horribly selfish to admit, it was a truth she could unearth from herself despite her state. “We can stay here for a minute.” It sounded nice, or it sounded like it should be nice, Deirdre wasn’t sure. She only had one hand to cling desperately to Morgan with, and she gripped the fabric of Morgan’s clothing tight between her fingers. She didn’t want to lose her, that was another truth easy to unearth. “And the clinc’ll be okay. I’ll be okay to go there.” Her gaze followed along to the jewelry box. “I’m worried…that if I move her again, there’ll be less of her. I know that box is better looking, I know she’d like it more, but whenever her family comes, they might want to move her into something else. And I was thinking---she gave me that vase, the one I have the magnolias in. Maybe she’d like it there. Just for now.” She closed her eyes, and shooed away the sight of Lydia’s empty bedroom for her memories of the one she occupied. Deirdre had always been so pleased to watch Lydia go about her day, as if she might learn from her how to be just like that. This house would never know her again, and she’d fit so well here. She’d been Lydia for so long, Deirdre thought it suited her. Maybe she liked it too. Maybe she found a place to stay. Maybe this was home. She wouldn’t know now, no one would. “Lydia cared about her friends,” Deirdre opened her eyes, “people didn’t care enough about her, as it seems. But she was good. She loved, just like everyone else. And she did care. She did. I know it seems weird to you, because of how she could treat--” Deirdre swallowed thickly, leaving those words about Lydia in a different place and time. “---When I first came over, I gave her this deer skull. I thought she hated it. It wasn’t pretty like a work of art to her, and I knew she didn’t like death much. But she kept it, and she liked it. And she cared. About me, about the people she loved. They’re not going to see that, are they? They’re going to find the basement and--” She swallowed again. Deirdre didn’t know how many people knew how Lydia liked to feed, but she had a feeling that the number of them that knew and were okay with it was something she could count on one not-broken hand. Except for the fae, she reasoned, they’d get it. “I want to take some things she liked; dresses, art...I don’t know what’s going to become of this house and its belongings. But I want some things to be hers, for as long as I can keep them.”

Morgan stroked Deirdre’s hair and wove careful kisses around her temples as she spoke. There was relief in knowing that she wouldn’t have to fight her on going to the clinic, or on staying huddled together on the floor. Deirdre had promised, and so there was no need to hold onto her fear and no need to cling, except to give comfort to one another. “Then we’ll keep her where she is until we can put her in the vase. Nothing else will be lost, not anymore.” She listened to Deirdre’s story, more attentively than she had the others, and made a note to ask her for more, as many as she would give, over the next several days, which were doomed to be awful. “I know she did. I don’t know if you could hear, but her last words were to you. She loved you more than anyone else here. And I have to believe that love goes somewhere too. No energy is completely destroyed. Her love still exists, and it’s yours. And--” Morgan swallowed thickly. She had just regained her composure, but with her fear for Deirdre abated, Lydia rushed in to fill those empty spaces. “I know she loved us. I don’t know why she loved me too, we argued so much, and I think I got on her nerves--” Morgan sniffled, gasping out a sad laugh. “But I know she did. She wouldn’t have kept this stupid terrarium if she didn’t.” Morgan looked down at the mess she made of her own present. There was no more chance of repairing it now, just as there was no turning Lydia’s ashes into the woman they knew again. “And I...I don’t understand how what she did was good, but I would’ve given anything for her to be here to explain and argue with me about it.” She shook her head. “No. No, they aren’t going to understand. But we know she wasn’t just anything. Stars, she was so many things. And we’ll remember the truth, okay?” Her heart sank at Deirdre’s simple, heartbreaking request.  She pulled away enough to look at her girlfriend so she would know how disappointed she was to not be able to grant her this to the extent she wanted. “We can’t, my love. Not as much as I know you want to. This is a crime scene, and people took pictures and inventory of the things that happened here. It’s risky enough taking one of her dishes to put her in. Whatever you take, it has to be small. Something easily missed. She wouldn’t want you to get involved in this mess. She spent her last time protecting you, and I want to do that too.” Morgan stroked her love’s cheek. “One or two small things. Nothing more. Do you want me to help you up?”

“I wish I could feel it, the energy that’s left. The only thing I get is her death.” Deirdre slumped further against Morgan, as if she might mold their bodies into one. Shell of herself, she would’ve died to be filled with something else, someone else. If only she could let Morgan carry her all the way, out the otherside of time where everything was okay. “But it’s better than nothing. It’s always better than nothing.” She had heard enough prattle about grief and bereavement, some she had offered and some offered by her family. But in actuality, loss was something she had experienced very little of--a child by banshee standards, emotionally unattached by every other. She didn’t know what to do about it. But Morgan did, Morgan understood it very well. “When you lost your father…” she started quietly, “...how long was it until you started to feel whole? Did you ever?” She couldn’t live like this, she was admitting in her own way. With all the pain she held for Lydia. She felt each cut, every stab, the desperation in her cracked voice--she knew her death, and she knew the ways to cleanse herself of it. The peace she could bring was not one she wanted to commit, for the quiet of the moment, sheltered in Morgan’s arms, she felt safe enough for one last truth: she didn’t want to hurt anyone, not really. She had grown tired of it, and she knew better now. Quickly, the thought would be swallowed by ones of anger and revenge, but she offered it to Morgan, asking her to keep it. One day she would need to remind her that she didn’t want this, and she feared that day would come very soon. Lydia’s peace would be a hurricane. “We’ll remember the truth,” she repeated, “Lydia as she was.” With weak strength, she tried to nudge Morgan up; silent answer to her question. Her own legs couldn’t hold her, and she needed Morgan in more ways than she knew how to admit. “Then I’ll leave it. I can come back...later, maybe, when it’s not a crime scene anymore. I-If it’s---If they found the---this stuff might not be Lydia’s anymore. I don’t know what they do about kidna---kid--” Deirdre swallowed. “A-are you good to leave now? I think I want to---I think I--I just---I don’t want to think about huma--people--people...t-touching her things. I don’t--” Her words trickled off into whimpers and sobs.

Morgan cradled Deirdre as close as she could. Without her fear clouding her mind, she had enough wherewithal to take care with how she used her hands, her grip firm but not painful, her soothing strokes gentle but not too soft. “Oh, my love…” she sighed, pressing a long kiss to her head. “It felt like so long. It felt like...there was this heavy spiked weight inside me, and I couldn’t move without getting hurt or crushed by it. For the first week, it felt like that pain was all there was of me.” Another kiss. “But in time, the weight gets smaller. The cuts it sliced into you scar over. And eventually it’s so small and light, rattling around your chest, you don’t really feel it cut you at all, except on a bad day. You’re whole already, my love. There’s just something else for you to carry now. And you can. It’ll be a little while, but you’ll be able to as it gets lighter. And I’ll help however I can.” She looked into Deirdre’s face and smiled as tenderly as she could, trying to offer her the best hope instead of the recollections of her worst nights. I came out okay, right? I was happy again, and sometime so will you. I’m here, and I carry this, and I love you.

Deirdre’s face seemed to be reaching out with a message of it’s own, some strange thought, embarrassed, even ashamed. It seemed to be asking Morgant to help her, to get her out of whatever sunken place she was in. If it were as easy as getting to her feet and lifting Deirdre up, she would have done it in a moment. “I’ve got you,” she whispered in her ear. “We’re together, and I’ve got you, okay?” She half carried, half dragged them to the nightstand where the picked up the first book she could reach before scooping up Deirdre’s legs and walking out with her, bridal carry, and coming down the stairs. “I’m going to bend without putting you down, and you’ll get the dish you put her in, and then we’ll go, okay? We’ll go by the house first and put her in your safe and get you a change of clothes, and we’ll go back to the clinic, and if you want, I’ll read to you from her book, and we’ll be together. Is that okay?”

“But I have so much to carry…” Deirdre half-whined, half-sighed. She nodded along to Morgan’s words and willed them to help her, somehow. She latched on to Morgan’s expression of love and devotion, and willed that to stick with her too. She found they fluttered down, like someone trying to press paper to a wall, but she picked it up and tried again. And again. “Thank you, Morgan.” She said, slumping as the last of her energy drizzled down. The last words she managed to get out were a grumble, petulant in a way that felt familiar even to her now, “I hate being carried.” But she smiled softly, in a flicker, and didn’t protest. She nodded along to Morgan’s plan, though she would have agreed to just anything then, and let herself be carried away. She picked up the dish, just as Morgan said it would happen, and cradled it against her. Then she was in the car, as planned, and fatigue set into her. Her spiked weight was foregin, and heavy, and she could only just imagine how much worse it would be alone. Whenever she would wake next, memory jumbled, she would thank Morgan. She might just have died on their driveway, but the only reason she was breathing around the spikes was her love. When she woke, she would thank her. When she woke, she would...

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[lawbreaker13]

Why is everybody so upset with Stormy Weather 2? This was like a super important episode??

Seriously guys, I don’t know what the problem is. There are flashback episodes in basically every show, but this was a crazy important marker for Miraculous Ladybug. I’m gonna go into detail about everything that was learned, but I just want to start by saying that what this episode did for us indefinitely was set itself on a timeline. It explicitly stated that everything through Chris Master happened within a year-and-a-half timeframe before this episode. It also set Marinette in a place where she’s officially declared, in writing, that she and Adrien are “just friends.” Like, she used Adrien’s “just a friend” line. And we know how this show is with parallels, so I count that as a pretty big one.

I’m gonna get more into this now though, so here we go.

Right off the bat we have the idea of change. Chloe taunts Marinette with the idea that she’ll never change (and we all know how much Marinette likes to challenge Chloe’s words). The word “change” is something that is brought up throughout the whole episode, so watch out for that.

We have Marinette genuinely reflecting. Like not just thinking on her rooftop and complaining about how Chat Noir is a glutton and would drop his guard for a couple of macaroons, she’s really thinking over her life’s choices. It’s framed in such a different light than the way we normally get our characters thinking.

“Adrien has become a true friend.” “Adrien’s become a friend who I can talk to about anything.” “Can you still be in love with someone even after they become your friend? Do you think I’ll ever be able to tell him that he means much more to me than ‘just a friend?’” This is what Marinette thinks of relationships. She thinks that the friends-to-lovers trope is crap and that you have to dive straight into a relationship. And that’s why whenever Adrien talks about her as a friend she becomes so heartbroken. She doesn’t think it’s a step in the right direction, she thinks it’s completely on the opposite end of the spectrum.

I don’t know WHAT Gabriel is plotting with “Ms. Tsurugi” or whether that means Kagami or her mom, but I’m a little terrified.

"Things may not be going exactly as we had planned, but change can be a good thing.” Gabriel’s first line is about change. Hm.

Nathalie’s entire monologue gives us so much background I don’t even know where to start.

She’s starting to regret having taken the job in the first place

She really, genuinely cares about Adrien

She officially, canonically, is in love with Gabriel and it’s because his dedication to his wife is admirable which show how much of a detail-oriented person Nathalie is because WOW she’s missing the big picture here, and also that there is going to be some major love triangle stuff going on towards the end of this between Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie (but how might that work?? Redemption arc??? Prison marriage????)

Emilie’s condition is progressively getting worse

Nathalie is still getting sicker, despite only having used the peacock miraculous once (on-screen)

(Also, side-note, hearing Nathalie speak so much at once was like an out-of-body experience for me and her passionate voice about Gabriel was...something)

Adrien really just wants to talk to his dad about his day and their relationship is so screwed up that he can tell by LESS THAN a side glance that Gabriel doesn’t want to hear it from him. Like geez.

Gabriel can recognize familiar emotions. So...does an emotion from Chat Noir feel the same as emotion from Adrien??? Guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Nooroo just wants to see Gabriel and Adrien happy together. Gabriel is a dick. This is not new information, just needed to be reiterated again.

Also, save Nooroo, please.

Gabriel does in fact have the ability to feel remorse. However, he chooses to ignore it, in his own words “at any price.” The only things worth changing his mind are his family, though he does care about Nathalie too. We’ll see how well that holds up.

“People don’t change, they only grow.” Huh. Episode themes from Gabriel Agreste.

“My father will never change.” YOU GUYS PICKING UP ON A THEME HERE????

Plagg’s “I like people who never change. You always know what to expect!” is first off, adorable, second, reverse psychology. He does this to Adrien consistently throughout the series. Considering he’s the one who keeps trying to change Adrien’s mind about Ladybug, he obviously knows what he’s saying isn’t entirely truthful. But Plagg is an adorable, cheese-loving psychopath. Whatcha gonna do?

On the complete other end of that, Plagg talking Adrien through all the ways he’s changed shows how much he cares about him again.

Why Plagg is defending Gabriel, I don’t know. But this is definitely something to note. Does he really think Gabriel is changing for the better? Is Gabriel supposedly changing for the better? (I vote no) Is he unintentionally setting Adrien up for disappointment in a later episode? Guess we’ll see!

Side note, Plagg pretending not to know Marinette’s name is one of my favorite things. It’s not like he can’t say it because Tikki can talk about Adrien, he just chooses not to. And he knows very well who she is. This was confirmed in Weredad.

The scarf has been brought up again. Everybody note this immediately.

ZAG does, in fact, have somewhat of a legitimate animation budget. That volcano is sick.

Of all the villains to use as a filler, Stormy Weather was a solid choice, you all have to admit. Especially when you contrast the repetition of a villain to the episode’s theme.

Ladybug puns. This has been confirmed.

“A little change is good, don’t you think?” HMMMMMMM. Just think about how this was followed by the line “I love that girl.” HMMMMMMM.

Nino and Alya chill on Alya’s bed. Nino never regrets meeting Alya. He loves his girlfriend. Alya loves her boyfriend. They are one of the sweetest canon couples ever to exist.

Nino has a flirty voice he uses on Alya. This is important information.

I don’t want to get into what would’ve happened had the twins not burst the door open, but I want this thought to be noted.

Nino has been adopted by the Cesaire family.

Chloe literally stands on her rooftop with a bat signal every time there’s an akuma. Obsessive much?

"There’s nobody nicer than me!” *cue reel of Chloe being the worst human in the country* is honestly one of the best jokes in this series.

“Once a villain, always a villain,” has an incredible amount of significance but it can pretty much be summed up into the idea that Chloe doesn’t understand change.

Ladybug knows that she and Chat Noir know each other really well now. She reflects on how much they trust each other, literally with their lives, and how their relationship is the reason they have new powers and fighting abilities.

Also, character development. Did anybody see that super soft look Ladybug gave Chat Noir when he said he always agrees with her? Would Ladybug have stopped to admire anything about Chat Noir 2 seasons ago? HMMMMMM.

I would like it to be noted that professional cinematography equipment is several thousands of dollars and it physically hurts me to think of that camera screen breaking in the cold.

Apparently you can take down a super villain with a photocopier and a pencil. Take notes, people.

Alya’s sisters have an akuma victory dance. More important info.

Marinette has gathered up enough courage to write Adrien a note. Last episode she tried to express her feelings. She very well had it in her to do that again, and what she chose to do was to make it clear that they were just friends. She wants Adrien to know that they’re on the same page. It’s in writing. And in Adrien’s hands.

“Good job, we’ve got ourselves a new and improved Marinette!” Change, anyone???

“She’s always been that way. She never changes.” HMMMMM.

Plagg wants Adrien to move on. He’s genuinely trying to convince him by reminding him of how Ladybug is not interested. But maybe there are other girls out there? Hint hint.

*Looks at valentine from Marinette* “You can’t just change your feelings just like that.” *conveniently timed note from Marinette arrives* GUYS. IT’S CALLED SYMBOLISM. Or something like that. Also foreshadowing.

Now this I need to explain super in-depth because there are so many complaints about this part. Adrien was just looking between the two notes. He knows how Marinette gets around him and he knows how it compares to when she’s talking to Chat Noir or Alya. He remembers things from Troublemaker. And he’s holding the two notes in his hands at that moment. Incredibly similar handwriting. He thinks. He remembers how she had pictures of him in her room. And he consciously knows that the valentine he got in response to his own is not from Ladybug. He knows it’s from someone at school. Doesn’t think, he knows. Adrien has figured it out. “No, Marinette couldn’t possibly be in love with me,” he says sadly with slight question in his voice. “She’s just a friend who loves fashion. Besides. There’s Luka.” *cue flashbacks of Adrien watching Marinette and Luka on a date, with the absolute saddest music I have ever heard play in this show playing in the background while he reflects* Guys. This is how Adrien thinks. This is what Adrien thinks of relationships. He believes that you can only like one person at a time. He can’t like Marinette, he likes Ladybug. And Marinette can’t like him, she likes Luka. He DID figure it out. The only reason he dismissed it is because he doesn’t understand her feelings. He doesn’t understand that love isn’t clear-cut, finite, one-and-done. He knows for a fact that she went out with Luka once, so how could she like both of them? That’s not possible...is it?

And are you telling me that “It’s just a person that has similar writing, that’s all,” wasn’t spoken in the most melancholic, disappointed tone of voice that Adrien has ever used on anyone other than his father?

Adrien’s 14. Marinette is 14. They don’t understand life. They don’t understand how complex feelings and relationships are. They think you fall in love with your soulmate and it’s golden from there. They’re dumb kids, but they’re not stupid. Adrien did figure it out. But he can’t bring himself to believe it. He doesn’t understand. And be honest. Did you understand when you were 14?

A couple side notes about the episode that didn’t fit directly into my play-by-play.

That valentine thing went full-circle. Dark Cupid was the first episode with any real lovesquare plot-progression and here we have the exact same setup, but this time with internal monologuing. We start with Marinette reading Adrien’s letter and end with Adrien reading Marinette’s letter. Just like we did in Dark Cupid, but this time it’s in reflection. It’s a parallel. I’m not fabulous at analysis, but I do know this much. Parallels.

This was a Valentine’s Day episode in the same way that Chris Master was a Christmas episode. Themed but not centered. It was a nice change of pace if you ask me.

The end card is always kind of a mini-synopsis of the episode. In this one, we see Marinette, confident and proud of herself for accepting Adrien’s friendship, and Adrien, staring longingly at a valentine that he knows isn’t from Ladybug, wondering if it could possibly, possibly be from Marinette. Huh. That feels a little backwards, doesn’t it?

And I’m just still so stuck on how sad that music was with the Luka flashback. Like, that kinda hurt to listen to??? Wow Adrien.

Side note, I just...I can't get over this. When you were a kid and you heard someone liked you (let alone was in love with you) did you believe it? I'm an adult and I wouldn't believe it if someone told me they liked me. When you feel as unloved as Adrien does every single day, the idea of a good friend of yours being completely in love with you sounds almost...too good to be true, doesn't it? Why should he think she likes him? Especially since he’s just drawing that conclusion on his own?

I personally would like to believe that the reason the rest of the episodes have been postponed is so that we can mull this over for a little while until the rest of them come out. Because from this point forward, there will be some changes. And speaking of which.

CHANGE. Can we all agree that that’s what this episode was about? Why would they place it on a timeline otherwise? Why would they explain to us what came before unless we’re supposed to know what comes after? IT’S THE CONTINUITY THAT WE’VE BEEN ASKING FOR. ACCEPT YOUR GIFTS.

This is the best continuity and information we’ve been given since episode one. And it’s set up in a way that my 6-year-old cousin could understand perfectly. It’s a show for everyone, guys. And this episode was the perfect example of it.

I personally think this is one of the best episodes thus far. In fact, if it weren’t for my Marichat-loving heart, it would be number one by a long-shot. Of COURSE they needed a recap episode. Because if they didn’t have one, do you know what we’d say? “Oh, but Thomas Astruc says there IS no continuity! Did he LIE???” Let the man win for once. We asked. It was delivered. This. Is. Continuity. This. Is. Character development. This. Is. Plot. This. Is. Miraculous.

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.