#but she does change all the time EXCEPT for under saddle

[loptrcoptr]

Horse people I talk to online: sounds like something is going on with your horse, have you tried Expensive Veterinary Exam Thing?

Me: I don’t think it’s bad enough for that, I think she’s mostly bullshitting based on her past trauma

Horse people on the internet: I don’t know it sounds serious

Horse people I talk to irl: sounds like something is going on with your horse, have you tried Expensive Medicine Regimen?

Me: I have, twice now, and even did a month of expensive GI supplement too. Doesn’t seem like it has done much in the long run. I think she’s just reacting the way she thinks she has to, I think a lot of it is bullshit

Horse people irl: I would do another few rounds of it if I were you

My vet: this horse is bullshit

Me: thank you for the validation

[supernaturalgirl20]

Hey! Your writing is stellar!

Could you possibly write about Joel and reader hating each others guts, but something like Joel almost dying brings the feelings out reader never realized. (Like angsty almost dying lol). she takes care of him and he sees how he does actually love her. It’s ends with them together. Vague i know haha.

Thank you!! xoxo

Thank you so much and I adored this request 🥰changed it up a little Hope you enjoy 😉

The Reason

Pairings: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, soft love making, near fatal accident, mentions of death, hidden feelings, enemies to lovers (sorta), angst, cursing, fluff.

A/N: slowly getting back to writing this week so please bear with me on the requests. Didn't edit this so sorry for any mistakes.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Anger bubbled under the surface of your skin as you stood with your back against the door of the stables. The sound of his voice echoed through the air as he berated Tommy for asking you to join them. 

Who does he think he is? You think to yourself as you listen to him criticise you to his brother. Joel Miller was a force to be reckoned with and he had zero tolerance for anyone in the Jackson community except for you. Or at least you’d thought so, now you weren’t so sure. 

There was one night after a rough patrol where he’d shared a few drinks with you, and he’d opened up about his past. You had thought for a moment that maybe he liked you. Maybe you both could become friends or more, but now, you’re sure he hates you. 

“Now why the hell did you go and ask her to come with us? You know darn well that I ain’t gonna be able to concentrate with her there. Damn it, Tommy, I ain’t gonna be able to keep them both safe.”

With clenched fists you turned the corner and stormed towards him, his eyes widening when he spots you. “Who the hell do you think you are, Miller? Huh? Telling Tommy you don’t want me to come. It doesn't matter what you want, I’m the most experienced shot this place has so I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Now I’m coming on this run whether you like it or not.” You huffed out a breath as you poked his chest with your finger, looking up at him with an angry expression on your face. 

“So, saddle up, cowboy.” You push him back slightly before grabbing your horse and marching out of the stables, leaving both Miller brothers confused as they stared after you. 

“About time you grew a pair Joel and told her the truth about how you feel. Save all this bickering. I mean it’s obvious as shit that you have feelings for her, so just man the fuck up.” Tommy says as he pats him on the back. 

Ellie scoffs behind them drawing both of their attention to her. She looks up and shrugs her shoulders at them. “Gotta say I agree with Tommy on this one. Life would be a lot easier if you just told her. Hell, it’s so fucking obvious she feels the same and I swear you two are just like horny fucking teenagers.”

“Alright enough! First of all, language,” he snaps as he points a finger in Ellie’s direction. “Secondly, what is this anyhow? Gang up on Joel day?” His gaze drifts between the pair and they smile at each other before they shrug, and Tommy says his goodbyes. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit show on the road,” Ellie teases as she winks at Joel and follows you outside. 

Joel watches her leave, his hands resting on his hips as he closes his eyes briefly and takes in a deep breath. This was gonna be a long trip. 

***

Things had gone to shit when you came across a group of raiders in a nearby abandoned town. They had wanted all of your supplies as well as you and Ellie but Joel was having none of it. 

He’d become a different man in the blink of an eye. A violent one and you can’t say it didn’t turn you on. He’d killed them all or at least so you’d thought until one of them had snuck up behind him and tackled him to the ground. 

They tussled for a moment before Joel straddled him and beat him to the ground. When he stood, he turned around to face you, his breathing ragged as he flexed his hands, his knuckles were bruised and bloody. His gaze drifted away from you towards Ellie who was busy collecting weapons. 

You let your gaze drift down his torso, and you gasped at the sight of a knife protruding from his abdomen. 

“Joel!” The sound of your worried voice catches his attention and his gaze flickers towards you. He follows your line of sight and groans when he sees the knife. His hand wraps around the hilt and pulls, blood spurting out from the wound, and he stumbles slightly as he throws the knife into the ground. 

“Let’s go.” His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Ellie,” you shout, “we gotta go.” You tilt your head towards her horse and rush over to help Joel up onto your own, placing him at the front. 

“Joel’s been hurt. We gotta find somewhere to lay low for a while.” You jump up behind Joel wrapping your arms around his waist as you grab the reins. 

You travel at a slow pace. Trying hard not to jostle him around too much but he’s losing a lot of blood, and fast. His head droops to the side, then his whole-body leans to the right and you try to catch him but you can’t hold his weight so he falls off the horse. 

“Ellie, stop!” you shout as you hop off the horse and check on him. He’s passed out. It almost appears as if he’s dead, but you run your fingers along his neck and check for a pulse. 

It’s there. 

Faint, but there and you let out a sigh of relief. Turning your gaze to Ellie you see the unshed tears in her eyes as she stares down at Joel. “He’s gonna be ok. I need you to help me lift him back onto the horse. Those houses over there,” you say with a tilt of your head. 

“We’ll stop there for now. Try to close over his wound.” She nods at you before helping you lift him. It’s a struggle but you manage all the same and you take a hold of the reins as you guide the horse along the trail. A silent prayer recited in your head that he’d be ok, that he’d make it through this. 

***

Joel is laying on the mattress you’d found as Ellie rips off a piece of cloth to hold over his wound. He groans loudly and you drop to your knees beside him pushing Ellie out of the way and putting pressure on his abdomen. He writhes in pain for a moment before he grabs your hand. 

“Leave.” He rasps, his breathing becoming more laboured with each breath. You shake your head as you continue to put pressure on the wound. 

“Leave. Go north…. Tommy,” his grip on your hand tightens and you finally meet his gaze. “No. I’m not leaving you. Don’t - don’t ask that of me…. I can’t.”

His skin is clammy and pale, and your heart feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t lose him. Not now. 

“Ellie.” Your gaze drifts towards the teenager and she’s standing still, face full of worry as she stares down at Joel. “Ellie,” you shout, grabbing her attention. 

“You need to go and look for medical supplies. Bandages, gauze, needle and thread, anything. Now, Ellie.”

She looks down at Joel one last time before she rushes up the stairs. He groans again, his eyes full of pain as he stares up at you shivering. 

You pull his jacket up over him before cupping his cheek in your hand. “You’re gonna make it through this. I promise.”

You stand up and quickly move across the room to grab your bag, rifling through it until you find what you're looking for. Pills in hand you pull out a bottle of water and drop to your knees again.

Gently, you lift his head and place the tablets in his mouth before bringing the bottle of water to his lips. “Drink. These will help with the pain.”

He obeys with a groan, swallowing the pills before you rest his head back on the mattress. “I gotta clean this, Joel. I’m gonna…. I gotta clean the wound, ok?”

He nods his head, his body trembling as he shivers uncontrollably. You pop open the bottle of alcohol and take a deep breath before you remove the jacket and lift his shirt. 

Your hand shakes slightly as you stare at his stomach for a moment - the wound bloody and bruised and jagged looking - before you snap out of it and pour the alcohol over it, causing him to hiss in pain. 

“I know, I know…. I’m sorry.” You turn your head at the sound of Ellie’s footsteps coming down the stairs. “I found this,” she says as she hands you a needle and thread. Her eyes widen at the sight of his stomach, and you cradle her cheek in your hand. 

“He’s gonna be ok. I promise you. Now I need you to hold him down because this is gonna hurt like hell.” She nods her head and rushes around to kneel beside Joel, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

His eyes stare up at her and he gives her a faint smile before his gaze drifts to you again. You pull the thread through the needle and tie it off before sterilising it with the alcohol. You meet his gaze and nod before taking a deep breath and pushing the needle through his skin. 

He groans loudly, reaching his hand up to grab at your arm. He turns his head away from you, shutting his eyes tightly as he tries to hold in his cries, Ellie pushing down on him to stop him from moving. 

The needle falls to the floor once you’ve finished sewing him up and you sit back on the ground staring at your shaking hands. They were covered in blood. His blood and the fact that you could’ve lost him today stirs something inside you. 

Feelings that you didn’t think you had. Not for him. Sure, you thought he was handsome, that he was a good father to Ellie, but he hated you. So, you hated him. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself. 

It was all too much. These feelings, and the way he was looking up at you made your chest hurt. Standing, you rush up the stairs and out of the house, trying to take deep breaths. 

“He is asking for you.” Ellie’s voice startles you and you whip your head around taking her in. 

“I’m just gonna check the other houses for medicine. I’ll be back.” She takes a step forward but you shake your head. “I just need a minute, ok? Tell him I’ll be back.”

***

You’d taken your time, routing through the other abandoned houses trying to stall time as best as you could until you sort through your feelings. 

It became clear around the fifth house that you had maybe always loved Joel Miller, you were just too stubborn to notice. It was also in that house you’d found some penicillin. 

The creak of the stairs alerted Ellie to your presence, and she turned quickly, gun pointed in your direction. With a sigh of relief, she lowered it and stood, taking a glance at Joel before meeting you. 

“He was worried about you. Tried to go after you but I wouldn’t let him. He’s asleep now but he keeps shaking and I think he has a slight fever.” 

With a nod of your head, you brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. “There’s some canned food in the kitchen, you should head on up and get something to eat. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Ok, I’m starving. Want me to get you some?” 

“I’m ok for now. Just don’t make too much noise. We don’t know if there are others in the area.” You let her go and turn your attention to Joel, who is laying in the same spot, shivering despite the heavy coat and blanket covering him. 

You run your fingers through his hair, and he groans at the feeling of your touch. Pulling away you reach for the bottled water and grab one of the antibiotics before gently stirring him awake. 

“Hmm,” he groans as his eyes slowly open, glossed over in pain as you smile softly down at him. “Hey, I’ve got some antibiotics. They should kill any infection even if they are out of date.”

Joel lifts his head enough for you to place the pill in his mouth and help him take a sip of water. Swallowing the pill, he drops back onto the mattress and looks up at you longingly. 

“Was worried…thought somethin’…couldn’t live without you….” His hand reaches out towards you as he traces the soft curve of your face. The feel of his rough calloused fingers on your skin sets your heart racing. 

“I’m ok. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me. I learned from the best,” you say with a laugh as you nervously meet his gaze. 

“I’m gonna get us some food, I'll be right….” You start to say but he shakes his head. 

“No. Stay. Please.” His eyes are wide as he begs you to stay, shuffling around on the mattress as he tries to make room for you. 

“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask, raising your eyebrows in question. He pats the space beside him indicating that he wants you to lay with him. 

“What if I hurt you?” You ask as your eyes drift to his blood-stained shirt. “Won’t,” he breathes out as his eyes begin to droop closed. He’s still shivering slightly, and his skin still looks pale and clammy and you don’t have the heart to say no. 

With a reluctant sigh, you remove your jacket and slip in beside him, making sure you’re both covered by the blankets. His arm is wrapped around you as you rest your head on his chest and the soft beating rhythm of his heart lulls you to sleep.

***

“No….no please not her….can’t lose her….no, no…” Joel muttered in his sleep as his head tossed around, his grip on your waist tightening. 

He was having a nightmare. 

Sitting up a little, you gently place your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into the rough surface of his face. “Joel,” you whisper, trying to wake him without startling him. 

“Hey, Joel, it's ok. Wake up.” His eyes snap open and he panics until his gaze lands on you and his breathing slowly calms. 

You gaze down at him with a soft smile on your face as you continue to rub his cheek. “You were having a nightmare. Are you ok?”

His eyes take in the features of your face as the moonlight shines through the small window of the basement. “M’fine. Thought I - thought I lost you ....” He trails off as he slowly realises what he’s saying. 

His face has a little more colour to it and you swear you see the hint of a blush on his cheeks. 

“I’m here. I’m fine. It was just a bad dream, probably induced by the fever,” you giggle as you place the back of your hand on his forehead. “Seems to have broken, finally.”

“I know you heard what I said to Tommy.” He says matter of factly. “I know you think that I hate you….”

“It’s fine, Joel. You don’t have to explain anything. That’s just life. You like some people, you hate others. It is what it is.” His eyes furrow as he looks up at you, a confused look taking over the features of his face. 

“I don’t hate you. Never have. Don’t think I ever could. It's a bit hard to hate someone you’re in love with.” 

“What?!” You stutter nervously, your eyes blinking rapidly as you swallow the lump in your throat. 

“I love you darlin’. It’s the reason I didn’t want you to come on this run. I’m distracted when you’re out on patrol with me, I knew I’d be the same with this, it’s why I begged Tommy to reconsider letting you tag along. M’sorry if I ever made you feel like I hated you, 'cause I don't.”

You don’t know what to say. The words won’t form in your mind as you stare down at him in shock. He loves you. Your heart thrums loudly in your ears and you think for a moment that you’re gonna pass out. 

“You alright, darlin?” The sound of his Texan drawl, soft and low, breaks you from your trance. 

“Hmm? M’fine. I-I think I love you too.” His eyebrow quirks as a smile edges its way onto his face. “You think?” He teases. 

You nudge him in the chest, and he groans, holding his side and you panic you’ve hurt his stitches. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry Joel. I completely forgot,” you rush out, voice panicked as you lift his shirt to check. 

The sound of his laughter pulls your gaze up towards him. “Oh, for god's sake,” you huff as you turn and begin to push yourself off the mattress. His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, pulling you back into him. 

“M’sorry, darlin’. Couldn’t resist.” His hand slips up along your curves and settles on your face, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes flicker briefly to your lips, and you unconsciously lick along your bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth. 

“Will you two just kiss already? Jesus.” Ellie’s voice sounds from the top of the stairs. You both burst into laughter before he leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

His lips are a little rough, the feel of them against your own causing a shiver to work its way down your spine. He still tastes of whiskey he had earlier, and you want nothing more than push him down and fuck him into the mattress but you don’t. Instead, you pull away and rest your head against his, calming your racing heart. 

“We should get some rest,” you breathe raggedly as you blink down at him. 

Nodding his head, he kisses you softly once more before laying back on the mattress and pulling you with him, wrapping you up in his arms. “G’night, darlin’.” 

***

The gates open and Tommy comes rushing out with a worried expression on his face. “What the hell happened?” He asks, his gaze drifting from Joel to you as he waits for someone to tell him. 

“Long story,” Joel answers as he looks over at Ellie, a silent communication happening between them. Tommy huffs in frustration. “You’ve been gone for days. We thought - we thought you’d been killed or worse. Fuck!”

Joel slowly hops off the horse and makes his way towards his brother, clapping his hand on his back. “We’re alright, Tommy. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about. We’re just tired. Gonna need some more sleep and a decent meal.” 

Tommy nods his head, his eyes drifting to both you and Ellie. “Sure. How about you all head home and I’ll have Jason drop the food over.”

“That sounds amazin’ little brother. You’re just gonna have to have Jason drop Y/N’s food over to my place.”

Tommy's face freezes in shock before a sly smirk plays across his face. “Oh yeah. Somethin’ happen while you were out there?” He asks Joel, his voice almost a whisper so only he could hear. 

“Gentlemen never kiss and tell, Tommy. You should know that.” He smacks him on the back hard, winking at him before he turns and grabs his horse. Tommy knew something had happened from the slight blush on your cheeks. He’d get it out of Joel eventually. 

***

The room had been filled with silence as you all ate the dinner that Jason had brought over. The only sound to be heard was that of your forks and knives scraping off the plate. 

God, you hadn’t realised how hungry you were until the smell of the food hit your nose. The loud growl of your stomach made Joel smile as he finished setting the table. 

“Fuck that was good,” Ellie says as she sits back in the chair, hands resting on her now full stomach. 

“Manners,” Joel chastises as he pushes his plate away from him. 

“She’s not wrong though,” you say with a smile as you place your knife and fork on the plate and release a contented sigh. Joel hums in response as he lets his gaze wander over you both. 

He never thought he’d have this again. A normal life. A steady home. A family. Now that he does have it, he’s not too keen on letting it go. With the clearing of his throat, he throws Ellie a look, his eyes shifting towards the front door, and it only takes her a second to realise what he’s saying. 

“I’m gonna go meet up with Dina. Don’t wait up ya old fart.” She says with a laugh as she grabs her coat and slams the door behind her. 

“So…I guess I’ll help clear up and then I’ll let you get some rest.” You stand, the chair scraping across the floor as you grab your plate and make your way into the kitchen. 

You turn the tap on and begin to wash up when a set of arms wrap around you from behind. You startle. A soft gasp slips past your lips as Joel turns you slowly in his arms. 

You gulp nervously as you stare up at those golden-brown orbs. Your heart beats frantically at the feel of his touch. “Was thinkin’ maybe you could stay the night. I’ll make you pancakes and coffee in the morning.” 

His eyes are hopeful as he waits for you to say something. “Are you trying to seduce me, Miller?” You tease as your arms come to rest on his chest. Your fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Is it workin’?” He says with a smile, his arms pulling you closer. 

“Maybe. Might need you to kiss me though, to make sure.” A smile plays across his face as he leans in and kisses you softly. You tease his bottom lip with your tongue, and he groans into your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as he grinds into you. 

His cock hardens against you, and he groans when you run your hand down along his stomach and under the waistband of his jeans, cupping him with your hand.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he pulls away, forehead resting on yours. You run your fingers along the back of his neck and through his hair. “Need you,” you whisper into the shell of his ear, and he shivers. 

“Jesus, darlin’. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He grabs your hand from his trousers and leads you out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards his bedroom, where he kicks the door closed behind him as he walks you back towards his bed. 

He’s hungry for you. His eyes were blown wide with lust and you’re sure he’d have ravaged you by now if it weren’t for the fact that he’s healing. 

You pull him in for another kiss and let your hands glide over him as you begin to unbutton his shirt. Throwing it onto the floor before starting on his trousers. 

His rough calloused fingertips glide along your skin as he helps you remove your clothes, your breath hitching as they slip between your slick folds. 

You gasp. His mouth swallows the moan that follows as he kisses you softly. Pulling back his eyes trail over your naked form and when your gazes meet, you see nothing but adoration in those brown eyes you love so much. 

“How do you - how do you want to do this?” You ask as his hands grab onto the soft flesh of your ass. “Better take it slow for now. Don’t wanna burst a stitch,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Lay on your side, darlin’.” 

Doing as he says, you lay on your side, his warmth filling all your senses as he slips in behind you. You let out a breathy moan as his fingers delve into your heat once more, his hardened cock nestled snugly between your ass cheeks.  

“Oh fuck,” you whimper as he works his thick digits in and out of you, curling them ever so slightly as he hits that spot that sends you spiralling. 

Your skin is flushed. Sweat beads down along your breasts as he pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. A shiver skitters down your spine as he whispers into the shell of your ear. 

“Ready for me darlin’?” 

You nod, “yeah- yes, fuck I’m ready please,” you whine as he runs the tip of his cock teasingly along your slick. “Joel…”

“Tell me what you want, baby.” 

“Need you inside - need you to fuck me, please.” With the head of his cock notched at your entrance he thrusts inside with a roll of his hips and you both let out a soft groan as he fills you. 

“Jesus, darlin’. So damn tight…fuckin’ squeezing the life outa me.” He takes a moment, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath as he tries to control himself. His lips meet the skin of your neck as he peppers kisses along it, his hips moving slowly in tandem with his lips. 

It’s soft and slow. His hands glide over your skin, pinching and pulling as you moan softly into the room. Your body shudders as you come, your clit already sensitive from earlier. 

A soft cry slips past your lips as you reach behind to run your fingers into his hair. His hips stutter as he nears his release, the soft grunting in your ear becoming louder the closer he gets. 

“Ngh…fuck,” he groans as he quickly frees himself from your walls, spilling himself over the soft pillowy flesh of your ass. 

“Don’t move, darlin’.” He says as he slowly slips from the bed and grabs a piece of cloth to clean you with. He works it gently over your skin before throwing it into the basket at the end of his bed. 

The cool air makes you shiver involuntarily but Joel is quick to hop back into bed, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you close. 

 “I love you, darlin’,” he whispers into the crook of your neck and you can’t help the smile that works its way onto your face. 

“Hmm, I love you too.” He squeezes you gently before his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.  It’s safe to say that Joel Miller definitely doesn’t hate you. 

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan25 @hummelmia @angstismydrug

[yousaydisco]

Scrapped bit of 'Realizing Vicky'

A couple of months ago I wrote a fic 'Reinventing Jean Vicquemare' and started writing a sequel almost immediately after, but then hit a wall and stopped. I didn't write a lot but I still didn't want it to be tossed unceremoniously in the trash.

Included is: ~900 words of Trans Fem Jean, Jean/Kim, references to casework, sex, and gender dysphoria. It's the beginning of what was intended to be a much longer fic so it's Very Unfinished.

"How do you do it?" Vicky murmurs quietly into his chest. They are both still nude, drenched in sweat, having finished having sex only twenty minutes earlier. Kim stalls in his motions of carding his hand through her hair, gently scratching her scalp. He doesn't move away. 

"What do you mean?" His accent, already strong and purely Revacholian, is even thicker now. It'll be back to normal before he goes to bed, this is only a slip in his composure. 

She means his flattened chest with its two perpendicular scars under his pecs, starting from the armpit and ending with a curve to his nipples. How he carries himself with such a sure confidence, almost a swagger except not since if he walked with any more confidence than he has it would be decidedly uncool, but as it stands it comes off as so natural that no one could fault it. How the most vitriolic and bigoted people would look at him and find reasons for them to believe he was a lesser man than them, but be damned if they had to say that he's not a man at all. 

(And if they want to argue that he's not a man then she could cite how he wears a harness and a six-inch purple dildo like it's the most natural thing in the world and seemed to barely break a sweat while he systemically took her apart.)

But she doesn't say any of that. She's silent for a moment and then unravels herself from Kim. Unwraps her arms from where they were curled around his waist and she abruptly stands up, only staying in the room long enough to grab the pair of discarded sweats and go for a smoke.

She doesn't have a balcony - she's not made of fucking money, or really anything besides amphetamines and an urge to get fucked one last time that's keeping her alive for a little longer - so she goes to the living room window and leans out. Eventually, Kim saddles next to her.

He clears his throat, silently and gently prodding her to continue. Except the words still don't - they just aren't coming.

"I don't know." She does eventually say, which is slightly better than nothing. She isn't leaving him completely hanging, at least not by her logic. The topic is dropped. 

They sit together in silence until her cigarette is smoked almost down to the nub. Then Kim reaches over for the tiny tube of passionfruit scented moisturizer that she had recently acquired and she applied it to her hands, feeling the rough patches greedily drink in the lotion like a woman lost in the desert. 

Despite the warmth, Vicky sleeps with the comforter over her ears. 

____

She is not Vicky at work, even in her head. But she does relent a little and let herself be her. 

It feels like a mistake every time. Like it can be read on your face. Jean-y boy finally admitted it! She's a lady-man! Or he's a sissy? It's a f - 

"You look like you're being mean to yourself again." Judit says patiently. 

"Glad to know nothing's changed." She says sardonically. But it did successfully break her out of her mind. 

They are alone together in the car. Official RCM business. Went out on a call for a domestic dispute across town. Wouldn't be the business of the MCU except for the fact that it occurred in the same apartment building that only a day earlier had reported a tenant went missing. It's turning into a whole shitshow.

It resulted in them breaking up the 'fight' (the man throwing his weight around to show off how big his balls are and the woman trying desperately to not be seen as another battered wife) with Judit getting shoved aggressively into the wall and Jean cold-clocking the man twice until he went down. Once was needed, the second was for fun. 

"You still alright?" She asks again. For maybe the third time, or possibly more than a third, which might be very annoying and might make Judit feel like she's being looked down on and viewed as a delicate thing that can't handle the job, and fuck she doesn't mean that. But also it was a nasty hit. On the head! As soon as they get back to the station Judit is going straight to Gottlieb, but that also means she hasn't been checked out yet. 

But Judit is patient to a fault. She just sighs and says "I'm glad it's over."

"Preaching to the choir." And then the car roars to life and Jean, carefully, starts the drive back to the precinct. 

Jean doesn't know why she expects things to stay perfectly quiet. It's not like Judit is in love with her own voice or anything, but she doesn't care to let a friendly silence linger for too long. Jean suspects it has something to do with her husband back home. Too many dinners just spent sitting and staring at the food, and then downtime spent in separate rooms and sharing a bed that may as well be the size of the house it feels so empty. Usually    

[voidedleylines]

FFXIV Write Day 11: Surrogate

In which promises are made.

Rating: T+ || Mild Child Harm Warning; Depiction of Death || EW Characters || Hades &/ Azem

He holds the baby as it cries and he still has no idea what to do. He shushes as best he can and walks about the room; hoping anything can calm this thing down. He was not a mother nor a father. Saddled with yet another burden when he had so much work to do to bring back his people. His world. He had no time to deal with a child as fussy as this one.

He’s considered leaving it to its fate maybe more times than he’d want to admit. How easy it would be to leave it somewhere and never think about it again, but as he stares down at the thing he takes stock of its purple hair and his chest involuntarily seizes.

---

The Final Days were come - again - and they were even less prepared this time around. The Convocation was in tatters, everything he fought to keep crumbling around him. Venat has been especially shifty about it all and he knows she has something up her sleeve about it all.

He can’t think about that right now as he makes preparations for needless evacuations. Making sure he saves face long enough to help calm his people. His mind races about the end but he can’t think of it all right now.

He doesn’t realize the path he is walking toward until he’s already at the small cottage. The door is unlocked as he lets himself in.

She stands in the kitchen and is humming to the sleeping babe. He bites hard on his inner cheek to keep himself unaffected at the sight.

“You need to go,” he says.

She does not jump at his sudden intrusion, in fact she does not acknowledge him for a long moment. So much so he’s about to speak up again until she finally shakes her head and gives a simple “no”

“No,” he parrots, voice incredulous.

“You know there’s not point in it,” she whispers, “Why try and stop it…” she trails off as she rubs her baby’s face. There’s a change in her face for a moment that says she almost does listen to him.

Almost.

He lets out a grunt of a sigh and rolls his eyes, “So you’re so resigned then. To give up everything we-”

“There is no we,” she cuts him off, “The Convocation made that clear. You made that clear.”

She glares up at him. The fire behind her eyes rages and he can’t help but get caught in them, trying to muster the same intent back but failing.

“I am staying. I am facing the consequences,” she says. Again she looks down at her child and again her conviction wanes and his does too.

‘They look so much like him,’ he thinks.

He wants to take a step forward. Wants to hug them both - wants to pull them away by force and put them somewhere safe. Somewhere they can survive in spite of it. Though he knows that place doesn’t exist. Not anymore.

Instead he leans back and crosses his arms, “very well,” he starts, “you're a lost cause as ever I see. Cowardice wins in the end.”

It’s a very low blow and it hits exactly how he wanted it to, but it brings no satisfaction as she folds in on herself.

“Goodbye, Hades,” she says.

She exits the room no other word. That is the last time he sees her alive.

The world Sundered except for he. A cruel twist of something he wasn’t sure about yet. He again finds the cottage - it’s half gone - he enters the rubble.

There’s no sign of her, until there is. She’s bloody and half crushed. There’s something in one of her hands and he bends down to grab it and is startled to hear a baby cry.

Half suffocated under her limp body, cradled until the last. He gently pulls it out and grabs hold.

In her hand was a note which he unfurls. It just ‘Thank You.’

---

The babe is now asleep in his arms as he’s brought back to present. He lets out a stiff sigh and continues to pace the room.

Lost in a memory such as that serves as a reminder of what he needs to do. What he needs to be successful in this mission. He will try his best to be the parent this child needs, but his real mission comes first. For Hythlodaeus. For Freyja.

He will not fail them.

[scuttling]

If I Should Linger

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,979 (what is wrong with me??) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Best Friend's Dad Hotch, Confident reader, Flirting, Oral sex, Protected sex, Dirty talk, A little angst with a happy ending Summary: Your best friend stands you up at the bar, but it actually turns into the best night you've had in a long time—maybe the best night of your life. Unfortunately, things don't stay uncomplicated for long... *Requested by @hotforhotchner11 Link to A03 or read below! “I can’t believe you stood me up to have sex with a frat boy,” you hiss into your phone from your seat at the bar. Your best friend Julie—better known as Jay—is on the other end, and she’s completely ruining your plans for the evening at later than the last minute. She’s never on time for anything.

“He’s not a frat boy… yet. He’s rushing.” You pick up your gin and tonic to take a sip, but her comment makes you pause.

“He’s rushing? How old is he?” The breath she blows out before she answers tells you everything you need to know. Goddamn cradle robber.

“Twenty? Or, almost twenty.”

“Oh, you nasty girl. He’s nearly ten years younger than us.” At 28, you literally could not imagine being interested in a 20 year old. Anyone under 25 is practically an infant; what would you talk about?

“The pussy wants what it wants, babe. It’s more fun when they barely know what they’re doing.” Then again, you figure, she isn’t exactly doing much talking.

“That’s gross, Jay.”

“Is it any grosser than your thing for older guys? You’d fuck my dad if I let you anywhere near him, which is exactly why I don’t.”

“I would not fuck your dad—actually, what does he look like?” She groans down the line and you laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m trying to fuck someone’s dad tonight, but not yours.” You hear a choked laugh from beside you and you glance over at, objectively, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen: he’s Black, bald, muscular, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a killer smile, and apparently your thirst for older men amuses him. You smile back. “Jay, I have to go; I’m embarrassing myself in public.”

“Okay, and what else is new? Bye!” When she hangs up, you lock your phone and turn to face the man at the bar.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget people are actually listening in places like these; there’s so much talking it’s all kind of white noise to me.”

“It’s kind of my job to listen to what no one else does, but I forget to turn it off sometimes,” he says, and no, that’s not intriguing or anything. “So you’re into older guys?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you lean in with your chin in your hand, elbow on the bar.

“Almost exclusively. You don’t look old enough to be someone’s dad, but I’d probably make an exception.” He laughs again; he doesn’t have a drink, so maybe he’s waiting for the bartender, but you sip yours.

“I’m flattered, but taken. I have a friend who’s probably your type; he doesn’t do one night stands, though. He doesn’t really do anything. We’re trying to loosen him up.” You hum thoughtfully, take a cursory glance around the room.

“I happen to be great at loosening older men up. Is he here?” He shoots you a smile, looks at you like you kind of amaze him.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Would you, if you weren’t taken?” He nods a little, like you’ve got a good point, and you both laugh. “Yeah, it’s a double standard. If you can walk up to a woman and ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven, why can’t I walk up to an older man and ask if he believes in love at first sight, or if I should walk by again?”

“That tired line would not work on my friend,” he says, and you grin.

“I think you’d be surprised. But, you know him better, so why don’t you just invite me back to your table, since I got stood up by my friend and I’m all alone, and let me do my thing?” You swirl your straw in your drink, try to look flirty, and he leans in on his elbow like you did before.

“You know what? What the hell. If nothing else, he gets some attention from a pretty girl and maybe it boosts his confidence.” You smile—you like this guy already.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” He rolls his eyes, and then the bartender presents him with his drinks. You take two—one is a neat bourbon, that has to belong to the older man friend—and follow him to his table while he just shakes his head.

“Looks like you brought back more than drinks,” a pale woman with dark hair and bangs says with a smile when the two of you approach the table. He hands her one of the beers, takes the cocktail from your hand and gives it to a petite blonde with fair skin.

“Her friend bailed on her and we got talking at the bar, so I invited her to come sit with us.” You introduce yourself to the group, and the friend Derek mentioned might be your type? Egregious understatement.

He’s everything you like in an older man: polite, well-spoken, handsome, clean shaven, with a great head of thick, dark hair—he’s wearing an expensive watch, a goddamn suit, a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, and if Jay were here, you’d be catching her attention and panting like a dog, with your hands up near your face.

To someone without your more refined palate for older gentlemen, he may look like an average white guy in his early fifties, but you have to look down to make sure your panties haven’t dropped involuntarily. Just in case.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask, gesturing to the one next to him, and he shakes his head, pulls it out for you before he sits back down—yes, he stood when you approached the table. Manners, check. You’re trying not to drool.

You smooth out your skirt before you take your seat—you always dress for the man you want to attract, and tonight is no exception, so you’re wearing a black lace dress and nude heels; the dress is fitted, but not clingy, and not too short, and you know the right kind of man will find it appealing. So far, your handsome potential love interest Aaron seems to be looking respectfully; that may change, but you’re happy to see it, for now.

“So Derek mentioned you’re all in the FBI; are you the boss? You look like the boss,” you say with a playful smile, and Aaron looks a little nervous when he nods, makes eye contact.

“Until someone decides to overthrow me,” he jokes, deadpan, and your smile gets brighter. Dry sense of humor, check.

“I’d like to see them try; I definitely sense that you can handle your own.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Derek hiding a smile behind his hand. He knows you’re flirting, even if no one else does, and another reason you hope to take Aaron home is so you can wipe that smile off his face—but mostly because Aaron’s gorgeous, and you know it would be a very good time for the both of you.

“Let’s play darts,” Derek says to the other people at the table—you can’t remember their names at the moment, all your attention focused on Aaron—and they get up and walk over to the board, so it’s just the two of you.

Aaron clears his throat. “Thank you. What do you do for work?”

“I’m in publishing; a copy editor. Mostly Tom Clancy type action novels, and romance novels. Lots of heaving bosoms and cries of overwhelming pleasure, you know?” You take a sip of your drink through the straw, looking over at him as innocently as you can. He’s a little flushed; you’re a huge fan of that look on a man. “Do you ever read romance novels?”

“Uh, no. Not my genre.” He takes a sip of his drink, and you watch his mouth while he does.

“Not mine either. When you edit enough of them, they become wholly unsexy… and they never compare to real life.” You flick your eyes over his body, briefly but not subtly, and he gives you a glance back. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest. “So what do you like to read? Wait, may I guess?” you ask, setting a hand on his arm. He nods, and you carry on, leaning just a little closer. “So I’m going to guess you’re a fan of the classics, novels you’ve read a hundred times. I think you would tell me your favorite is To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say, tapping against his sleeve, “and maybe intellectually it is, but you actually feel more when you read Moby Dick. I bet your heart yearns for adventure—not that life as a crime solving FBI agent is boring, but it's all too real. Moby Dick is the perfect blend of adventure and fantasy for a man like you.”

“You’ve known me for all of ten minutes,” he says with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug and take a drink.

“True. But am I right? Or close?” He smiles, the first full, unguarded expression he’s given tonight, and you feel awesome for making that happen.

“My favorite book is Moby Dick. I make a point to read it at least twice a year. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” You pull back, take your hand off of his arm; you’ve laid the groundwork for touching, and he’ll have to make a move if he wants more. “People often tell you a lot they don’t intend to, and books are my thing, so it’s easy for me to connect the dots. I recommend books to people as a kind of party trick.” You stir your drink, and he shifts a little, sitting closer.

“Have you disappointed many people with your recommendations?”

“Oh, I make it a personal mission to never leave anyone disappointed,” you say, your voice low and sweet like honey. His eyes move to your mouth. You sweep your tongue over your bottom lip. “Derek said your friends are trying to get you to loosen up; can I ask why?” He flicks his eyes up to yours, frowns a little, like he’s not sure that’s something he’s ready to tell you; ultimately, he just sighs.

“I’ve been divorced for five years, alone for five years. They think it’s time I…” He trails off, shrugs.

“Get back in the saddle?” you offer, and he laughs lightly, agrees. “Is that something you’re interested in? You shouldn’t feel pressured into it if you’re not ready.” You might want to sleep with him so badly it’s sickening, but not at the expense of his well-being.

He exhales deeply and lifts his arm to rest it on the back of your chair; you want to smile, but the conversation doesn’t call for it, so you hold off.

“I think I’m ready, but how do you really know?” You turn toward him a little more, lean against his arm; it feels easy, comfortable, almost like a real date and not you flirting like your life depends on it and hoping to get a bite.

“I think you should wait to meet someone who makes you feel a spark, and then explore it. Maybe it burns hot, but doesn’t last. Maybe it’s a slow burn. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I think when you’re really ready to put yourself out there, you’ll know.” He holds your gaze, wets his lips, takes a breath.

“You’ve been flirting with me.” You do smile a little, then.

“Yes, Aaron, I have.”

“Did Derek put you up to it?”

“Absolutely not.” You touch his arm again, gentle, lean in close. “I’m genuinely interested in you. You’re everything I’m attracted to in a man.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Old and uptight?”

“Older, and kind, and capable of having a conversation about more than just sports and money, and handsome. Very handsome.” You lift your fingers from his arm, brush them through his hair over his temple. “I feel a spark. Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and when you set your hand on the table, he covers it carefully with his. His hand is big, warm, softer than you’d expected, and you’re met with the sudden urge to feel it all over your body. “I feel a spark.”

“Good. Do you want to come home with me tonight? No strings attached—just to get you back in the saddle,” you say with a tilt of your head, and he nods.

“I want to.” You’re certain that the smile that crosses your face is softer, inviting, but you get the feeling he won’t kiss you while his friends could be watching. You’re actually surprised he’s touching you so openly.

“Okay, so why don’t you give me a ride home? I was going to have to call an Uber, since my friend didn’t show up, but you’re a gentleman, aren’t you? You wouldn’t let me do that.” He catches on to what you’re saying, the excuse you’re giving him to give his friends, makes a noise of understanding.

“Of course. I wouldn’t rest not knowing you made it home safely.”

“I’m not sure how much rest you’ll be getting tonight,” you murmur, and you rest your free hand on his thigh under the table, squeeze a little. He’s very firm, and you kind of melt. “But that’s a very sweet sentiment, Aaron. Are you committed to staying here much longer?”

“Not at all. Would you like to leave now?” You hold his gaze for a moment, want to be really sure about this; you’re no expert on body language, but you’ve been here before, and he really does look less tense than when you first showed up, more comfortable and open. All really good signs.

“Yes, please.” He squeezes your hand, then stands, smooths out his jacket, and tells you he’ll be right back while he goes to say goodbye to his friends. You stand too, finish what’s left of your drink, and pull out your phone to text Jay.

Taking home the most incredible man. Guess I don’t need my wingwoman after all.

J: Tell grandpa I said he better treat you right.

Please. He’s not that old. If anything, you can call him daddy. :P

J: You can call him daddy. Have fun ;) The ride to your apartment starts out quiet, but you try to fill it by asking Aaron more about himself. You keep your hands on him while you chat, leaning as close to him as you can while wearing your seatbelt, running your hand up and down his leg, over his arm while he shifts gears. You know it’s turning you on, and you’re fairly certain it’s turning him on as well.

You learn more about his job, that he basically solves crimes by judging people, which is kind of funny; before that, he was a lawyer, which you can definitely see. He has one child, a daughter who’s upset with him because of the divorce (someone’s dad, check), and a brother who lives in New York, no living parents. It’s more information than you usually get out of someone you plan to sleep with, but you really do like him, and since he’s not the one night stand type, you think more conversation is the right way to go.

He asks about you too, about your family and your job and your lame friend who bailed on you, and when he arrives outside your building, parks in the lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean in closer, smoothing a hand over his waist.

“I’m really glad I met you tonight,” you breathe, looking up at him, and he puts his hand on your cheek and you meet for a slow, easy kiss. “Hmm. I knew you’d be good at that.”

“I knew you’d be good at that, too. You have the most beautiful lips.” He brushes his fingers over them, and you take his hand, bring two of them into your mouth to suck softly. His breath hitches, and you feel your panties getting damp. God, he’s gorgeous. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers, and you slip his fingers out, drop a hand to his lap where he’s—oh, so perfectly hard it’s unreal.

“We could get started out here, have a little adventure,” you say playfully, fully prepared for him to say he’d rather not, but he just licks his lips and looks at you like you’re going to be the death of him, but at least he’ll die happily. That’s another look you’re a huge fan of on an older man.

You undo his belt, his button and his zipper, pull his cock out of his pants; he’s of average length, thick, makes your mouth water, and you lean in to use that to your advantage, getting him wet with your saliva and then stroking him in your hand. You look up at his face, and he’s got his eyes closed, head back against the headrest—so fucking sexy. You reach your free hand under his shirt, where he’s hairy, strong, but a little soft, just the way you like it, and he opens his eyes and pulls you close for a kiss that’s a bit harder than the last.

“You’re absolutely perfect,” he sighs against your lips, and you press closer for another kiss. You almost regret the adventure comment now, because you want to undress him, and touch him, feel him all over, but you’ll just have to be patient. (That’s never been your strong suit.)

“Are you kidding? You are… everything. If I could build a dream man, he would literally be a copy of you.” He makes a sharp, self-deprecating sound, and you lean down to get him wetter, move your hand a little faster. “I’m completely serious. I’m a little upset I’ve been going to that bar for so long and our paths never crossed.” One of his hands moves to your hair, and he pulls you close for a kiss; he’s ready to come, you can tell, and you want him to more than anything, so you cover his hand with yours and dip your head, sucking his dick like you’re desperate for it. When it comes to Aaron, you’re kind of desperate for everything.

“Oh, god. That feels so good, baby.” You moan at the pet name—is there anything better in the world than an older man calling you baby? Maybe just Aaron specifically calling you baby—and he tightens his fingers in your hair while you glide over him, tight and wet, until he comes in your mouth.

You swallow it down, pull off breathless, and then swipe your tongue over him so he’s clean enough that you can tuck him back into his pants. You look up at him from his lap, and he’s panting too, rubs his fingers over your lips, your chin, down your throat. You’re desperately horny now, soaking wet, and when you shift to sit up, he catches you for a deep, steamy kiss, and that does nothing to help your situation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and ugh, your heart flutters. Seriously, who created this man? He’s incredible. “Now let’s go inside so I can make you come, too.”

“Definitely,” you agree with a nod, and you kiss him once more before pulling back and climbing out of the car, straightening yourself up. He does the same, then walks over to you, takes your hand, and follows you into your apartment.

Sex with Aaron is… talk about adventure. He fucks like—well, like he hasn’t done it in over five years. As soon as you get inside the door, he gets on his knees, pulls your panties down, lifts your skirt up, and eats your pussy with such enthusiasm you come with your hands in his hair, rocking against his face, in less than three minutes. Seeing him down on the ground in the full suit, just going to town on you, is not an image you’ll soon forget, that’s for sure.

After that, the two of you stumble to your bedroom, hands all over each other, tugging at zippers and discarding clothes—he has you keep your shoes on, and that makes you feel slutty like a porn star, and super hot—and you kiss, touch, moving your hands all over each other's bodies until he’s hard again. You stay in missionary, and after he slips on a condom from your bedside table, he slides into you, kisses your lips and your neck and your shoulders while he rolls his hips against yours.

It’s slow and sensual at first, and you drag your nails lightly across his back, tilt your head when he nips at your throat.

“Aaron, oh. You feel so good,” you breathe, scraping your fingers through his hair, and his thrusts get a little deeper, his kisses a little rougher.

“You’re incredible. So gorgeous.” He moves a hand to your breast, massages it while your bodies work; you hitch your legs up higher, moan, and pull him closer, your hands on his body, and he fucks into you more frantically, humping against you hard, wildly. You’ve never really gotten fuck you like an animal, but that’s kind of what he’s doing, and you’re into it, clinging to him, pushing into his thrusts like it’s possible to take him deeper than you are now.

God, he’s going to spoil you, ruin you for all other men. You’re going to have your best sex at 28 and then be chasing this feeling the rest of your goddamn life. It’s both amazing and horribly unfair.

“Yes, Aaron, yeah. Fuck me hard, fuck me deep.” He groans, pounds inside you, moves his hand from your breast to the back of your neck and stares down into your eyes while he absolutely destroys you. You come clenching around him, pulling his hair and digging your nails into his shoulder, and his mouth comes crashing down for a kiss while he thrusts through it and then stutters, his orgasm right behind yours.

You sag against the pillow behind your head, and he puts his weight on you, hand still clamped around the nape of your neck, and breathes hot against your throat.

You stare up at the ceiling, catching your breath, and thank fucking god Jay stood you up tonight. Aaron is very sweet, kissing you and holding you, murmuring against your skin, and the two of you go to the bathroom, get cleaned up, and then raid your kitchen for snacks, talking easily and laughing. He doesn’t look like he’s about to bolt, which you’d been a little worried about; in fact, he actually suggests taking your snacks back to bed, jokes about not getting any crumbs on your white sheets. Never one to kick a man out abruptly after sex, and especially not a man like Aaron, you agree, and you end up in bed again, which means…

Another frantically torn condom wrapper later, and you’re on your stomach, your nipples rubbing against the sheets. Aaron’s hands are on your ass while you work yourself on his cock, rolling your body, moaning desperately like you aren’t already two orgasms deep; his dick hits just right, and between that and the nipple stimulation you’re coming fast, bucking hard against him so he’ll follow.

“Fuck, baby, coming already?” He tightens his grip, slams inside you, plants one hand on the bed to change his angle a bit. “Let’s try for another; your body is so perfect, built for sex, built for me.” You groan, roll your eyes back because his dirty talk is hitting the spot, and the two of you fuck together, noisy and eager and hot, until he shudders, squeezes your ass hard and starts to come.

You’re so close, right on the edge, and you sound wild because of it, your moans high, whimpering, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you beg, grinding against him, and he puts both hands hard on your hips, rails you into the bed.

“I’m not stopping until you come for me. Come for me,” he murmurs, and he wraps one hand around the front of your body, rubs your clit, and you climax, squeezing your eyes shut, seeing stars. You moan his name, drop your hand to cover his where it rests against your pussy, and this time when his body drapes across your back like a weighted blanket, you sigh and close your eyes.

He kisses your back and shoulders, runs his big hands over your hips and ass, then slides off and guides you to the edge of the bed, lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom. You think absently that you could get used to being treated this well, and you must say it, because he presses a kiss to your lips and whispers, “I will if you let me.”

There’s a little talk in bed, after you’re cleaned up and cozy beneath the comforter, about going on a real date; Aaron seems nervous, like he thinks you won’t go for it, that all you wanted was this night of sex. And yes, while that’s typically your MO, something about Aaron is different. He makes you want more, things like dates and picnics and sweet lovemaking at night and kisses—all the kisses, everywhere, all the time.

You ask him to stay, and he promises he will, and you fall asleep in his arms. It’s the best you’ve felt in a really long time.

You wake up to Aaron’s sleepy, handsome face, and you kiss and smile into each other’s lips, because last night was great, but this is even greater. Your plan is to take a shower together and then go out for breakfast, but there’s a knock at your door just as you’re planning to step in.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” you tell him with a kiss, and you pull on your robe and peer through the peephole, then pull the door open. “Well, well; now you decide to show up.”

Jay steps in with a box of doughnuts and two cups of coffee, looking properly shamed.

“I know, I’m a horrible friend. I broke the slut code: stay slutty, but never at the expense of your best girl.” You crack a smile, because you could never really be mad at her, but especially not after last night. You’re about to say that, but she looks over your shoulder at the clothes still strewn about your living room and grins. “Holy shit. Is your old man still here?”

“He’s not an old man, and yes, he’s in the shower, so shut up.” She shoves the doughnuts and coffee carrier into your hands and brushes past you, toward your bedroom, and you groan. “Jay, no, come on.”

“I just want to get a glimpse of him,” she says, peeking her head into your room. She sees more clothes, and the condom wrappers, looks back at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Okay, someone had a good time last night.”

“Yes, it was fucking incredible. He’s a sex god, I’m not even kidding. He ate my pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in months, then fucked me twice, so hard and sexy, and then he asked me if he could take me on a date, Jay.” You smile wide, can’t help it. “I really like him, so I actually owe you for not coming out last night.” She smiles back, pulls you close for a hug, and you step back with your hands on her shoulders. “So thank you, and thanks for coming to apologize, but can you please leave? I really don’t want to miss out on some potential good morning shower sex.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s all from a place of love, and she turns to head out of your room.

“Okay, but only because cockblocking you would mean breaking the slut code again, and I can’t have my membership card revoked. I have a date with the almost frat boy again tonight.” She grins, and you shake your head, pull off your robe when you hear the door shut and head for the shower.

Good morning shower sex has never been so good. One month and twelve dates later, and you’re head over heels for Aaron. He is so sweet, and smart, and secretly funny, the perfect gentleman when you’re in public and an absolute manic in private, and you seriously could not have imagined a more perfect man.

Jay is maybe a little tired of hearing you talk about him.

You’re out for breakfast on a Saturday morning—Aaron is on a case in Indiana, or you’d probably be with him—and she sighs around a bite of french toast.

“I get it, he’s the best lay you’ve ever had in your life. He makes your pussy wet and your heart horny, or whatever. When do I get to meet the old man who’s got you wrapped around his big sexy fingers?”

“He’s supposed to be home tonight, maybe I’ll see if he’s feeling up to drinks?” Sometimes he’s really worn out after these cases, and you don’t blame him, but occasionally they must touch him in a way that makes him want to enjoy life, because you’ve had some nice dates the same day he gets back. You’ll ask, and if he’s not up for it, you’ll reschedule.

“Ooh, yes. I can’t wait to finally get a good look at the hunk who turned my maneater best friend into a monogamous whore.” You gasp, affronted, and she cackles, takes a sip of her iced coffee. Sometimes you can’t even remember why you’re friends—but she never fails to do something completely unexpected and sweet that reminds you eventually. “Hey, maybe now that you’re obsessed with this guy, you can finally meet my dad, since I don’t have to worry about you trying to suck his dick at first sight.”

You know that Jay’s relationship with her dad has been a little rough since her parents split up, and you’ve always thought that maybe you could get her to open up to him, to talk to him, if you could get to know him, but her fears about your taste for older men have always been hilariously real. As if you can’t control yourself; as if you’d ever actually date her dad.

“Well I’ll have to ask my old man; maybe he’s down for a threesome?” It’s her turn to act offended, and you laugh and send Aaron a text about this evening before you forget.

Can’t wait to meet the infamous Jay, he replies, and you won’t lie, you’re feeling really good about your two favorite people finally getting to know each other.

That night, you and Aaron beat Jay to the bar, because of course you do—that bitch is never on time for anything.

You’re feeling cute in a sexy turtleneck dress (the neck of which Aaron tugged down to place a hickey under when you rode him on the couch before coming here) and a set of earrings he bought you—you’re wearing a set of lingerie he bought you, too for later—and he looks gorgeous in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

You can barely keep your hands off of him, squeezing his thigh, kissing his neck; you only give him an inch of space when he gets up to run to the restroom, and even then, the way he smiles and presses his lips to yours before he goes makes you want to cancel drinks and take him home so you can be alone.

But Jay asked to meet him, and you have been a little obsessed lately, so you want to do this and make her happy.

You look down at your phone, ready to hit her with some inflammatory where the fuck are you??? texts, when she drops into the seat Aaron had just vacated, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry. Traffic was really bad, and I got into this huge fight with my mom on the phone...” She pulls off her jacket, drapes it over the back of the seat.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, concerned. The two of them usually get along pretty well.

“Yeah, she’s just pissed because my dad has a new girlfriend—which is stupid, because she’s the one who wanted to divorce him, so why does she care? But anyway, I told her I’d meet her and be nice to her, because it’s important to him, and she expects me to take her side or something. I don’t know. Let’s just say I’m really glad I’m out for drinks with you and your old man so I can forget about my problems for a while.” She takes a deep breath for practically the first time since she started talking, then looks around, realizes it’s just the two of you. “Hey, where is he, anyway?”

“Restroom,” you say with a smile, but something more must creep onto your face, because she rolls her eyes playfully.

“And you didn’t follow him in there for a little stall action?”

“Ew, no. That’s more your speed than mine; we had sex before we came, anyway, look at this hickey.” You pull the neck of your dress down and she whistles, impressed.

“Congrats on having such good pussy, babe. I know you’re sickeningly obsessed with him, but it looks to me like he’s got it bad for you too.” You grin, instinctively want to gush over him, but you see him walking over out of the corner of your eye, so you hold off.

He’s frowning, though, and you’re not sure why.

“Julie?” Jay whips her head around at the sound of Aaron’s voice, and her eyes get wide.

“Dad? What are you…” You stand up abruptly, looking up at Aaron, and Jay stands too, looking between you, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I… We…” He swallows, looks at you like you’ve both made a terrible mistake. You’re surprised how much that look hurts, but you know you have to take care of Jay before you can feel sorry for yourself.

“Jay, listen to me, okay? I swear to god I didn’t know.” You’re begging, pleading with your eyes, your hands on her shoulders. “I did not know.” She shakes her head like it’s not making sense, but when she lets herself connect the dots, she brings up a hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me?” She pulls away from you, looking at you like you punched her in the face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Jay, I didn’t—”

“Julie,” Aaron says, reaching for her, but she steps back, palms up.

“I seriously can’t believe this. You two… After every joke we made about me keeping you away from him?” She looks at you like you betrayed her, and you exhale, shrug sadly.

“It’s not like I went looking for him, Jay. We just… found each other.” You don’t look at Aaron, because if the last month hasn’t meant the same things to him, you’ll have to be okay with that. “I know it’s shocking, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it feels like to find this out, this way.”

“You’re right, you can’t imagine. I just fought with my mom about my dad’s new girlfriend, and it’s-it’s you.” She laughs, humorless.

“You fought with your mom? When?” Aaron asks, crossing his arms, and it’s so clear how much he cares about Jay. Her eyes fly to his.

“On the fucking way here. She told me about your new slut girlfriend, and I was defending you! I told her I’d meet her if you asked me to, that I’d be nice because I know she’s important to you! And it’s you,” she practically spits, turning to you. “Such a whore that you’ll fuck anyone over forty who can still get it up, including my fucking father.” Her tone stings, and people are looking at the three of you, but you take a breath, remind yourself that she’s just angry right now, and she loves you, doesn’t mean that.

“Julie, that's enough. I’m taking you home and we can talk about this there.” Aaron steps past her, picks up her jacket, and glances over at you, but you’re collecting your things and and pulling up a rideshare app to get yourself the fuck out of there.

You head for the bathroom to wait it out until your ride comes, and you definitely don’t cry because the two people who bring you the most happiness in the world are gone and they barely even looked back. It’s five days before Jay shows up at your door with apology doughnuts and a bottle of rosé. You eat and drink and cry on each other, and then laugh at each other, and your heart feels a little healed by the end of it.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore. It’s just… what are the odds, after everything we said, that you would actually hook up with my fucking dad.” You laugh and take the last bite of your doughnut.

“You don’t think I was a little startled by that turn of events? I was as shocked as you. I knew he had a daughter around my age, but that’s not really what we talked about, you know?” She shoves half a doughnut in her mouth and cackles.

“You don’t talk a whole lot, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Didn’t,” you say, and your whole mood shifts. She looks confused. “We didn’t talk a whole lot. He hasn’t spoken to me since the night you found out.” She pulls out her phone, starts texting.

“Okay, I told him I was okay with you guys like, two days ago, so this probably means he’s spiraling. He tends to do that—get in his own head and beat himself up for things that aren’t his fault.” She looks up from her phone, gives you a soft smile. “Will you forgive me if I tell you he’s moping at home right now, and that I know he’ll be happy to see you?” You roll your eyes a little.

“I already forgive you, Jay, but if he hasn’t called me, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he was looking for an out, and I gave him one, or maybe he can’t feel the same way I do because he knows we’re friends.”

“He told my mom about you, remember? He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about you, and I don’t think he’d be acting this emo if he didn’t have feelings for you.” She reaches out, covers your hands with hers. “I’m really, really sorry I fucked this up for you guys. Weirdness aside, I know what good people you both are, and I hate that you were happy and I took that from you guys. I’m 100% supportive of you being my future step-mom,” she says with a grin, and you roll your eyes again and give her a hug and then jump up to get a shower.

You’re going to go get your old man.

When you knock on Aaron’s door an hour later, he looks surprised to see you.

“I thought you’d be Julie,” he says softly, and you sigh.

“I know. She sent me. She wants us to get our heads out of our asses, but I told her I don’t know where your head is, because we haven’t spoken.” Seeing him makes you feel a little better, because he does look like he may have been moping the last few days, so that must mean the spark is still there, right? “If you want me to leave, just tell me, and I’ll go; I’ll get out of your life and you can pretend it was just a casual thing, if that’s what you want.” Your heart aches at the thought, but you’d understand, if being his daughter’s best friend is an obstacle he can’t overcome.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says after a long, painfully drawn out moment. “I don’t want you to ever leave. And I could never pretend this was casual.” He steps forward—so handsome in a t-shirt and jeans it makes you long to press kisses all over his face, to hold him and be held by him—and his eyes are trained on yours. “I know nothing about us is conventional, but it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. I want to be with you.”

You take a deep, calming breath, exhale and nod. Your hands ache to reach out and touch him.

“I want to be with you, but only if you can promise that if something comes up with Jay—Julie—we can figure it out together. I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt the other night, and while I get that you had to take care of your daughter, and I’m glad you two talked things out, I can’t just be abandoned if things get weird.” You approach him, wrap your arms around him, and sigh. He hugs you so tightly, rests his cheek against the top of your head.

“I promise. I know I could have handled that better, but the situation was just so...”

“I know, that’s okay. Family comes first—but just so you know, she gave me her full support to campaign to become her new step-mom,” you say, pulling back with a teasing smile, and he shakes his head and grins. “So, one last question: Are you ready to get back in the saddle, Aaron?” He leans in and kisses you so hard you’re breathless, weaves his fingers into your hair.

“Sounds like my kind of adventure.” Message sent with high importance: Do not disturb! Your dad’s indecent.

J: Gross. Thanks for the warning, mom.

That’s step-mom, to you. Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

[wastelandwitch77]

SO I absolutely love historical dress, and I saw The Bad Batch western AU by @hellothere-generalangsty , so I had to do this. (I’m also going to tag @mintywriteswritings because I first found the AU through her and she writes beautiful fics for it) Our view of the wild west is very 1950′s Hollywood, which is fine, but I just wanted to design some historically accurate costumes. (I made one for myself too because I wanted to design another dress) I’ve been working on this for at least a month? I think? So here’s the (mostly) historically accurate Bad Batch. If you want to read more about my decisions or research, you want to learn more about historical accuracy for your fics, or just think historical fashion is fun, please keep reading under the cut. 

Our time period here is the late 1860′s.

I want to emphasize that this is DAY WEAR. This is what you’d be wearing around town or at work or at home. Evening wear is an entirely different beast altogether.

 I guess I’ll start with Tech. Tech is the most fashionable. He’s a city boy and a doctor, and has access to more expensive fabrics, as well as knowing more about what’s trending. Everyone else is a year or two behind the fashion because it takes a while for the fashion to move out west. 

His frock coat is very in fashion.

Working class people tried to stay on the fashions just as much as wealthier people, they just used what they had, typically adapting garments they already had to suit the new styles.

Lower class and working class people typically had maybe 4? outfits total. Two to switch out day to day, a “Sunday Best” to wear to church, and then something to wear to fancy occasions like dances and weddings (evening wear). Tech, being a bit wealthier, may have a few more than that. 

Undergarments were changed everyday and washed more frequently than the outer clothing. Typically the outer clothing isn’t touching your skin much so that it didn’t get sweaty and didn’t have to be washed often. (washing=more wear and tear on the clothes) Aprons were worn during work to also keep the clothing from getting soiled. 

The dropped shoulder seam and bishop sleeve was the go-to for both men and women.

Men would not go any where with at least a vest over their shirt if there were to be any women present (except their wife). Just the button up shirt is essentially like being in your underwear. 

Likewise, women would never, EVER, have their hair down around men (except their husband.) 

Woman’s hair was always parted in the middle (side part was only for men) and pulled into an up-do low on the head. 

I had to cut Hunter’s hair, because long hair for men was only found on Confederates during this time and I just could not stand for that. 

The modern cowboy hat didn’t exist yet. The hat here is “The Boss of the Plains.” It had only recently been created but was an instant hit. If the time period was any earlier than the 1860′s your cowboys would’ve been wearing a bowler hat. 

If you are a woman, YOU ARE WEARING A DRESS. If you wore menswear at this time, you would get laughed out of town. No trousers. Not until at least the 1910′s did it become somewhat acceptable for women to wear pants at all. Yes, even while riding a horse, which means...

WOMEN ALWAYS RODE SIDE SADDLE. No exceptions. Not in the 1860′s. 

WOMEN ARE WEARING CORSETS. YES, EVEN WORKING IN THE FIELDS. Corsets have been given a bad name by modern media, don’t fall for it. I could go on about corsets for hours if you let me. They did not restrict your movement or breathing. They weren’t laced tightly. They just provided structure and essentially functioned as the precursor to the bra. If it is before 1920, you are wearing a corset.

This is a mistake that’s made a lot, but you wore a chemise under your corset. Your corset does not touch your bare skin.

Women wore crinolines (kind of like a hoop skirt) that were slightly fuller at the back (getting ready for the bustle that was popular in the 1870′s). This is likely the only undergarment that MIGHT have been shed during hard labor.

Working women still wore full length dresses, only hemmed maybe an inch shorter for ease of movement.

Clothes for children were just smaller versions of adult clothes, really. 

Young boys (like under the age of 6?) wore dresses until they were older.

Women and girls would’ve worn bonnets, but I think bonnets are fugly so I didn’t draw any. 

There were just so, SO many amputations performed during the Civil War that the entire culture around disability changed. There was better accessibility and technology for disabled people than ever before. 

I don’t think Tech would let Echo look shabby so he always makes sure that Echo is dressed appropriately. 

I gave Echo a frock coat like Tech’s to mimic his kama, but then I put him in a wheelchair so you can’t even see it. 

For shirts, dresses, and vests, they didn’t really do solid fabrics during this period. The more elaborate the pattern the better.

A shaved head on both men and women indicated that they were either ill or were recently ill (consumption, anyone?)

I based Hunter’s birthmark on my irl uncle Doug, who was a real cowboy.

I allowed hair-dye and bleach to exist because it helps keep the characters recognizable and also because I can. 

The funnest part of this project was probably designing the patterns on the clothes. 

My favorite design is probably Tech.

Menswear is kind of boring. It doesn’t change much after the Regency period. It was very tedious reading about the varying width of lapels in the 1800′s. 

Overall, this period of fashion is not my favorite. This project made me yearn for the vastly superior 1890′s-1910′s era. But I still had a lot of fun. 

If you still have questions feel free to ask. I don’t have a degree in historical fashion or anything, but I did hella research for this and if I know the answer to your question I’m happy to help. 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 27: Blankets

Title: Sick Day Spells

Fandom: N/A

Based on an ask box prompt. The prompt: “It’s all well and good until the cleric gets really sick.” 

What does a party of adventures do when their cleric is forced to take a sick day after a battle? Featuring a Halfling Rogue, a Dwarf Fighter, an Elf Sorcerer, and a Human Cleric.

(Author’s note: Holy crap this was fun to write, and I’m thrilled with how it came out! I can’t believe it took me so long to write a D & D-based story. This is the first time I can say with confidence that you will almost certainly see these OCs again. I loved them way too much to let them go. And there's three more people here for me to whump in all ways magical and physical. So keep your eyes peeled for them again soon!)

They say pride comes before the fall, but most people like to think that applies to everyone except them. Still, perhaps the adventuring party should have kept their pride in check, or else watched more vigilantly for the possibility of falling. 

The party of four were riding out of the village they had simultaneously saved and partially destroyed. True, they had fought off a school of necromancers that were terrorizing the local area and destroyed the necromancers' constructs, but the fireball they had used to wipe out the zombies had also wiped out the entire market and half of the residential district. Still, collateral damage was to be expected, and the slightly-singed foursome were in high spirits as they left the smoking town in their wake.

Their calamity came from a very unexpected source, and it started with a sneeze. The party always traveled in pairs of two, with the fighter and the sorcerer in front and the cleric and the rogue in the back. This meant that Filius and Kandry were generally surrounded by a cloud of dust while on the road, but they didn't usually mind, both being the hearty sort.  

Today though, the dust began to make Filius sneeze even before they'd left the town. After two sets of three sneezes nearly back to back, Lorellyn turned, looking at him with concern.

"Are you all right, Fil? Your cold is still bothering you, isn't it?"

"I suppose. Honestly I'm so tired I barely notice it right now. I just want to get back to camp and sleep for a day or two," said the cleric, congested and hoarse, trying not to cough.

"Well yeh certainly earned it. It seemed yeh were everywhere at once ou’ there, throwin' out healin' spells left an' right, an' destroyin' th' zombies in droves, plus flingin' necromancers here an' there with tha' mace o' yourn," Gundor said.

"He's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Lorellyn said earnestly. "You're the hero of the day."

Filius smiled tiredly, but before he could reply, a sickly green bolt of energy hit him in the back, making him spasm. He froze, then slowly his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward on his horse. 

The other three jumped into action immediately. Kandry leapt off of her mount and onto the back of Filius’ with flawless acrobatics, somehow managing to prevent him from falling off of his horse and take control of the steed immediately, though she couldn't reach the stirrups. 

Lorellyn whipped around, immediately shooting a firebolt from her palm, aimed at the bush from which the offensive spell had come. The dry bush caught fire immediately, causing the pair of tiny goblin mages hiding inside it to run out shrieking, heading toward the smoking village. Gundor was already off of his mount and chasing them down with rage in his eyes, ending them with his axe before they knew what hit them. 

Gundor and Lorellyn were at Kandry's side as soon as the threat was eliminated. The halfling was anxiously checking Filius over for visible injuries.

"He's burning up!" she cried. "What did they hit him with?"

"It was a wimpy Ray of Sickness. I saw it out of the corner of my eye," Lorellyn said, taking over assessing the cleric. "Those mages were barely second level. I'm surprised they were able to hit him at all. There's no way this is just from that. There's something else."

"Well can't you figure it out?" Kandry snapped.

"I'm trying! But divination is Filius' specialty, not mine!" Lorellyn snapped back. 

"Let's jus’ get ‘im back ta camp. We need ta get off th' road. We're too exposed, an' distracted ta boot," Gundor said, looking around worriedly. "Yeh can look ‘im over there just as well as here."

The other two quickly agreed. They hastened back to their base, with Filius slumped in the saddle in front of Lorellyn, and Gundor leading Filius' horse behind his own. 

The ride was somber, the high spirits from their successful battle all but forgotten. Filius had a raging fever and was dead asleep, unable to be woken, but seemed to be in the throes of terrible nightmares, for he writhed and cried out the whole time they were moving. Whenever he would yell, it would send him into an awful coughing fit that left him panting and sweating. Lorellyn tried her best to soothe him, but she was clearly distressed, especially when it seemed to have no effect, and she had tears in her eyes most of the trip.

Arriving at their camp, they made a makeshift stretcher for him from a blanket, gently carrying the tall man to his tent and laying him down on his mat. They lingered at his side, unsure how to proceed.

"Why don't you do a healing spell on him or something?" Kandry snapped at the sorcerer. "There's got to be something we can do!"

"I don't have any spells left after that battle," Lorellyn hissed. "I need to rest my magic! And anyway, sorcerers can't do healing spells. Our magic is too chaotic. Bad things would happen if I tried. Do either of you have any healing potions?”

"I never waste time with that. They're too heavy to bother with. You all always carry them... Or Filius takes care of it," Kandry mumbled. 

"I gave mine ta th’ villagers tha' got hurt in th' blast," Gundor said sheepishly. "Filius planned ta brew some more, so I wagered I wouldn't need 'em."

"Some adventurers we are," Kandry groaned. "We can't even take care of our cleric."

Lorellyn wrapped Kandry in a hug, which the halfling immediately tried to wriggle out of, but the elf was stronger. 

"We'll figure something out. It will be fine," Lorellyn said bravely. 

At that moment, the party heard a commotion on the highway, with many people screaming and yelling loud enough to be heard at the camp, though they were well away from the road. The three healthy members of the party gave each other worried looks. Lorellyn attuned her hearing to better assess the situation while Kandry and Gundor waited breathlessly.

"It's a green dragon," Lorellyn gasped after a moment. "Something angered it and now it's flying around, attacking randomly. It's already killed dozens of people." 

"It's all well and good until the cleric gets really sick," Kandry groaned, covering her face.

They didn't have time to make any sort of plan, for immediately they heard the sound of running footsteps approaching their camp. A young man with wild-looking eyes dashed into their midst.

“Adventurers!” he gasped. “Have you heard? There’s a dragon terrorizing us! We need your aid to defeat it!”

Gundor stepped forward. “We hadn’t heard o’ this trouble. O’ course we’ll do what’s necessary in this time o’ danger.”

“So you’ll come? We must go right away!”

“Give us time ta make our necessary preparations. Leave us fer now.”

The lad nodded, hurrying away again. 

Gundor, Lorellyn, and Kandry shared a look. Without a word, they quickly began to break down their camp, hastily packing their things and snuffing out the fire under cover of Lorellyn’s disillusionment cantrips, and taking full advantage of Kandry’s stealth. In minutes they had packed their belongings on their horses and were heading in the opposite direction of the main road, deeper into the forest. Through it all, Filius remained unconscious, mumbling and sweating and weak with fever. 

After another hour or two’s ride, having hidden themselves deep in the forest, Kandry found a secure cave in which they could hide out. The party was in no shape to fight a dragon right now. Here, they wouldn’t be in danger, or be run out of town for not assisting with the dragon. Gundor secured the perimeter while Lorellyn attended to the sick cleric, laying him out gently on his bedroll once more and bathing his sweat-slicked face with a wet rag while Kandry saw to the rest of the camp preparations. The cool water slowly brought Filius to consciousness, with much coughing and trembling. However, wakefulness did not bring awareness with it. He looked around dully, his eyes heavy-lidded and fever-bright, but seemed to take in little of what he saw. He closed his eyes again wearily without acknowledging his companions hovering over him worriedly. Shivers wracked his body.

“ ‘m so cold,” he coughed. “Thirsty….” 

Kandry rushed to get him a mug of water while Lorellyn snatched the blankets off of each of the other bedrolls and brought them over, covering him in all of them. They seemed to have no effect though, and he continued to shiver violently. Gundor built up the fire frantically, but it took a while to catch, and the smoke only made the sick human cough more. After drinking two mugs of water, Filius fell back asleep, which was somehow both a relief and a worry to his friends. His fever never changed, neither going lower nor higher.

“I’ll run ta th’ village ta get ‘im some kind o’ potion,” Gundor murmured over supper. “I can’t watch ‘im suffer like this.”

“And risk being seen, or worse attacked by a dragon?” Kandry scoffed. “After all the trouble we went to to find this place and stay hidden? Please don’t.”

“She’s right,” Lorellyn said. “That’s at least two hours' ride, and one of us will be left alone and vulnerable. At least wait until morning, when our health and spells are back up. If he’s the same or worse, then go. We’ll see how he does through the night.”

Once night fell, with nothing else to do, the party tried to sleep, rotating 6 hour shifts keeping watch, as usual. However, even when not on guard duty, the party members found they couldn’t settle, and kept lifting their heads to shoot worried glances at their cleric, or make sure he hadn’t worsened. Gundor had had the first watch, and when it came time for him to rest, he settled on his bedroll, but then tossed and turned for a long time. He was usually snoring like a bear within moments of shutting his eyes, so this had the ladies on high alert. Finally, the dwarf got up with a huff, picked up his bedroll and carried it over to Filius’ side, dropping it there. When he lay back down, he was close enough that his shoulder touched the cleric’s. The dwarf then pulled a corner of one of the blankets over himself and rolled to his side, pressing up against the human, and immediately falling asleep with a weary snore. 

Lorellyn had the second watch, and she kept shooting tender, but envious looks at the sleeping men. Filius never woke, but he seemed to sleep more peacefully after Gundor had joined him. As soon as her watch was finished, she followed the dwarf’s lead, pushing her bedroll up against the other side of the sick human, sliding under the blankets, and resuming her meditation. 

Kandry was not so easily swayed, and tried to ignore the thoughtless sharing of germs happening behind her as she took her turn at the watch. However, when no one was looking, she surreptitiously slid her bedroll around to the other side of the fire, placing her closer to her companions.

Had Gundor and Lorellyn been aware of their surroundings, they would have noticed that in the wee hours of the morning Filius began to sweat profusely. He had hardly moved after the other two had settled in with him to share their body heat, but he began to mutter and toss a bit once more. Finally, just as dawn was creeping over the horizon, he woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright with a hacking cough. Lorellyn and Gundor were instantly awakened as well, and Kandry was at their side in an instant. Filius tried to catch his breath, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. 

“Where ‘m I?” he croaked. “What happened?”

Lorellyn leaned over to press the back of her hand to his forehead, then his neck. “We’re safely hidden in the forest. Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Filius groaned. “Sick. How long have I been asleep?” He yawned hugely. 

“Almost a day,” Kandry said, pressing a mug of water into his hands. “You scared us half to death. You got hit with a Ray of Sickness and you just… passed out.”

“I did?” he said worriedly, looking confused. “I don’t remember that….”

“Yeah. Did you have some poison in your system too or something? I’ve never seen Ray of Sickness do that,” Kandry said accusingly. 

“Not that I know of. Might have to do with me already being sick when it hit me. Just exacerbated everything, made it worse temporarily.” He coughed roughly into his shoulder, wincing, then downed the mug of water. 

“Well your fever is much better,” Lorellyn said happily. “Let’s hope you’re on the mend now!”

“I’d be on the mend faster if I got some whiskey,” Filius sniffled, looking meaningfully at Gundor. The sleepy dwarf readily got up and shuffled to his pack. Finding what he was looking for, he returned with an amber-colored bottle and handed it to the cleric, who took several unceremonious gulps. 

“Good ta have yeh back, mate,” Gundor rumbled happily, reclaiming the bottle and taking several swigs of his own. 

“What are you all doing over here anyway?” Filius said after a moment, yawning again. “This cave is plenty big enough for all of us.”

“You were freezing, so we shared our blankets with you,” Lorellyn said.

“Really? You mean you slept here all night?”

“Tha’ we did. ‘Twas a mighty fine night’s rest, too,” Gundor said. “Matter o’ fact, I could use some more shuteye if it’s all th’ same ta you lot.” With that, he lay back down right where he was, pressing up against Filius once more and closing his eyes. The cleric looked surprised, though not unhappy with this development. 

“Some more rest would be nice. Filius, are you able to put up some protection spells so we can all relax for another day? I hate to ask so much of you--” Lorellyn began.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, coughing chestily. “I can manage.” He grasped his talisman of Njord and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. After a moment, an opaque barrier appeared over the cave’s entryway. No creature, magical or otherwise, would be able to pass through. Looking exhausted now, he lay back down alongside Gundor and shut his eyes, a tiny smile appearing on his face as the dwarf shifted cozily against him and Lorellyn too pressed closer. 

Lorellyn was also grinning. “Come join us, Kandry.”

The halfling rolled her eyes. “I don’t cuddle.”

“I don’t either, but here we are,” Filius mumbled, almost asleep. “Just call it team bonding.”

Kandry almost declined again… but it really did look very cozy to be surrounded by blankets and pillows and teammates. With a little sigh, she shuffled over and slotted herself in, with Filius’ long legs on one side of her, and Lorellyn’s on the other. 

They spent the rest of the day just like that, sleeping and eating and talking, content to take a day to simply enjoy each other’s company as they let their cleric take a sick day.

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2021, Day 2: Death Upright: Change, Ending, Release Reversed: Refusal to Change, Unfulfillment, Stagnation

A seam strains along a well-worn shoulder, so stretched he can actually hear it creak over the din of the canteen. That clinches is: that asshole’s got to be picking out too-small fatigues from the GI bin.

There’s no other way for him to look like that, biceps testing the tensile strength of cotton every time he takes a sip of his coffee. Sure, this guy’s jacked the way all the active rangers are, ready to heave 750 tons of metal onto their backs at a moment’s notice, but he’s not Mitsuhide. It makes sense when he pops buttons off his coverall, or stretches out one of their dingy cotton tees. But that’s not this asshole.

He’s lean, the kind that telegraphs that taking an elbow from him might be career limiting. There’s no reason the general issue tee should cling to his back like it’s painted on, his coverall hanging off his hips like he’s got an occupation other than freeloading. Shirayuki leans over, fingertips brushing over his sleeve with a laugh--

“Just punch him already,” Kiki drawls, “get it out of your system.”

Zen blinks, suddenly aware there’s still some Taco Tuesday left in his mouth. “What?”

“Kiki.” Dark bruises circle the skin beneath Mitsuhide’s eyes, underscoring the weary strain in his voices. “We shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of behavior.”

“Why not?” Her elbows dig into formica as she leans over her plate, shoveling rice into her mouth. At her father’s table, Kiki knows the use of every spoon, the name of every fork, but this deep in the dome, Ranger Seiran’s never met a meal she can’t inhale in five minutes flat. “I did it.”

Air hisses right through his perfect teeth, the only sign he’s annoyed besides the tense bar of his shoulders. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

Kiki hums around the lip of her mug. “You mean like you did with Lugis?”

Mitsuhide doesn’t have skin like his, the sort that flares up like flash paper at the barest hint of sun or taunting. But still his neck flushes red as a burn, so bright Zen’s half tempted to slap it, just so he knows what it’s like.

“T-that was an accident,” he insists, even as his mouth settles into a satisfied smile. “Even the inquiry said so.”

It’s a struggle to keep his own from curling at the edges. “Only because Lugis didn’t want to press charges.”

“Only because he didn’t want it getting out that a girl ran circles around him on the mat,” Kiki corrects, each word a scalpel’s slice, excising those particulars from that shitshow with surgical precision. They can talk about this; Lugis’s challenge and the way Kiki swept him; that he was hardly on his feet when Mitsuhide somehow mislaid his fist and found it in his face, but everything else, the whys of it--

Those are all off the record. Forever. Or at least they would be, if Lugis wasn’t crawling through the dome like a stoat that’s caught whiff of an egg.

But that’s not what this is about. “And you want me to do that with that asshole?” Zen mutters. “Since it made Mitsuhide such good friends with Lugis, after all.”

“Obi isn’t Hisame,” Kiki informs him with the kind of steel in her tone that suggests she won’t be taking critique on that particular assessment. “All your issues with him are external.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, teeth gritting down.

It’s a mistake, a rookie one at that: never ask a Seiran a question you don’t want the answer to. “He’s got Shirayuki’s attention and you don’t.”

Mitsuhide clears his throat, shoulders set like Zen better plan to shelter in place. This particular storm isn’t about to hit its usual conversational breakwall. “Attention you’d have, if you hadn’t skipped out on your session.”

Zen grips the table to take that hit. But it’s not nearly the last; the stare Kiki turns to him is wide-eyed, half-betrayed. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“It’s none of your business.” Even as the words fly from him, he knows it’s not fair, that he’s spitting nails into the wind so that they’ll hurt someone else instead of him. It doesn’t stop him, it never does, but a guilty knot settles in his gut. “The sessions are voluntary. They always have been. I don’t need--”

“Someone to keep your head on straight?” Every syllable snaps like ice, her eyes twice as cold. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? So if something happens to us, you’d have--”

He can’t listen to this, not another word. “That was never the plan! I would never plan for you guys...”

Not coming back. For Redwood Dancer to be left a ruin on the sea floor, their bodies strapped in, hermetically sealed until the ocean wore the jaeger down to parts.

“Nothing is happening to you guys,” he grits out. “Shirayuki was always an addition, not a-- a replacement, because you’ll never--”

“No one can promise that.” Mitsuhide’s never one to throw a first punch, but oh, does he know how to end a fight. All the breath’s knocked clean out of him, and there’s Dancer’s right hand, shoveling down another bite of rice like it’s nothing. “Every time we go out there it’s a flip of a coin. It doesn’t matter how good we are, one day there’s going to be a kaiju that kicks us clean off our feet.”

He shakes his head, wishing the words would fall right out of them. “No. That’s not--”

“Zen.” He’s never heard a siren’s call, but it can’t be as inexorable as Mitsuhide saying his name in that tone, both firm and pitying and mournful all at once. “You know better than anyone. Rangers don’t grow old.”

There’s no thought when he levers himself up from the table, just up with away chasing its heels. He just can’t be here listening to this, not now, not after they just barely crawled home from another kaiju clawing its way across Korea’s shoreline. Not when he knows he should be fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with them-- that he would be if they stopped trying to saddle him with every rookie that rolled out of the simulator and finally put him with the only person that could fill that brace beside him.

“Zen!”

It’s easy to ignore Mitsuhide’s shout over the dinner rush; it’s just part of the noise, a buzz at the edge of his senses. Something to goad him, to push him out of there before either of them think to follow after. Their pity’s the last thing he needs, the last thing he wants. After all, it’s not him that won’t climb in the Conn-Pod, but his--

“Boss!”

Zen blinks, the empty corridor resolving around him. He’d let his feet carry him, their only imperative away-- and now he’s all turned around, every bulkhead the same. He’s heard about this happening to rangers when they lived in the dome too long; chasing the Minotaur, a ranger called it, three drinks down at the local hangar. And no fine little princess to give you string to find your way out.

Except he did have one of those. A person to help him through the labyrinth, even if she couldn’t show him the way. He’d been avoiding her.

That seems stupid now. It’s not like she’s on that asshole’s--

“Hey! Hey, boss.”

Speak of the devil. Zen turns, and there he is, too-tight t-shirt and all: his own personal problem. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” He holds out his hands, as if that’s proof enough to clear him of ulterior motives. “I just...saw you head out and it looked like...”

Zen’s shoulders square, body braced like they’re back on the mat. “Looked like what?”

Obi’s breath rushes out of him. “It looked like you shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s not until he lifts his hand that he realizes it’s trembling, barely able to push his bangs back where he needs them. “Yeah? And you thought-- what? I’d want to see you?” Even to his own ears, his laugh is bitter, wrong, like it came from someone else’s mouth. “You, the guy who won’t get out of my way?”

Something ripples across this asshole’s face, too fast for him to catch more than its wake. “You think I’m the stick stuck in the mud here?” When those strange cat’s eyes stare at him, it’s out of placid waters, but that grin on his face-- it doesn’t reach them. “Rock, meet hard place.”

Zen’s hands clench, so hard his knuckles creak. “You think this is a joke? You’re trying to shove your ass in a seat that isn’t for you, and you--”

“You think I want to be out there?” He lets out a bark somewhere between pitying and derisive, arms folding over his chest. Zen takes special care not to check how stressed his seams are. “I did my time, Your Highness. I got out. I got told no one would ever look for me again.”

“Then why are you here?” Zen spits. “No one wants you.”

“You don’t know how true I wish that was.” A hand pulls at his shoulder, long fingers digging in around the blade. “But your brother dragged me down the coast because I’m not done. I’ll never be done, because I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch Snotju or Head Banger or whatever cosmic asshole crawls out of the rift wreck another wall.”

His hand lifts, scrubbing through the bristle of his hair, just a shade too shaggy to be regulation. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it, Master? I’m the one who doesn’t want to be here, but I’m the one who’s got the balls to get back in that jaeger. And you--” a cold gaze rakes over him-- “you’re content to sit there and watch the world burn just because I’m not--”

“Shut up.” He’s trembling, every muscle straining against his self-control. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing--”

“I’ve been in your head,” that asshole reminds him. “I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t.” He can’t. “You don’t fucking know a thing about me.”

He cocks a hip, grin loaded like a bullet. “The prove it.”

Kiki’s right: in the instant where his knuckles hit that cut-glass cheekbone, Zen feels great.

Shirayuki’s office has always put him at ease; he stepped in here the first time before she’d even properly covered the walls, the tension seeping right out of him into the push carpet under his boots. There’s just something about how she fills a space-- something that has nothing to do with furniture or wall hangings or motivational posters-- that makes his brain put out whatever chemical that means safe. He’d never understood why the other rangers avoided her, not when they could have forty minutes in the room equivalent of a warm hug.

But it’s different this time.

“Izana made you call me here.” He’s ramrod straight on her worn couch, hands clenched in his lap. Or rather, right over the throw pillow he moved to sit. “Didn’t he?”

“The Marshal’s personal feelings have nothing to do with this.” Her words snap like a window on a sill, closing on that topic with a sense of finality he expected from the top brass, not their therapist. “The PPDC’s code of conduct is quite clear on the procedure to be followed after a non-sanctioned physical altercation between personnel.”

There’s a loose thread right by the fringe; he’d noticed it months ago, but never dared to tug it. Every time he’d felt the urge, he’d think of dominoes and load-bearing pillars, of the whole edge unraveling in his hands right as she looked at him.

Today, he pulls. It comes right off with a snap. “And that’s the only reason you brought me in?“

Shirayuki turns to him, one incredulous brow raised. “You were the one who cancelled our last session--” her mouth twitches as she twists the knife-- “last minute.”

Well, he deserves that one. Sure, he’s had his reasons, but Shirayuki-- well, she deserved more than one step up from ghosting. If the thought of having to look anyone in the eye after all that hadn’t made his stomach turn for three days, maybe he would have come to that conclusion before Kiki ripped him a new one over it.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, aware with every word that it’s not enough, that there’s not enough apologies to patch up the trust he broke. “I wasn’t...ready to talk.”

He expects the clap back; yeah I got the message, or but you were ready to take a swing? But he should have known: that’s not how Shirayuki works. She’s a professional, whether that’s what he wants from her or not.

Instead he face softens, right back into his friend. “I know. What happened in the drift can be...intense.” She hesitates, teeth sinking into the plush bow of her lip. “I just wish that you had felt comfortable conveying that to me. As my patient, you’re supposed to be able to control--”

“I don’t want to be your patient.”

Her mouth closes with a grunt, hand pressed to her stomach as if he hit her. “O-oh,” she murmurs, breathless. “I hadn’t realized that you, ah, wanted to terminate our sessions--”

“No!” God, it would be nice to be able to say this all smooth like he’s sure that jacked asshole can, leaning against a wall with his hand right by her head, sexual tension rocking the Richter scale. “I just meant--” his teeth try to grind down his thoughts into something palatable-- “Shirayuki, I don’t want to just be your patient.”

He could fall into her eyes they’re so wide, rounded ‘o’s that match her mouth’s geometry. “Ah, Zen, that’s...”

“I don’t mean because I-I like you.” Even though he does, but there’s rules for that. The kind the PPDC will look the other way on, but not Shirayuki. She’s not from under the dome; she still worries about what people might think outside of it. “I just...wish you were on my side.”

“I am on your side.” Her shoulders pull straight against the back of her chair, her soft look hardening into resolve. “Which is different from telling you want you want to hear.”

He jerks back, cheeks stinging like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say I wanted that,” he mumbles, hands clenching over his lap. “But I don’t need you to tell me to do whatever it is Izana wants me to either.”

“I wasn’t going to.” The notebooks in her lap closes with a snap, and with trembling fingers, she sets aside her shield. “Izana wants you back in a jeager for the legacy. For the unbroken line of Wisterias standing between humanity and the rift. But I...”

Her eyes lift to his, and they’re no longer the lush, leafy green of a forest, but the hard glint of emerald. “If you get back in that cockpit, you need to do it for yourself.”

It’s an effort not to say, I don’t see the difference.

“I saw you when the siren went off.”

Zen scrubs a hand over his face; he remembers. Their eyes had met over that seething mass of fear and competence, and-- and he’d been so sure that if he saw her, something more than that glimpse of red in the corner of his vision, he’d forget every inch of his resolve and go to her. That he’d just take her in his arms and tell her all the thoughts roiling in the sea of his mind, but--

But he hadn’t. He’s taken one look at her and, without even a pang of guilt, left her there. A real hero.

“Zen.” She says his name so firmly, so seriously, that his head jerks up, gaze tangling with hers. “You don’t want to be on the sidelines. You don’t want to be the general hiding being his troops. You want to be out there, Rex Tyrannis shoulder-to-shoulder with Redwood Dancer. And you could be.”

It’s his breath that’s rasping, the death rattle of the man he’s let himself be these past few years. “How?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in her when she says. “You have to choose to move forward.”

And cozy up in the cockpit with that asshole. He thinks about that grin, cocked with a confidence he’s never been in the neighborhood of having, and...

It’s so familiar that his double vision makes his head pound. “I can’t work with that-- Obi. I won’t.”

“I know that...” Her lips press together, bursting apart with a pop. “I know there’s no limit to the amount of people a ranger could potentially drift with, but there’s something...special when you find the right one. That there’s something right about it than can’t ever be replaced.”

He stares, head galloping in his chest. She shouldn’t know that-- there’s no way she could. Most rookies out of the academy just drift successfully once, and that’s it-- that’s their partner, for better or worse, like marrying the first kid you kiss. There’s exceptions-- emergencies, injury, irreconcilable differences-- but even though this job has a high turnover...rangers rarely die alone. There’s not enough people for a paper.

“Yeah, I’ve...heard that too.” Probably from the same mouth she did, though it seems Mitsuhide’s polished the speech since he last gave it. To him, at least.

“I understand that you have a vision of who you want beside you in the pod,” Shirayuki presses, voice growing tighter, more tense with every word. “But Atri’s gone.”

Every drop of blood in him turns to ice. “Atri?”

Her breath hisses out through her teeth, relief slumping her shoulders. “I know no one can be him, but--”

“You think this is about Atri?” A giggle bubbles up from him, bitter on his tongue. “I’ve been sitting here for weeks-- no, months! And you think all this, the whole reason I won’t climb in a jaeger with just anyone off the street is because of Atri?”

Every corner of her face lost. “Isn’t it?”

“No, I...” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like it might stem the pounding of his heart behind his brow. This whole time he’d been so careful, trying to be understood for once, to let someone see him instead of his mistakes--

But he should have known; as long as his brother is obsessed with sending him an endless parade of nobodies which he sits behind a desk, it’ll only be his hang ups hung out for everyone to rifle through.

“I should go,” he finally manages, levering himself to his feet. The room spins, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, but he can’t stay here, not when she thinks-- when she’s always thought--

“Zen,” she murmurs, voice muffled by distance. “Are you all right?”

--That he’s pathetic. “Yeah.” He stumbles to the door, swinging it open. “I just need to--”

And of course, standing right there is that asshole, hand half-raised to knock.

“Boss,” he breathes, clearly stunned. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be...”

The awkwardness in the office is palpable, so thick that he might as well be moving through molasses. Before this guy showed up, he’d though he had half a chance; he was practically the only one outside of K-Science that would even look at her, and his sessions always felt like more, but now--

Well, it’s no wonder he didn’t stand half a chance next to him, if she thought he was waiting for Atri.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zen pushes back him, shoulder clipping his. Or at least near enough to claim the feat. “I’d hate to keep you two from your--” date-- “dinner plans.”

Shirayuki’s breath gasps from her. “Zen, wait, we’re not--”

“It’s fine,” he lies, every muscle tense where he stands, fighting the urge to look back. “A couple of things are clearer now.”

It’s not just her. They all think he’s waiting for him, that one day he might stroll back in here like nothing happened, and Zen--

“Please.” Shirayuki’s voice trembles, and even if he’s not looking, he knows she’s at the door, vibrating in its frame. “Let’s just finish the session.”

-- and Zen’s been giving them nothing else to work with. All these years, looking like a kid stood up on prom night.

“No, I just remembered there’s something I’ve got to do.” He forces a smile on his face, giving her a bare hint of it as he peeks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

It kills him how much hope lights in her eyes. “Next week?”

“That our appointment, isn’t it?” he says, light tone limping. “Unless I see you around the dome before then.”

“Right,” she breathes, cheeks flushed at both corners of her smile. Obi’s watching her, concern writ large in his eyes, and well-- maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as Zen wanted to believe. “Until then.”

He gets halfway down the hall, before Obi calls out, “Hey, boss...”

It’s clear when he looks back that Obi hadn’t meant to speak, but now that he has, he clear his throat, giving himself a visible shake.

“You could come with us,” he says, hesitant. “If you wanted.”

It’s an olive branch, one he doesn’t deserve. One he should take, if he wants all this to heal over without a scar. But he’s not ready for that, not yet.

“No.” He shakes head. “I wasn’t joking about having something I got to do. Go enjoy yourselves.”

This is a terrible idea.

He knows it the entire time he’s walking, the anxiety cresting the second he sees the plate on the door, engraved and letters painted black: IZANA WISTERIA. MARSHAL.

“Well,” Izana hums from his desk. “Are you going pace outside my office all day, or are you planning to come in?”

Zen lets out a rush of breath and pushes the door open the rest of the way.

“You win,” he says, all in a rush. “I’ll do it. I’ll give him another chance.”

“I think at this point, he’s giving you another chance,” Izana tells him, barely glancing up from his pile of papers. “But...I’ll arrange it.”

He nearly says, I figured you’d have it all arranged already, but bites it back. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. And Zen.” His brother looks up, capping his pen calmly before he folds his hands over the desk. “It’s not me who wins. It’s humanity.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, meeting that steely gaze. “But I’m not doing it for them.”

For once, his brother doesn’t have anything to say.

It’s Obi who’s locked in first this time.

His cheeky smile is already waiting when Zen steps on deck, body gripped by Rex Tyrannis’s hydraulics when he throws him a wink. “Second time’s the charm, right Your Highness?”

“Third time,” Zen mutters, keying in his code. “It’s third time’s the charm.”

“Right, but you were top of your class.” A guy like Obi shouldn’t be so comfortable when he’s got twenty tons pinning him in place, not when he’s got a face just asking to be hit. “So we can shave one of those off, right?”

“Depends.” His mouth twitches. “Where did you rank?”

Obi’s grin grows stiff enough to float. “I think you’d say I’m a natural talent.”

“That bad huh?”

A laugh saws out of him, raw in the loud silence of the pod. “You have no idea.”

“I think I could take a guess.” The hydraulics hug Zen tight; even lifting to his arm to the panel is a chore. “Ready?”

“For you?” Obi’s mouth stretches into a leer.  For once, he feels like he’s in on the joke. “Any time.”

Don’t chase the rabbit. It’s Obi’s voice that says it; not the way he had before, serious and concerned, a scolding and a reminder. No, this one is a laugh restrained, sing-song. One pill makes you big and one makes you small.

There’s a faint riff of guitar, and Zen’s about to tell him to can it, that putting trash in the drift just clogged up the flow, but--

But between one breath-- one blink and the next, he’s lost in the tide, rolling through his memories rudderless. When a hand grips his shoulder and--

“I’m ready.” Zen’s always too honest, too eager but he’s young here, younger than he ever remembers being wearing the badge. “To pick up the legacy. To be what father meant us to be.”

The memory runs true, his younger self still chatting away with Shidnote, unaware that his whole world’s about to be cut off at the knees. But he’s not watching that now, he’s watching the way shadows crawl across his brother’s face, a storm front that appears and vanishes in the moments no one looks.

“About that.” Izana settles his hand on the desk, but the drumming is no longer bored but...nervous. An asynchronous beat that runs at the speed of his thoughts. “I meant to tell you. I’m being promoted.”

“Promoted” The word still kicks his legs out from under him, still knocks the wind out of his lungs as efficiently as any punch to the gut. “But I thought we would--”

“They want me in a command capacity now that Mother’s taking over Anchorage.” Izana won’t look at him. The man who has built his career on being able to stare down Orochi in Sagami Bay can’t bear to look him in the eye. “I’m being taken off active duty.”

“But--” He looks between them. “But--”

“But--”

“But--”

The memory stutters. It’s him, he’s the one who’s pushing away. He’d always thought he couldn’t give this to someone, to some guy right off the street, someone who might pity him, but it’s-- it’s him. He can’t look at this. He can’t face failure another time.

And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Hey. Obi’s voice is too close, but he’s just an outline in the drift, blues and grays fuzzing between misfiring synapses. Hey, we don’t have to watch this.

They do. They have to, if he’s going to get through this.

Right. There’s no way for Obi to sigh here, where there’s no air, but he does, long and loud. It sounds...different. Almost...feminine. I have worse. Want to see me wet the bed when I was--?

The words fuzz before they can continue. Go ahead, Obi says, sounding like himself. Take as much time as you need. It’s not like we have clocks here.

Zen can’t nod here, not without a body, but he breathes, one solid in and out--

“It’s supposed to be us.” Even with the distance of time, every word is carves straight from his flesh, laid out on a platter for his brother to see. “We’re supposed to carry on the legacy.”

“Shidnote will continue on in his current capacity,” Izana explains, bored, as if he didn’t even speak. “He’s served me well. I’m sure you’ll both be sufficiently compatible.”

“But--” Zen grits his teeth. “It’s supposed to be us. Why are you giving me an excuse--?

He blinks. He never said that. He’d been thinking it the whole way to his bunk, but in the moment it had only been a yes sir. I understand, sir.

Then why--

“It’s an excuse.” The shine’s all worn off Atri’s grin, baring the raw edge beneath. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”

Scrap litters the floor at his feet; he’s never known what jaeger-grade parts sold for on the black market, but he knows it’s not pocket money. This is a small fortune if someone knew where to sell it.

Which clearly Atri does.

“You’re going to blame me?” Zen’s laugh limps with bitterness. “I catch you with stolen goods, and it’s my--?”

“It’s not stolen, it’s salvage,” Atri snaps, snatching a length of steel from his hands. “It’s not like they’re using it.”

A lie-- there’s not a shred of steel or wire that’s wasted in the dome. Jaegars come with a price tag that only governments can pay, and any corner that can be safely cut on maintenance is considered savings passed onto tax payers. There’s no way he can’t know it, not after six months, but--

He doesn’t care. He never did.

“This is why you agreed to be my copilot.” Every word aches as he births them from his lips, a truth that cuts even as he speaks it. “You didn’t care about protecting your friends. You just wanted access to parts.”

Atri shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. “I never said I gave a single fuck about all that hero shit. You just assumed I did, because you do.”

“But the drift...” His breath wheezes, the way it did when he was a kid, before his dad paid for all that to be fixed. “How did you...?”

“I just thought about the stuff you cared about. Friends. Kaiju. Me.” Atri’s grin turns smug. “Some of us don’t wear our heart on our sleeves, Wisteria.”

Wow. Obi’s outline fuzzes as he circles behind Atri, a single brow raised. He’s a real fucknut, huh?

His memories are jumbles, him-now and him-then all tumbled together until his first instinct is to jump to Atri’s defense. He may not be an academy-trained ranger, someone who has a lifetime worth of experience in a simulator, but put him in Rex Tyrannis and he’ll--

Steal the toilet cover? Obi offers, mouth canting into that insufferable grin. The one that always reminded him of--

Ah.

Obi darts a glance to where Atri stands frozen beside him. Jeeze, you really know how to hit a guy where he lives. You think I look like this asshole?

Just the grin, really. He’s almost a head taller, broader in the shoulders, and Asian besides. Better looking too--

Obi’s smile stretches into a leer. You don’t say, bossman?

Maybe Atri’s right. He’s got to get better about what he thinks about in the drift. Especially with someone this insufferable around.

If anything, Obi’s more amused. So it’s this guy though, he’s whole hold up you have with me? It’s not--

Against his will, Atri springs to life, mouth curled into his nastiest sneer when he says “I don’t know why you’re acting so betrayed. After all, you only wanted me to get back at the Marshal, and I played my part, didn’t I? I’m sure he’d jump in the pod if that meant he could be rid of me.”

“That’s not--” true, he should say. He can’t though, not when he’s not this-Zen, when he’s just looking out from his eyes, straight into Obi’s.

“Yeah.” There’s no spit to swallow in the drift, but he does anyway, a force of habit. “It is.”

The memory fuzzes away from him, and it’s just them now, two men braced in the Conn-pod, staring at each other through their visors.

“Right hemisphere, calibrated.” Zen blinks, watching as his hand opens and closes, the robotic voice’s dulcet tones washing over him.

“I never wanted this, you know,” he murmurs, “not if it wasn’t with my brother. That’s how it was supposed to be, me and him versus the kaiju.”

“Left hemisphere, calibrated.” His arms seem to move on his own, and it’s strange how he can’t keep the smile off his face this time. It feels good, moving like this again.

“No,” he breathes. “It was supposed to be me and him versus the world.”

“Ready to activate the jeager.“

Obi’s arms lift, a fighting stance to mirror his. It’s easy, so easy. Easier than he ever thought it could be. “What changed?”

He’d shrug, if the hydraulics would let him, but this isn’t Redwood Dancer. “Seemed like a shitty reason not to save the world.”

“Calibration complete.”

Obi grins, teeth shining bright under the lights of his visor. “Doc tell you that?”

Zen laughs. “Pretty much.”

“She’s got a gift,” Obi agrees, hands moving in sync with his. “And it’s making you feel like an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Looks like you jokers are getting along,” Kiki deadpans through their helmets. “How do you feel about taking Rex out for a drag?”

“After being cramped under this dome for months, Princess?” Obi drawls, tossing him a conspiratorial wink. “It’d be my pleasure.”

“Just give us a sec!” It’s been a long time since Zen’s talked much with the crew in CIC, but he recognizes that voice-- Yuzuri, one of Shirayuki’s friends. The peppy one with the cute accessories. The one that told him she’d give him cement shoes if he made her cry. “Let’s see if we can get you off your leash.”

He’d always liked her. Hopefully the feeling’s mutual, since she’s right next to the plug.

“Hey, boss.”

Zen blinks, glancing across the cockpit. “Yeah?”

“I know Atri was supposed to be a big fuck you to His Majesty, but...” He hesitates, thoughtful. “You drifted with the Big Guy for a while after that. Why?”

“Ah--”

It’s impossible not to think of it, the siren rising in the air, the men running past them, voices drowned out by the drone.

“I’ll do it,” he says, glaring up at the man across from him. “At least you know you’re just a seat warmer.”

“Zen--”

He blinks, the memory stuttering beneath him. That’s not what Mitsuhide called him then, that wasn’t until after--

“Zen.”

That’s not inside the memory, that’s inside his helmet. “Mitsuhide?”

“You’re out of alignment.”

He shakes his head, uncomprehending. “What do you--?”

“You’re out of alignment.” He repeats, each words strained. “You both chased the rabbit, and...Obi went straight down the rabbit hole.”

It doesn’t make any sense. “But I--”

“You have to go get him,” Mitsuhide says, dire. “He’s pointing the plasma cannon at Mission Control.”

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 10: Start a War

Summary/Author's Note: TWO MONTHS. Two fucking months Oberyn was silent in my head and y’all suffered for it. I just knew everyone would stop caring about this fic because I let you all down but I posted that it was coming back and my inbox and DMs have been BLOWING UP all fucking night. I love you guys and I am very emotional. Enjoy. 

We had to have just a little drama but of course I would never keep our main three from going to Dorne. Oberyn knows perfectly well that there will be consequences to his actions--he does not care. We are officially in double digits people?? This is unreal. Also, please listen to this song to get the feeeeeeel of what’s going on. 

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 4.1k Warnings/ratings: 18+/R - Distress, Sad!Oberyn (this was hard to write but I fixed it), murder, throat slashing, Oberyn is angry and reckless.

[Parts] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]  [MASTERLIST]

The waves crashed against the rocks with as much gentleness as was possible for the crags of King’s Landing. The air was cold, but the sky a crisp blue as the sun started to peak over the water. It was a good day for sailing, a good day for travel, and most importantly a good day for going home. Oberyn leaned on one of the posts on the boardwalk leading out into the waters as he watched his soldiers ready the ship. He held the slip of parchment in his fist, torn between crumpling it, re-reading it for the hundredth time, or throwing it into the ocean. 

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

Six words. After this week was that all they meant to you? The note was signed at the bottom with your name but he couldn’t believe it. His guts churned with the idea that what the three of you had shared in the brothel could be summed up in such a small note. He crushed it in his fist again and swallowed the lump in his throat as he tossed it into the sea. He watched it float down to the surface before getting swallowed by a wave and wished it was the sorrow he felt instead.

“My love?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder as Ellaria came to stand behind him and put her hand on his sleeve, the other gripped his bicep as she bowed her head to kiss his shoulder. Her eyes were red and despite the stern, stoic way she held her body he knew she had spent most of the morning with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She had put most of her energy into ignoring their existence, and he didn’t dare bring attention to them.

“I thought she’d come,” Oberyn said flatly as he looked back out onto the horizon.

“So did I,” she whispered against his cloak.

He knew it had been quick, a passion spurred on by spite and excitement, but he thought despite the amount of time, there was a certain kinship between you. The idea of not belonging in one place, of wanting to see what wonders the world held--they could give that to you. That and so much more. All it required of you was a leap of faith and yet you were choosing to stay with the Lannisters.

Looking back to the city, looming in the twilight of the morning, it was as if he was waiting for you to come running over the hill. If it was possible, he would stand here and wait as long as he had to.

"I vow to worship your body with my mouth, hands, and cock, every night once we're in Dorne." “Promise?”

He had made you that promise against that table in the library with his cock buried inside of you and you had called him your prince. Had it all been for nothing? Was it just a pretty sentiment said in the height of ecstasy? The thought made a twinge of pain blossom in his chest and he pushed it deep into the background of his subconscious. If you truly didn’t want to go to Dorne, if you didn’t want Ellaria, if you didn’t want..him--he wanted to hear it come from your own lips.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he rubbed his beard in thought. “Who did you say brought the note?”

“I don’t know,” Ellaria answered honestly. “Your men said the messenger was wearing Lannister colors.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Oberyn stood up straight and walked towards the plank ramp that was leading up to his ship. He stopped the captain of his guard with a gesture of his hand and the man stood at attention with his hand on his scimitar. “Change of plans.”

“But, my prince--” the man looked startled as he faced him. “We’re almost ready to set sail.”

“Then you’ll be ready when I return.” Oberyn held up his hand and stopped another of the guards from walking one of the horses up the ramp.

“Return?” Ellaria spoke up and turned Oberyn to face her instead. “What are you doing?”

“She didn’t write that, Ellaria--”  

“Oberyn--”

“Someone else did.”

“Listen to yourself--”

“My gut is never wrong. She’s in trouble--”

“Oberyn!” Ellaria grabbed both of his upper arms tightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of his yellow sleeves as she fought the urge to shake him. “I thought she would come, as well. I’m heartbroken that she--” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “That she doesn’t want us. But what are you going to do? Storm the Red Keep with a handful of men? And what if you’re wrong--what then?”

“I’m not wrong. And I don’t need a handful of men--I have me.” He gave her waist a squeeze in return and leaned forward to capture her lips and kiss her hard. It was brief, but it caught her off guard just enough to release her hold on him as he walked around her to the horse.

“Don’t do this,” Ellaria pleaded once she recovered, but it fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was many things, but with his fearlessness often came a stupidity that Ellaria knew was going to put her in an early grave.

“Captain,” Oberyn addressed the man from before as he undid his traveling cloak and tossed it to one of the other soldiers.

“Your grace?” The stoic man stood up straighter and gave a nod of attention.

“No one, except myself, is allowed on this ship. You are to stay with my paramour and keep her safe at all costs, do you understand?” Oberyn gave him a very serious gaze and the other man nodded.

“I’m coming with you,” Ellaria protested, but Oberyn shook his head as he grabbed the horn of the saddle and hoisted himself up onto the animal with a swing of his leg.

“No,” He said curtly, rubbing his hand along hers on his knee to soften the sting of his words. “You are correct in saying I will not be able to take the Keep by force. I’m going to go get her, and come back unseen--I need you ready to sail the moment our feet touch the deck.”

“This will have consequences.”

“Everything we do always does.”

She bit her lip and lowered her dark eyes at him. There was no arguing with him. He had clearly made up his mind. “Be careful.”

He grinned and gave her a nod. “I always am.”

“If that were true, I would worry less,” She said. He chuckled before clicking his tongue and spurring the horse forward back across the dock and back into the city.

--

It was early enough in the city square that barely anyone was in the streets. The shops and carts were still closed and the morning air was the cold, crisp kind that seemed to permeate one’s lungs and make them feel clean. The metal shoes of the horse clopped softly as Oberyn turned the reins and clicked his tongue again leading the animal down an alleyway.

The shadows swallowed him as he moved along the wall and pulled the animal up short, dismounting gracefully. He moved the reins up over the animal’s head and tied the leather straps to a beam that was protruding from the stone walls.

He knew the tower that held the servants quarters and the one that had held the bedchambers for the Lannisters when Elia had been queen. Ellaria would have skinned him alive if she had known that was what he was basing his entire plan off of--a memory of the castle layout that was the better part of a decade old.

He ran his hand along the damp stones of the wall that led down the alley and around the larger part of the tower. There were no guards to be seen, as they were no doubt guarding the doors, but he wasn’t looking for a door--he was looking for a window. He looked up, carefully pulling a bit of the mortar that held the stones in place from the wall and crumbled it between his fingers. Humming his approval, he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his side and reached up as high as he would and started digging one of the bricks loose.

He put his dagger away and grabbed the self-made foothold tightly before hoisting himself up to the metal sconce that held one of the Lannister banners on the side of the wall. With careful, meticulous planning, he found something to hold onto, one right after the other, up the side of the tower. A gap in the bricks, a stone that was slightly larger than the rest, it all served the same purpose. His arms and shoulders ached with the repeated motion of pulling his weight up but he pressed on.

He climbed to where the tower met one of the breezeways of the garden and used it as an opportunity to take a break and reassess. His boots dropped down on the roof of the apex of the tower and movement caught his eye. 

The window directly above him, where he was betting your bedroom was was open. But what was odd was the rope that was hanging down from it, blowing gently in the breeze. No, that wasn’t a rope, that was a long line of bed linens knotted together. The realization made him smirk as he searched the courtyard below for signs of movement.

“Clever woman,” he chuckled quietly to himself.

Staying low, he walked the spine of the roof along the perimeter of the courtyard until he got to the end and looked over into another dark alley. Whatever gods were looking down on him that day, were doing so favorably because just like he had hoped, there you were. You hugged the wall of the alley much like he had, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Not only were you not wearing a dress, leather riding breeches took the place of lacy skirts, but your hair was tucked carefully under the dark hood of your cloak. To the average person walking by, you looked ordinary, easy to miss, unless someone was really looking.

He turned his back to the alley and gripped the edge of the roof, lowering his body down as far as it would go before releasing his grip. His boots made a firm thud on the cobblestone behind you and he moved swiftly, putting one arm around your waist and the other over your mouth. Just as he expected, you tried to scream against his hand but he was quick to speak against your hair.

“It’s me, it’s me--”

You turned in his arms and he loosened his grip enough to let you. The look of utter relief on your face was enough to make his chest tight. He grinned and tucked a strand of your hair back into the safety of your hood.

“Oberyn..”

He let out a grunt and braced his knees as you threw your arms around his neck and put your face against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your back and he dipped his head to kiss you softly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he said, quietly.

"How did you know to come? I thought you were supposed to sail this morning before dawn. I was worried I would be too late."

“We are--but I knew something was wrong. I knew you didn’t send that note.” he rubbed his hands up and down your arms as if to keep you warm and convince himself that you were indeed real.

“What note?” You asked, a flash of fear crossing through your eyes followed quickly by realization. “Cersei--she said that she was going to send word to you and Ellaria that I had changed my mind.”

“She did,” he nodded. “But it wasn’t very convincing.” He winked and you gave a sigh of relief and hugged him again. "If you don't wish to go to Dorne, I expect to hear it from your own lips."

"No--" you blurted out and put your hand to your mouth, looking around the alleyway for any signs of another person. "No, I want to go--I want you, and Ellaria."

He smiled then and let his large hand cup the side of your face, allowing you to lean into his touch as he backed you up against the stone wall and kissed you deeply. "I was hoping that's what you would say." He whispered against your lips and you put your hands on his chest, gripping his tunic. He allowed himself to indulge for only a moment before he pulled back and said to the space between you, "We need to go. Ellaria is waiting and I fear the longer we wait, our odds of getting caught only increase."

You nodded quickly. "Cersei gave the order that if anyone wearing Martell colors came to the castle, they were to be killed on sight--especially you and Ellaria."

"Did she now? Well, that might make things interesting." He chuckled, but it held no joy, it was a noise of spiteful entertainment. "Come on," he grabbed your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping the majority of your body behind him.

The two of you hurried along the wall and you let Oberyn guide you down the alley and around the corner as he clearly retraced his steps. He stopped abruptly, almost causing you to collide with his back as he spotted his horse, now being inquisitively observed by two of the king's guard. They carefully untied the beast from its tether to the wall and looked at one another in confusion. Two against one? Those were favorable odds in his eyes.  

"Stay here," he said, planting you against the bricks with a firm hand on each of your arms.

"Oberyn--Obr--fuck." You tried to protest but he was already gone.

He moved like his nickname implied, swift and silent, like a snake in the sand. He grabbed the hilt of his dagger and pulled it from his belt, his hand wrapped securely around it as he reached the two guards. They never stood a chance as the prince grabbed the taller one by the back of the helmet, jerked his head backwards, and wrapped his arm around the front of him to run the blade across his throat in a dramatic display of red. The horse whinnied and reared back, taking a few steps away from the group of men.

“Stop!” The other guard yelled, as his comrade fell to his knees and then face down, unmoving on the stone.

The command didn’t do any of good, as Oberyn rushed him before he could pull his long sword. The Prince raised his knee and kickied the long sword from his hand with a clang. Oberyn used the momentum and slammed him up against the brick stones, the man tried to scream and he drove the blade of his dagger into his open mouth, through the back of his head, pinning him against the bricks. Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling an involuntary noise of shock as you watched the man’s body twitch, resembling a butterfly pinned to a board in a Maester’s laboratory.

Oberyn leaned in, gripping the man’s hair as blood poured down his chin and he fought his body’s urge to close his mouth around the blade. Any screams he may have made were strangled around the steel as he looked at his attacker with horrified eyes.

“You can keep the dagger,” Oberyn said quietly, close to the man’s face, as he traced his finger down the detailed snake on the hilt. “I want Jaime and the queen to know I was here.”

He looked back at you, expecting to see horror on your face, disgust, regret, anything that would have you second guessing your decision to go with him now that you had seen such a thing. But you were a Lannister, and when he extended his hand to you, you took it willingly. He pulled you behind him only dropping your hand long enough to hoist himself up onto the horse and reach back down to lift you up as well.

You put your hands in the mane of the animal as one of his arms came around the front of your body and held your back tightly against his chest. He dug the heels of his boots into the haunches of the horse and it bolted, thundering hooves against the stone. It was no longer about being quiet. It was about being quick, and putting as much distance between the you and King’s landing as possible.

The two of you rode hard and fast through the streets of the city. People waking up for the day and starting to open up their homes and shops looked at you with curious speculation but you moved too swiftly for much else. Oberyn’s arm was a comforting weight along your stomach and you put one of your hands over it, leaning back into his chest to ground yourself against the jerking of the horse as it galloped.

The minute the docks came into view you felt like you could breathe again. Your chest ached from the anticipation of being unable to see your destination but it was the image of Ellaria standing tall at the edge of the ship that made you want to burst into tears. She looked absolutely stunning, in her burnt orange robes, soft dark leather bodice and matching riding trousers. She was a siren on the water, and she was waiting to call both of you home.

“Sails!” She yelled, over her shoulder to the men behind her and Oberyn’s captain nodded in agreement before moving to make sure everyone within earshot followed her orders.

Your body jerked as Oberyn steered the stallion up the ramp to the ship and jumped it over the edge onto the deck with a loud thud. He let the animal slow to a trot as its chest heaved from the exertion and it blew loud breaths through its nostrils. He pulled up on the leather reins and came to a stop just as the ship shoved off from the port and Ellaria picked up her robes and came running down off of the quarterdeck.

No sooner had Oberyn released you to slip from the saddle and to the ground did she have you gathered in her arms. Your hood fell and she put her hands in your hair and kissed you. “Thank the gods,” she breathed against your mouth and you smiled, a few tears of relief forming in the corners of your eyes.

Oberyn swung his leg and jumped down, handing the beast off to one of his men before turning a fond grin upon the two of you. “I do believe I told you so.”

“Not now,” she chastised him with a smile and a shake of her head but she kept her gaze on you. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Ellaria--” you swallowed hard and took her hands in yours and gripped them tightly. “I didn’t--I would never have left..”

“I know, I know, sweet girl,” she brushed your hair back from her face and nodded. “Oberyn knew. You’re safe.” She kissed you again and drew you into her body, resting her chin on your shoulder and looking at Oberyn standing behind you. “What have we done?” she asked with a smile, her tone saying full well that the consequences didn’t matter.

“With any luck,” he shrugged and rubbed his chin as a smirk overtook his face. “We started a war.”

--

You had no idea just how long you had been on the open water, the days all seemed to run together. The sun rose, the sun set, and as far as the eye could see was just blue water that blended with blue skies. Your fingers twisted idly in the chain of your mother’s necklace that sat nestled between your breasts inside of your bodice--the only worldly possession you had made sure to grab when fleeing the Red Keep. Your lovers had assured you that their first task in Dorne would be to buy you everything you needed, but none of that seemed to matter that much.

The whole feeling of getting further and further away from your old life in King’s Landing seemed surreal. The idea that you didn’t have to return to Casterly Rock didn’t feel like it could possibly be true, but it was. As you stood on the bow of the ship with your hands on the railing and the wind in your hair, you knew that it was true--there was no going back.

Solidly strong arms slid around your waist as sun kissed skin nosed your neck and you leaned back against the solid chest of Oberyn Martell. You had been so caught up in your thoughts, that you hadn’t heard his boots on the planks behind you.

“How is she?” you asked quietly and he spoke as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s fine,” he heaved a sigh when you reached back to put your hand in his hair. “Finally asleep--hopefully she stays that way for a while.”

True to what she had told you in the brothel, as soon as the ship broke the waters of the open ocean, Ellaria had become almost violently sea sick. She had spent the majority of the trip with her entire body over the wooden rails, Oberyn and you taking turns holding her long, dark curls out of the way as she emptied her stomach until there was nothing left. She refused to eat, and when she finally caved and allowed even the smallest morsel to pass her lips, it wound up back in the water a few hours later.

“I feel awful for her.”

“It happens every time,” he said, trying to ease your concerns. “It is a small price to pay to see the world--her words, my dear, not mine.”

You nod and keep your eyes on the horizon as he moves your hair to the side. The action bares your neck to him and your eyes close slowly as you feel his lips start a trail at your shoulder.

“Did you ever send word to your family?” You asked finally, putting your hands over his on your abdomen.

“No,” he answered flatly. “I thought I’d let it be a surprise.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Your voice was chastising and it made him nip your neck and chuckle when you jumped.

“I’m a Prince of Dorne,” he continued. “You need to get used to that. You don’t need to ask permission anymore.” He kissed up to the shell of your ear and whispered. “What’s our rule?”

The action caused you to shiver and you squeezed his hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“Exactly. Most people spend their entire lives making excuses and apologies for the things they truly desire--we are not most people.” One of his hands slid up from your waist to cup your breast through your bodice as he licked a slow, wet line down the side of your throat.

“Oberyn…” you bit your lip and let out a shaky breath before briefly glancing over your shoulder to make sure none of his men had their attention on the two of you. “Stop--” you moved his hand from your breasts and back to your waist.

“As you wish,” he grinned against your skin and went back to resting his chin on your shoulder and looking out at the water. “But the second we get settled in our chambers in the palace--you and Ellaria are both mine.”

“Our chambers?” you asked, turning your head to smile at him and he hummed in agreement.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather sleep elsewhere?” he teased and chuckled as you shook your head. He was quiet for a few moments before he squeezed you gently, moving one of his arms to point across the horizon. “Look, my love.”

Your gaze followed his arm and your heart raced as the horizon broke to show that there was indeed land on the other side of the world. The smile that broke across your face was so wide that it almost hurt. Unlike the shore of King’s landing and Casterly Rock, there were no cliffs, no crags, no ragged edges to dull the beauty of the waves and darken the landscape. No, this was very different. The sandy beaches were warm and inviting, the foam from each crest of the waves broke against the shoreline and rolled back to let the sunlight sparkle off of the surface. You wanted to jump into the water, to feel the sand against your skin, to immerse yourself in what was to be your new home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Oberyn lowered his voice and spoke against your hair, “Welcome to Dorne, Lioness.”

--

[Next Chapter]

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[onedivinemisfit]

During my recovery, this has been my biggest project, no kidding. I looked but couldn’t find Obi’s witcher!AU body template so I sketched some Bruxa!yuki designs instead. <w< I’ll finalize and colour them when I’m well, or so I hope, unless I forget XD

Pls forgive any mistakes I’m not 100% yet. ^^; 

Explanations below the cut~

AnS (c) Akizuki Sorata Witcher (c) Andrzej Sapkowski TW3 models (c) CDPR Art: Me

Disclaimer: I am not a tailor and as such all my opinions are based on preference and evt pushing rules in my favour XD

The main idea with her wardrobe was to underline that whatever she’s doing, Shirayuki is feminine, and wants to present feminine, hence the skirts and ribbons and embroidery. She’s also a person fond of utility, so belts, pockets, and layers that can be added or removed as she fancied, was also an important facet to add. But she’s also bruxae, monster species, so she’s got a few blind spots, so to speak, regarding what is and isn’t proper to wear in human society. But most of all, her clothes make it easy for her to use her bruxa powers to move around swiftly, silently, and with purpose

Around half of these were referenced from the witcher 3 game, with me picking my favourite garb, and what made more sense for her in different situations. 

1. Huntress Outfit - this one I made myself, using only some of the basic wardrobe notes from tw3. I’ve a softness for overdresses/kaftans with splits, especially if they’re combined with tights/buckskins. Shirayuki is a poor bruxa living in the woods outside a small human settlement, so she doesn’t have access to a tailor other than on market day, or when peddlers arrive, hence she often has to redesign old/too-small clothing for new purposes. Another point was to reinforce her sleeves, to make it easier to brush away branches and undergrowth, and adding the Skelligan waist shawl, a gift from her half-sister, as recurring themes.

2. Winter Outfit - another I made myself, because I was dying to design something that included a sheepskin jerkin. The waist shawl helps redefine the jerkin and give it a feminine twist, and the wrapped sleeves both reduce noise and keeps her cuffs from leaking precious warmth. The wool tunic could have been a dress, but I wanted to focus on showing off her fur-tucked winter boots and knitted long socks. Shirayuki probably knitted them herself.

3. High Summer Outfit - another self-made design. Made so as to underline her non-humanness, borrowing heavily from witcher elven aesthetics, with lots of exposed skin, crossed fabric, and asymmetrical cuts. This is what she wears when the weather *won’t* allow you to dress decently or you get purged by the sun, basically. Again, since Shirayuki’s often short of fabric, a lot of refashioning going on. 

4. Commoner Outfit - A very basic woman’s dress, very presentable, very respectable, especially since Shirayuki is trying to sell the lie that she’s a normal human woman. It’s her go-to outfit for visiting human settlements, or for performing simple chores around the house, such as cooking, sewing, or spinning. Things that keep her in or around her homestead, and not gallivanting in the woods at midnight looking for prey.

5. Relaxing Outfit - merely a dusty day dress pulled over her nightgown, for those chilly nights where Shirayuki doesn’t want to undress for bed until she’s halfway under the covers. When the chores are done and all that’s left to do is sip a cup of blood, read a book beside the hearth and wait for Ryuu to return from his late night wandering, she likes to shed all those layers and relax.

6. Throw-together Outfit - referenced from the game, almost entirely (Keira Metz’ witch model) - save the shoes and headband. After the loss of her home and her more presentable clothing thanks to witcher Obi (who will later admit that yes he does in fact owe her a new dress... and blouse... and apron...) this outfit was assembled through raiding an abandoned witch’s hut. Anything that could suffice as clothing, basically, even the old curtains. Shirayuki doesn’t personally care that some of her *assets* are pretty much on display, but she would like some linen anyway, the cotton does chafe a bit. Aside from the pearl necklace, nothing she’s wearing actually belonged to her in the first place.

7. Formal Commoner Outfit - reffed from the game, (Keira Metz’ second model) the shoes being the sole exception. A dress for special occassions, perhaps May Day, Equinox celebrations, etc. Not that Shirayuki often dared participate in such events, due to the amount of people who show up even in small villages to throw tankards together and dance around bonfires. But she does pilfer the dress from the abandoned witch’s hut anyway, thinking maybe, afterall, since it’s so pretty and it had matching sleeves to go with it... keeping it wasn’t such a dumb idea. 

8. Pants Outfit - reffed from the game (juggler npc) A cross between a traveler and a city dweller, a light-weight yet very elegant outfit for strolling in the human cities. The top is presentable enough that she doesn’t look poor as a pauper, while the pants give the impression of someone on the move, a stranger. It also provides the most comfortable riding experience, the few times she does ride, as she has no need for a lady’s saddle.

9. High-Class Outfit - reffed from the game/one of my favourite tw3 modders, (New Sorceress models by Roksa) I only added the shoes and circlet. When Zen has the dress made for her, it is by FAR the most expensive thing she’s ever worn. Not a single thread of the dress isn’t well-made, the dyes are the brightest and most even-coloured, and the silk is light as a touch on her skin. While the dress itself is a demure, feminine dream, what sets the ensemble apart are the dark cat’s eye gems, just hinting at Shirayuki’s darker secrets. They’re set in gold, for obvious, unspoken reasons, as she reacts to silver much like being set on fire...

10. Evening Outfit - reffed from the game, I just changed the necklace (Ida Eméan’s Gwent card art) another very expensive dress, but surprisingly one that Shirayuki tolerates better. No stiff, itchy velvet, no heavy damask, just sheer silk with gold thread (again for reasons obvious to a bruxa) some simple sleeves, and a chain of stones, no gilded jewellry that could empty a bank vault if sold to the right people. She probably takes a fancy to this dress while attempting to woo a certain witcher, which explains the understated beauty, the most daring of cuts, one that screams “look at me, only me” and the simple-at-a-glance design. Much like Shirayuki herself.

11. Skellige Outfit - inspired by the viking-esque game design for Skellige fashion, this dress is for when Shirayuki and her family stay in the Isles, following her sister’s suggestion. A dress that signifies the matron head of a household with its pewter clasps and apron, follows Skellige fashion demanding you wear a shawl with your clan colors (Shirayuki, although clan-less, was given one by Torou) and layers. And armguards. And a split overdress. To show that this is Shirayuki’s choice wear afterall. 

[popculturebuffet]

Lilo and Stitch Crossovers: “Morpholomew” (American Dragon Long): Stop Trying to Make Am Drag a Thing (Commisson Done For WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people! And welcome to a brand new retrospective/story arc/thing from yours truly, comissoned directly by WeirdKev27. If you’d like to comission your own review or set of reviews like this one, it’s 5 bucks. Just contact me via my ask box or direct messages on this very blog or my discord technicolormuk#6550.

With Shadow Into Light in the books, Kev decided he wanted to comission something not duck related and a bit smaller as a buffer before the next big arc, ALL of three arcs from season 2 of Ducktales, and decided to go with something he suggested to be a while back as a possible future retrospective: The Lilo and Stitch Crossover episodes! 

That’s right for the next three weeks, with TWO reviews this week since I had a spot open up and Kev paid for this one in full and way in advance, we’ll be taking a trip to Hawaii to visit everyone’s faviorte little girl, her best friend/pet/killing machine as they try to find homes for his 625 cousins. 

I loved Lilo and Stitch when I was a kid: Disney admitely got their hooks in me on that one with their cool prequel comics in disney adventures. These comics set up the movie, showing Jumba creating Stitch and the events leading up to both getting captured. The movie did not disapoint with cool character designs, a drop dead gorgeous recreation of Hawaii, and a really heartfelt, heartbreaking and heartpumping story of loss, family, and ving rahmes voicing one of the few heroic child services workers i’ve seen in a medium, a refreshing change of pace. The film is a masterpiece and I really do need to watch it again sometime. 

Given the series was a huge hit and that thsi was before the big lull in the late 2000′s and early 2010′s where Disney refused to make any tv shows based on their movies, a series followed, given a lead in by the direct to video movie Stitch.

The movie set up the basic premise; 624 capsules containing Jumba’s previous experiments, cousins as Stitch calls them, ended up raining over Kauai, awakening when dropped into water or any other liquid. Lilo and Stitch, with help from Jumba, his live in boyfriend Pleakley, her tought but fair sister Nani, and her boyfriend David, who dosen’t show up as much as i’d like but is my boy so he gets a mention here. But anyways our heroes try to reform the various engines of distructoin who all have unique powers and find them their one place they truly belong. 

So yes the show was a Mons-type show clearly captalizing off pokemon.. but the slice of life setting as opposed to the shonen style of most shows following in pokemon’s wake, gave it it’s own unique feel: while our heroes did fight, it was more about shenanigans, adventures and what not with these unique creatures and the purpose is very heartflet: Lilo simply wants to give these guys the same kind of love and support she’s given Stitch and a chance to do good. 

Opposing them is Gantu, the shark bounty hunter from the first film who, now out of a job, is working for Dr. Hamstervile, an imprisoned sceintest and a character I really don’t like that much as he’s not funny or a genuine threat or both and feels like a waste of time. Thankfully he’s not the focus and Gantu is instead partnered with 625, my faviorite Lilo and Stitch character. 625, as the name suggests, is stitch’s immediate prototype.. but unlike Stitch is too lazy and peaceful to be a real threat and isn’t even really a villian despite being on Gantu’s side. He’s busy making samwitches, his calling to the point when he gets a name in the finale movie it’s naturally Ruben, and snarking at gantu. He’s sadly not in this one but hopefully it’s JUST this one. 

As you can tell I liked this show a LOT at the time. I haven’t watched it since, mostly because disney scarely replayed it after it’s run, but it was vibrant, fun and intresting and a nicely laidback and creative take. The fact I came into the franchise with the comics and thus 625, who was introduced there in fact, and had a hunger to know more about the other experiments certainly helped. It was great fun. 

But while I grew up with the show and the four shows it teamed up with, i’ve never seen these episodes before these reviews. I wondered why for years as I caught the tail end of the kim possible one and saw images ocasionally, but never saw them. 

Turns out it’s because in general Season 2 got screwed over. While Season 1 was pushed out the door fast and aired at a rapid pace Season 2.. was portioned out over several years, and the Recess crossover one, the last one aired and the last one i’ll be covering never even got to Disney channel, only airing on ABC kids, DIsney’s saturday morning block at the time I rarely watched. I did watch it’s predecessor one saturday morning though. Good stuff. 

Since I couldn’t find any making of stuff for why these episodes happened, my best guess is DIsney wanted some cross promotion, and the shows used were chosen because they were the most popular at the time and honestly all 4 represent some of disney’s best, with Recess being in heavy reruns at the time, hence i’ts conclusion despite the show being finished before Lilo And Stitch the movie came out, let alone the series. 

So yeah i’m taking this ride for the first time.. but I was happy to. While Kev pays for a lot of my work, I still have to accept the idea.. and this was a great one. It allows me to cover 5 amazing series and gage how much people would want to see reviews of said series on this blog in one fell swoop.

So to kick us off we have American Dragon: Jake Long, a series I waited forever to come to Disney + as I loved it at the time, badly need to rewatch it (Been busy ), and find it genuinely great: It’s a great teen superhero story about the magical protector of new york, with a charming lead, a great setting and horrifcally great villians in the violently racist magic creature hunting huntsclan.. and their top agent who happens to be jake’s love intrest Rose. It’s really excellent and i’m glad it’s now widely avaliable for all to see. I will say ahead that all four shows in this crossover arc are excellent, and were fine choices for this. 

So what happens when an action comedy about a hip hop teenage dragon meets a slice of life show about aliens? Find out under the cut. 

So we open at a fancy hotel where Lilo’s bringing lunch to her sister Nani when she runs into.. Keoni Jameson. 

The second I remembered this kid all the hate just came flooding back, coursing through my veigns. Just pure liquid hatred for this little perosnalitiless little punk. Keoni is Lilo’s crush and local “stupid white audience stand in”. He has no real personality other than “generic cool kid” and “likes skating”, and just sucks the air out of the room anytime he’s in an episode. Keoni is part of a recurring problem in cartoons across the ages, one that’s slowly going away: the bland love intrest. Intorducing a character whose only traits are being cool for the lead to fawn over with usually no intent of either getting the two togehter or just ending it. IT’s annoying, it was in a good chunk of my childhood, I wish it’d stop. I cannot tell you how many shows used this trope. There were exceptions, American Dragon Jake Long actually used it well by not only making Rose a fleshed out character..  but making her jake’s nemisis in their other lives, and thus making things increidbly difficult on both once the truth comes out, with Jake grappling with if he can trust her or not and Rose grappling with the slow relization eveyrthing she was taught her whole life was wrong.

And again I have seen GOOD storylines using this as a tool: Dipper and Wendy ended with her having been aware teh whole time, but simply not knowing how to let him down given the age gap, and Regular Show rebounded the best from it: it turned the stop and start relatoinshpi of Mordecai and Margret’s relationship into a character flaw for him, openly explored it.. and ended up having him work past it and actually date her for a bit. Before she moved away, he got an even better love interest, then they destoryed the relationship in the worst way posisble and I wil lbe getting to that at some point. Some point. 

So yeah even at the time it was done better, hindsight haas only made it worse and it made watching the first few minutes tough because I had to keep pasuing because I hate him so damn much. He just adds NOTHING to the show and is a blank yanwing void from which no good came out of and I was terrified he’d be in the rest of the episode. Thankfully while he drives the plot he’s only in this scene.. but it’s still one more scene than both 625 and Pleakly got. yeah both are missing, as is nani. 

I did uncover one fun fact that made things a bit easier though: The crew ALSO hated Keoni. No really. Disney forced the character on them as they wanted an audience surrogate, and this abomination is what popped out. They DID NOT want him here and likely only used him as mcuh as they did because Disney forced it on them. And Disney would NOT learn from this as Star Vs got saddled with Alphonso and Ferguson soley because of network mandate. The two aren’t TERRIBLE characters but they aren’t great and feel as tacked on as they were. And part of this does fall on the crew: you CAN twist a stupid mandate like this to work well: Joe Murray was asked to add “A female character with a hook”, as in some sort of dumb gimmick to Rocko. He used those words, meant to create a superfical girl power cardboard cutout.. and created the wonderful Dr. Hutchenson, a bright cheery doctor, the series best sidecharacter.. and someone with a hook hand. But I won’t go too hard on them: they probably didn’t have as much room to manuver and the fact Keoni was sitll being shoved into episodes in season 2 tells me they likely had a set number of episodes he had to show up. I’m suprised they didn’t demand they have characters ask “Where’s Keonie?” any time he wasn’t in an episode. He was unecessary and it comes across with a massive chunk of unforutnate implications: that they didn’t think a series with a mostly hawaiann cast would work, that they wanted at least one other “nice” white character to offset myrtle instead of having the only major white character be a bully and antagonist, and that they thought tehir mostly white audience coudln’t enjoy a series without a white character, which as someone who was in the target demo at the time, I call bullshit on. As I said I hated him then, I hate him now and his involvement is the worst aspect of this episode. 

So after Lilo fawns over him for a bit we find out this chonk of wood’s purpose in the episode: to set up the plot. There’s a massive Skate Competition coming to town with the prize being a really cool skateboard.  This plot point itself.. I don’t mind. Jake is a skater, it’s part of his character and one of the things he loves doing in what minsicule spare time he has. And while it was a common trope at the time having a character skateboard really dosen’t harm most works. We’ve gotten great characters like Jake, Jackie Lynn Thomas, Branwen and Ronnie Anne Santiago out of it, and it feels like natural parts of the character, and frankly An Extremley Goofy Movie wouldn’t be NEARLY as awesome without having skateboarding bizzarley attached to the plot via the college x-games. Granted somtimes you get Rocket Power out of the deal but that’s the price you pay for the good stuff. I only regret it’s involved because Keoni has to be there and I had to pause multiple times to get through his scene. He’s just a sampler platter of terrible decisions made in 2000′s cartoons and he irritates me more than this guy. 

And anyone whose read my Loud House reviews can tell you that is a high bar to clear. 

So naturally Lilo wants to enter the Hawiann X-Games to get the board for Keoni. Though I will give the writers credit for having Stitch voice their thoughts and the audiences thoughts by having him take Keoni’s picture and throw it in the garbage. Where he belongs. 

Lilo’s not great at it as they practice.. and said practice naturally ends up waking up a new experiment, 316.. who i’m just going to go ahead and call Morpholomew. Stitch eventually catches him though like many of the experiments he’s not actively malevelolent and is easy enough to get home. 

Jumba gets to his schitck of breaking down what the experiment of the week does: In this case Morpholomew is  a shapeshifter though he has a VERY intresting twist on those powers: while he can naturally morph himself into anything he’s seen or has a picture of, he can do the same to anyone he touches. It dosen’t effect their voices, but otherwise it’s a perfect recreation. 

So Lilo instead of finding him a home right away.. decides to wait until after the compettition because we need him for the plot. 

So at the Skateboard Competittion Lilo tries to enter, but finds she’s too young.. but since she has a picture of Keoni, which is a nice way to use her photo hobby from the movie for plot reasons and thus dosen’t feel like an ass pull. Why Keoni’s not in town to skate is as his dad left because it’d be too crowded.. even though the event is at the resort he owns. 

So while Lilo commits identtity theft, our guest star appears. He’s cool, he’s hot like a frozen son, he’s young and fast he’s the chosen one, people i’m not braggin, i’ts the American Dragon. Jake is here for two reasons: the first is that Grandpa Long got reports of magical creatures out in the open, so naturally they need to look into that. It’s a clever way to get him, along with Grandpa, Fu, Trixie and Spud, over to Hawaii. The Dragon Council would defintely be suspcious hearing about this, and my guess to why they hadn’t sent another dragon over is they simply dont’ have one on the islands. As for why the Huntsclan didn’t get involved in any way, it’s simply too public for them.  With the magical community in new york, they don’t have to worry about exposure because neither side wants it, so neither side can out the other. Here with a bunch of creatures out in the open it runs the risk of the Hunstclan being dragged into the light.. and given the populace dosne’t care about the “magical creatures” alongside them, it would make them look like the monsters they are. 

Spud and Trixie tagging along also makes sense besides “they needed them for the plot”: While they’d obviously want to come to Hawaii, the skate competition is likely Jake’s cover for why he’s there, as well as one for why it’s just him and grandpa going with a couple of his friends so they don’t have to deal with manuvering around jake’s dad. That sad them never TELLING jake’s Dad is it’s own can of worms as it feels cruel, made things harder for jake and there was no real reason not to. At worst he’d want Jake to stop for his own saftey but given ther’es an active threat in  the huntsclan for the first season and a half, NOT helping people would be the right thing and I feel he’s a sensible enough man to understand eventually. 

And it’s stuff like this that already makes this crossover really work for me: they don’t really have to strain to get Jake over there or tell the audience heavily, the blanks fill in themslves. Or I am but that’s because it’s my job and I love doin it. 

So everyone goes off to their corners; Jake to do a few practice runs, Foo Dog to bet on his friend because of course, Trixie and Spud to go to the beach (even though Spud’s terrified of sharks so I question why Trixie needs him for this), and in a delightfully adorable subplot, finds a lady to woo: local fruit stand vendoer and crankly old lady Mrs. Hasagawa. 

I am here for this subplot: While Grandpa not focusing on the mission is weird for him that’s the entire point.. and their just really cute together. He’s smitten with her entirely because he sees her chewing out one of the people running the contest for making her sign too small. And he performs one hell of a romantic gesture by, while everyone’s back is turned, using his dragon fire to make an add for her on the skate ramp itself, and they have a lovely montage of their time together.. which also weirdly includes grandpa using his dragon fire on stage inf ront of everyone which makes no sense for his charcter but is so cute and does feature david I really don’t care. The writers of Lilo and Stitch probably weren’t deeply familiar with the show and likely just wanted a fun gag. Could be wrong there but it’s cute. He continues to act grossly out of character by trying to avoid going home at the end.. but again I find it simply because he’s in love, they have genuine chemstiry and I like to think they stayed in touch and he retired out there at some point once Jake was old enough to handle things himself. This may not be a ship I expected to support going in but I will die for it going out. 

So back to the main plot, Lilo uses Keoni’s body to imitate him which... she’s only loosely called out on and realizes is bad by the end only because she gets stuck in another body. And that’s not even getting into the fact she BREAKS UP WITH KEONI’S GIRLFRIEND. Yes really.. she just does that to get her out of the way. She comes around and realizes she was wrong and tries to fix it which would be fine.. if hte episode didn’t try to cop it out by revealing “Oh she’s not his girlfriend, she’s just someone who keeps telling people that”. It just feels lazy and dumb and a way to keep Lilo’s crush on Keoni for reasons I DO. NOT. GET. But the identity theft is just brushed aside by everyone: Keoni never finds out, and Jake just brushes it off. The real issue is more her trying to bribe keoni into likng her which while something kids need to learn is not the only thing she did wrong here. It feels like they didn’t think all the implications out here and it hampers the episode

Speaking of which as Gantu captures Jake, he sees him transform into dragon mode and assumes he’s the experiment, Jake’s charactization is pretty shallow.  And why yes it DOES feel weird writing sentences about a character with the same name thank you for asking. I wasn’t expecting a deep character piece or anything: This is a guest spot, the writers here are not the same normal ones for American Dragon. That’s fine. The problem.. is that they clearly did not get Jake. Grandpa being partly out of character is half the joke, Trixie actually gets a really nice moment towards the end, and Spud.. is eh. But out of them Jake just feels like a basic character description: He likes hip hop, he likes skateboards, he calls himself Am Drag despite that sounding like a good name for a drag act but a terrible name to shorten your title, he fights.. that’s it. 

While jake is all of that in the main series, he’s also a kind young man who while sometimes irresponsible does the right thing when the chips are down.  He’s someone weighed down by a responsiblity he didn’t ask for, often makes his life more difficult and often finds himself in trouble because his mother and grandfather won’t bother to tell his dad he’s a dragon. Yes that part still bothers me, and I don’t see why we couldn’t just have a superhero show where both parents know. But regardless this just dosen’t feel like Jake , like they just watched the intro and that was it. Jake feels more like a plot device in his own crossover. 

That being said there is some good stuff: The minute Jake realizes some Sci Fi stuff is going on instead of hte normal magic stuff he tells him “The am drag’s show isn’t about sci fi” a nice meta bit and then breaks out. Meanwhile Lilo takes on his form.. and ends up stuck after badly botching her run again, as Gantu finds the real shapeshifter. 

We get the best stretch of the episode from here though: Lilo awkardly tries to play jake and like jake we get a nice meta nod to how diffrent their show is as she’s worried about his belief in magical creatures.. and is startled out of her charade when Foo Dog talks, a really nice bit especially since it’s tame compared to the weirdness he deals with. Spud and Trixie have questions... only for Jake to show up and his agressive behavior leads to the best bit of the episode: Jake Vs Stitch. The catlyst is understandable: jake has no idea why Lilo’s taken his identity and Sttich is just protecting his best friend from harm. The animation is fluid, the fight is fun and quick and uses both’s powers stellarl. Whle “two heroes get into a misunderstanding and then fight” is a well worn cliche at this point, it’s moments like this that show why: you get to see two heroes who in this case never have interacted before or sense, duke it out, why each is special and it’s fun to watch. 

Lilo breaks it up, and admits to the whole thing.. including the whole give Keani the board stuff. While Jake and Spud, being awkard with girls and a loveable moron don’t see the problem with that Trixie gets a moment to shine. As far as I can remember she really didn’t get much on the show proper so it was a nice suprise to see her mentor lilo her, telling her trying to give someone gifts to love you is not okay, she should just be herself all that good stuff. It’s a nice character stuff and tha’ts the kind of character interaction this episode needed more of. 

With the misunderstandings washed away our heroes team up and storm gantu’s ship leading to another great sequence as Stitch rides on Jake’s back while the two keep him busy and Lilo gets turned back, Trixie complimenting her dress “Thanks I have 10 just like it at home”. It’s such a sweet and genuine moment” They head back out and gantu semeingly grabs morpholmew from where they hide.. only to find out when he gets back it’s spud, our adorable little blob monster transforming Gantu into a bunny and our heroes leaving. How does Gantu get out of being a bunny?

But it’s a nice enough gag. So we end the episode. We get another nice gag as grandpa had himself and his lady transformed to try and avoid going home, and Jake is fine with having lost out on the board what matters is he made a friend. Sadly we did not get a followup in ADJL., but spud does name our experiment, Morpholomew. 

We end on Morph getting his home: a costume shop where he gets paid in fried chicken, he was shown to enjoy it throughtout the episode and changes people into things. It’s a nice little button to the episode and one of the funnest parts of the show was figuring out where the experiment would end up at the end. 

Final Thoughts:

This episode is a really mixed bag. There is some good character interactions, two tremendous fight scens and Trixie gets a chance to shine for once if only for a scene or two, and the clashing genres end up making for some great jokes> The shows do go well together as while Lilo and Stitch is more laid back both have slice of life elements. And hasgawa X Grandpa is just oto cute for words. 

The episode is held back by Jake and Lilo’s lackluster characterizatons: Jake is simply the theme song as a character, which in theory is awesome because that theme song slaps but in practice is pretty lame, and Lilo is selfish and irresponsible even for her in a way that dosen’t feel at all convincing. It drags down what’s otherwise a fun crossover and Morpholomew is truly a unique and wonderful experiment. Still if you like either show it’s worth a watch even if you have to suffer through Keoni for it. It’s worth it.. I just wish it was better and hopefully the next 3 will keep the good parts but take out the bad. Granted this was produced last so I could be wrong, but here’s hoping.  Oh this episode also featured Miranda Cosgrove as the girl who claims to be Keoni’s girlfriend. This is also Keoni’s last episode meaning I do NOT have to worry about accidently running into him. Thank fucking christ. 

Next Time On American Dragon Jake Long: Jake’s dad drags him and his friends on a camping trip and Jake ends up encountering the Jersey Devil. Now all they need is a sexy lady devil cake to lure it out... what it worked for the Cake Boss. And yes that happened, Allison Pregler did an episode on that episode. Check it out. 

Next Time On Lilo and Stitch Crossovers: It’s the family, the family, proud familllyyy as the Prouds take a vacation at Peakly and Jumbas bed but not breakfast and we get some kind of squirrel demon for our experiment of the week. We also get Wizard Kelly appearing...

See you at the next rainbow. 

[themadauthorshatter]

If you're up to date with my posts, then you know what's about to happen.

I've read the books, WE'VE ALL READ THE BOOKS, but this is a somewhat fun switch-a-roo.

Expect a BUNCH of changes that I'll try justifying, especially painful ones, so bear with me🙏

OTP SWAP PART 1: THE CRUEL PRINCE!!!!

I'm starting with the first book for obvious reasons

Like before, we start in the mortal world with Ashley Duarte(yes, human!Cardan's last name is Duarte, but like I said, bear with me) making tacos in the kitchen while one of the MANY dogs and other animals wait for her to drop some food. Baby boy Cardan and his older half-sister Rhyia are watching some human stuff, maybe Looney Tunes or old Mickey Mouse cartoons, when the door is knocked on, which alerts the animals and wakes a half asleep Cardan; Rhyia does not wake up.

Cardan answers it and finds a cloaked Madoc at the door. Rather than ask who he is or call for his mother, he stares at this man, who kneels and asks as evenly as possible if his mother is home.

Cardan slams the door in his face, which prompts Ashley to ask why he did so.

Madoc BANGS on the door and shouts, "Asha!" and Ashley pales as she realizes who is at the door.

She demands Cardan to go upstairs as Madoc kicks the door open and walks inside, giving the same speech as the original, that Balekin told him she'd ran away with his daughter, that she killed a woman who was just as pregnant as her, that she ran away and married some lowly farm hand and blacksmith. He thought it was a lie, but nope. Here she stands.

Asha(which is her real name) is deeply ashamed at his words, and tries to pull Cardan away; an angry Madoc is an unstable Madoc.

Like before, Justin rushes in to save his family, but ends up getting kebabbed with his wife.

Rhyia does wake up to see both and Madoc spills the tea that she's his and needs to pack her bags because they're leaving, and Cardan's coming with.

Cardan, despite being seven, is outraged and tries to kick Madoc into oblivion with no avail. Rhyia, however, swears that she'll never love a monster like Madoc, who simply scoffs and tells her to wrangle the human and gather her things in half an hour, because they're leaving for Faerie.

Reluctantly, they do and they never see the mortal world again for a very long time.

Jump to the present day as Cardan, a now seventeen year old human heart throb, is getting prim and proper for a revel. His hair is getting styled nice, he's in a nice suit, he's wearing a cool belt that makes him look like he has a tail, and has ear cuffs that make his ears look pointed like a faerie.

He also has rowan berries on his wrist, because he doesn't want the necklace to be easy to see as a lot of his shirts show his chest.

He's dolled up and meets Locke, his brother that came around when Madoc married Oriana and had Oak. The two did not get along, at first, but they began to tolerate each ither as they realized they were the only humans in Faerie that were gentry kids.

Locke is more of a bard or a poet, always seen with a little book, and doesn't wear the same stuff Cardan does, so no pointed ear cuffs for him. He's also more accustomed to Faerie, being good with half truths and minor deception. He's on good terms with both Madoc and Oriana.

Cardan, however, is not on good terms with either of them, as he has tried multiple times to leave Faerie, with and without Rhyia with him, and every time ended with Madoc outside scowling at him and leading him back to his room. Still has that 'no kill' rule, but he's better with sneaking and a sword, having been able to lighten his steps so he could sneak past Madoc and his guards whenever he tried to leave. He's not bad with a sword, but he still has a lot to learn, being 17 and all. When he doesn't have a sword in his hands, he has an animal in them, i.e. a foal, a dog, or, at one point, a skunk that was calm enough to not spray him. Yeah, animal lover that can hold his own.

The two exchange banter and Locke shows show rare excitement for this revel, saying the two will have the time of their lives. Locke, who isn't as close with her, wonders where Rhyia is, but Cardan reveals she's not attending, instead going to visit some friends in the mortal world.

Her funeral as the boys saddle up with Oriana amd Madic and go to the revel.

Similar events occur, like Oriana telling the boys to be careful, Madoc talking to Dain and Balekin, and Locke leading Cardan through the revel so they can have a good time.

IT GOES DOWNHILL WHEN THE GREENBRIAR TWINS AND THEIR FRIENDS ARRIVE. Jude, her older sister Taryn, and their friends, Edir, a bard that can sing and play anyone under the table, Valerian, who's a sadist, and Nicasia, the princess of the Undersea.

Jude and Taryn may have the same face and body, but don't be fooled, Jude has horns, always wears a sword, and will slap you in a dress and then set it on fire without a second’s hesitation. Taryn, however, always has a bunch of flowers in her hair, always wears a dress, and uses words as her weapon. Did you know that she broke on of the most boisterous men in Faerie qith nothing but her words? True story. Edir is the guy that keeps them both in check, an order of Balekin's, which we'll learn later. He is also more of Jude's friend and Taryn's bed buddy, in SFW terms. Nicasia is Jude's friend, like FRIEND, and Valerian is the same, really, just more of an ass now that he has more even targets.

Everyone bows to these guys, even Cardan and a smirking Locke. That smirk vanishes when Taryn winks at Cardan, who Jude GLARES AT.

Locke feels the same way, cinfused and angry, but no time to think in it because Valerian storms toward a confused Cardan and grabs him by the collar, snarling that he can play dress up and make believe all he wants because it won't hide his plain hair or round ears or barn dog smell, so he shouldn't even bother.

Valerian throws him back and Locke rounds on Cardan, asking him what the hell that was between him and Taryn. Cardan brushes him off, as it was just a wink, not a lap dance. Before they can REALLY go at it, crying draws their attention and see that Jude just pincushioned someone who didn't bow, said someone nkw having a hole in their stomach and a slash across their torso. Taryn is annoyed, Nicasia and Valerian are trying not to laugh, and Edir, who's embarassed, is scolding Jude for losing it at a revel.

Jump to after the revel and the day of school. The boys do indeed get dirt kicked on their food, but instead of 'make me,' Cardan snaps, 'TRY me,' because Nicasia asks if he's as filthy as other human boys. Locke talks him down, but Valerian, kicking more dirt and even throwing some IN Cardan's face, asks if the two qould like them for friends.

Locke apologizes for Cardan, but Jude commands he prove it by dropping out of the tournament, it'll be less embarrassing than getting his ass beaten in front of everyone.

Nicasia spots one of the ear cuffs and pulls it off, asking if he stole it. Big mistake because the cuff burns her hand, as it is iron and iron hurts Faeries.

Cardan smirks and the group leaves, Locke scolding him for being stupid.

Later, at dinnner, after talk of Dain's coronation, Cardan, despite some minor objection from Rhyia, asks Madoc a question: May he please have a green sash for the tournament? Why? He would like to be a knight, please and thank you. Madoc chikes on his wine, Locke coughs to hide a laugh, Rhyia winces, and Oriana os shicked into silence.

Madoc gives it to him straight: he's not bad with a sword, he's good on his feet,and he's the best damned rider that anyone's ever seen, but no. He cannot compete for knighthood, on the count of being the furthest thing from a killer imaginable and just being in over his head.

Cardan protests that he can do just fine, but Madoc warns him to stop before he gets himself thrown in a dungeon instead if his room until the coronation of prince Dain.

Cardan relinquishes and we get the salt prank like before, except Locke is pissed beyond all reason at his foster brother. Cardan doesn't mind until he's grabbed by Edir and Valerian, Locke being pulled by the hair by Jude and both are thrown in the river, which has Nixies in it.

Thier supplies get yeeted, Locke gets pulled out by Valerian and is made to kiss Jude on the lips and both her horns, but, when asked, Cardan does not give up, vowing that he will never give up, which makes Jude laugh and the group leave.

Locke and Cardan walk home, get some baths, and go to bed, except they go to the mortal world with Rhyia and meet her friends Vivienne and Heather at the mall. Vivienne apologizes for Jude's behavior, and we learn that Rhyia is planning to leave Faerie, and is probably going alone.

The boys return and endure a lesson, but Jude pushes Locke's buttons, so Cardan pushes her into a tree. Challenge accepted.

TOURNAMENT TIME!! Cardan fairs wellin that Valerian is lazy, Edir is out of shape, and Jude got cocky, so he wins.

Jude fumes at him, later grabbing him by the tail on his belt amd demanding he beg for her forgiveness. He does... NOT! And spits in her face that she may push him down, but he'll pull her down with him, and it will hurt her like hell.

Taryn approaches him and expresses interest in him, saying that she once took both Edir and Nicasia from Jude because people just like a sensitive girl.

She leaves and the tournament eventually ends, which leads Cardan to return hime and meet Dain, who requested one of Madoc's people to tell Cardan one of Eldred's children had come for a visit.

Dain and Cardan get talking and Dain offers him something that isn't knighthood: spying. Plus one wish.

Cardan knows what he wants: to not be controled.

Granted, but Dain can still control him and the fruits of Faerie will still effect him.

Screwy, but deal, he's a spy now

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2!!!!!

[crystalessenceswrites]

Burden of the Survivors-- Chapter One

*not my gif*

Burden of the Survivors

Pairs: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: a little bit of cursing but otherwise fairly tame *no spoilers- takes place in Season 1 timeline* Summary: Mando works alone- except for when he absolutely can’t. There are few people Din trusts – trusts as in he doesn’t expect a viroblade in the back the second he’s turned around. She’s one of them. Just as cautious and nearly as tight lipped about her past as he is, Din doesn’t mind her around too much.

[Masterlist] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] or Available on AO3

A/N: It’s been ages since I wrote a reader series, I do my best to write them with as non-descriptive reader as possible but if there’s something I miss let me know. Reader does have a backstory and obviously has certain skills sets as a bounty hunter but I don’t believe that will cause any issues going forward. Also thanks to @fishingwithstring​ & @flyingmarshmallow64​ for kinda beta-ing for me

Chapter One--

When you had given the Mandalorian your commlink info you had not thought the stoic man would actually use it. He had a reputation to uphold after all- he couldn’t be seen willingly working with another bounty hunter. You could respect that; the Guild was cutthroat and there never seemed to be enough credits or jobs to go around these days. The New Republic was a blessing and a curse to those trying to make a living in the Outer Rim. Your regular contacts were coming up short on good jobs and everything Karga was offering wasn’t worth the cost of fuel. It all had you wondering if you should take up running with Tillis’s crew again, the cuts were always fair and at least you weren’t burning credits on your own fuel.

Yet despite your initial beliefs, Mando had called, and he’d called with an offer for a job. They were high rollers from the underworld, apparently. Nothing you had not worked before. The first job you had worked with Mando on had been an under the table job from Karga as well. You allowed yourself the slightest bit of pride that after how well you two had worked together, Mando felt you would be a useful addition on this job.

You jumped on the offer. Whatever job Mando had taken had to be worth a decent stack of credits if he was willing to go with an even split. Hopefully, this would be enough to hold you over for a while, maybe pay for a few fixes to your ship while you were at it. The navicomputer could use an update, and there was the leak in the cooling lines that could probably use a proper fix instead of your last patch job… but you were getting ahead of yourself. Mando had asked you to meet him at his ship just outside of town on Navarro, which was convenient considering you had been laying over on the backwater volcanic planet after your last round of bounties. Karga may be cagey but at least he paid you what you were owed in the end.

Mando was waiting for you, leaning against the side of the Razor Crest, looking as much the stoic and hardened warrior as ever when you arrived. Though he had upgraded a bit since you last saw him.

“Looking spiffy Mando! Is that a new pauldron I see?”

He shrugs, pushing off the Razor Crest, “maybe.”

Man of few words, some things never change.

“You mentioned before that we didn’t have much to go off of. What do you know?” Hitching your bag of gear up your shoulder you follow Mando up into the Crest.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been on Mando’s ship, but it amazed you every time you boarded how he managed to keep such a relic up and running. You would not be surprised if it cost him a fortune in repair costs over the years. Sure, your ship wasn’t a spring chicken either, but it had been built within your lifetime.

“Tracking fob.” He quickly fishes the device out of his belt, flashing it at you briefly. “Last known position and age.”

“Wait, not even a chain code?” That was just common courtesy in this line of work, and it kept mix-ups to a minimum. “Just the last four digits?”

Mando nods before clambering up the ladder to the cockpit leaving you stunned. Who exactly were you working for and who were they after?

After ditching your bag in the hull you follow Mando up to the cockpit. “How trustworthy is this client of yours?”

You lean against the doorway, watching him program the ancient navicomputer. “It’s underworld, what do you expect?”

“At least some minimal assurances,” you throw back, “I don’t want to end up a prisoner of the New Republic for the rest of my days if I can’t help it.”

“The chit came through Karga.”

Well, that was the definition of minimally reassuring.

“But no puck?”

Mando shakes his head, or rather, his bucket.

“Well, this will be interesting.”

.

“Arvala-7, can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.” You’re sitting in the co-pilots chair with your boots propped up against the dash, fiddling with one your rifle sights as Mando attempts to pull planetary info up on his navicomputer.

Your partners huff of displeasure filters through his modulator, you can imagine he’s rolling his eyes behind the visor. Over the course of working together you had managed to pick up on a handful of the man’s cues, his body language was fairly expressive, and irritation with you was one you were aptly familiar with. It had been obvious from your first meeting that the Mandalorian was all work and no play. So, your occasional flippant remarks were not always received well. You were by no means trying to agitate the bounty hunter- you had better self-preservation skills than that- but you were trying to lighten the mood a bit. Two sticks in the mud didn’t make for an entertaining partnership.

Even after a few smacks to the computer Mando cannot seem to pull up the data he wants. His fists clench and unclench rhythmically, the creak of his leather gloves filling the silent cockpit. This one was wound way too tight. You wondered what mandalorians did to relax and unwind, and how exactly could you get him to do that before you landed?

“You’ve got the tracking fob, we aren’t completely screwed, if that’s what you’re all upset about, Mando.”

The helmet snaps around, his black t-visor staring unblinking into your soul.

Maybe that was not the best button to push.

“I’ll- ah, go get my stuff together.” You wince at the crack in your voice but gather up your blaster parts before preparing to shimmy back down into the cargo hold. You were a bounty hunter, same as him. His attitude should not unnerve you like it did. He was human like you after all- or at least you assumed he was- one faceless man should not affect you so strongly. You were better than this.

Master trained you better than this.

“Coming into atmo,” Mando shouts down from the cockpit, “may want to hold onto something.”

The ship lurches forward, throwing you into the back wall. “Thanks for the warning,” you grumble, latching onto the refresher door to stay upright.

Mando comes in quick, the Razor Crest touching down shortly after entering the atmosphere. Moments later the helmeted man is down the ladder, amban sniper rifle in hand and already heading down the ramp. Always in such a rush. The Mandalorian really had no clue as to how to stop and assess a situation or take a moment to breathe.

You scramble over to your bag of gear, assembling one of your own blaster rifles without having to look. It was all second nature now; you know every weapon in your stash like the back of your hand. As you slide the newly fixed sight into place a roar echoes through the ship followed by a loud curse. Down the ramp in seconds your blaster is trained on the approaching creature, ignoring Mando with his arm trapped in the jaw of another felled creature.

The tadpole-shaped beast falls before you pull the trigger, sliding in next to Mando with a bright red electro stun dart sticking out of its side. You let out a sigh as Mando groans, freeing his arm. At least your partner in crime was not out for the count yet.

A third creature approaches, this one saddled and ridden by an aging ugnaught wielding what you can assume was responsible for the stun darts. You lower your blaster, hoping that there would be no quarrel after he seemingly saved Mando.

“Thank you.” Mando’s panting as he stands, his arm clutched tight to his chest.

The ugnaught nods before looking back between you two. “You are bounty hunters.”

“Yes.”

“I will help you.”

You shrug at Mando, if he wanted to assist you with this odd bounty you had qualms.

“I have spoken.”

.

Kuiil had been more than accommodating to you both at his moisture farm. Offering up his bed to you for the night and sharing his dinner and a warm cup of tea with you both after the sunlight finally fell below the horizon. You jumped at the offer for any food that was not freeze-dried rations or protein bars. Mando on the other hand stiffened when the ugnaught passed him the meal.

“You can use the bedroom to eat, Mando.”

This was not the first time you had run into this problem while working with the Mandalorian. He never took the helmet off around you, not even in the safety of his ship, not to stop and eat while you were drifting along in hyperspace, or to fix up wounds after a particularly nasty fight with a quarry. You wondered if he even took it off to sleep when you were on board with him.

It was not as if you did not understand the draw of a helmet. The lifestyle of the faceless. You own tactical mask offers a small sense of anonymity, bringing some comfort after years of running from your past, but you were not unnaturally attached to it. Whatever tentative relationship you had with Mando; you were comfortable enough to take it off around him. You could eat in his presence. The mask did not inhibit your job or your lifestyle. While it had been ages since you had been in contact with mandalorians-other than the faceless and nameless Mando- you did have shadowy memories of those you had met taking off their helmets in the presence of others. Not that you had dared to ask about it. Your first few meetings had been tense enough and you liked to think you were smart enough to not insult the beskar clad warrior who walked around armed to the teeth.

Kuiil did not ask until Mando had settled into the other room. “He does not remove his helmet in the presence of others?”

“For as long as I’ve known him,” you nod.

“And how long have you known him?”

That was a good question. How many years had it been since you worked that job with Tillis’s crew that introduced you two?

“Four standard years now, maybe?” You ponder, “but we’ve only been working together for about two.”

He nods, looking thoughtful, “like a Mandalorian warrior of old.”

“I suppose,” you shrug.

“You do not agree with his choice?”

“Oh no, my opinions have nothing to do with it. Can’t say it appeals to me, but I respect the restraint it would take to wear a helmet all of your life.”

Kuiil nods before pottering off, cleaning up his small cooking station. You cannot help but smile, the ugnaught reminds you of someone but you cannot recall exactly who. They are just echoes of memories now, a childhood long gone, but something about Kuiil’s wise demeanor picks at them.

Mando returns moments later, shaking you from your melancholy as he takes a seat next to you.

“Many have passed through. They seek the same one as you.”

What kind of job exactly had Mando gotten for you two?

“Did you help them?”

“Yes. They died.”

You gape at the ugnaught, unsure if his honesty was all that helpful now.

“Well then I don’t know if I want your help,” Mando scoffs.

Kuiil shakes his head, “you do. I can show you to the encampment.”

“Encampment?” Who in the galaxy would have an encampment all the way out here and how to Kuiil know about it?

He nods but divulges no further details.

“What’s your cut?”

“Half.”

Your head whips around, Mando had promised you half the cut already, that is why you had agreed to come in the first place.

“Half the bounty to guide? Seems steep.”

“No. Half the blurrg you helped capture.”

You left out the breath you did not realize you had been holding, gaze softening. The blurrg would not be an issue. “I can assure you Mando has no use for a blurrg.”

The helmet nods, “you can keep them both.”

“No. You need them. To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount.”

Mando sounds unconvinced, “I don’t know how to ride blurrg.”

“I have spoken.”

You did not happen to know how to ride a blurrg either, but you decided it would be best for everyone’s health to not mention it as the Mandalorian struggled the next morning to even stay on the creature. Mando had insisted on letting you attempt to ride first. Kuiil had kindly walked you through how to greet the beast and the best way to mount. You had struggled a bit, the tallest point on the blurrg’s back was nearly a head taller than you and required some interesting moves to get to but after some coaching you finally managed to get the hang of it. It was smooth sailing from there. They reacted to the reins about the same as most other animals and their walking rhythm was not too difficult to adjust to. After Kuiil seems satisfied with your progress and let Mando into the ring you thought maybe this job would not be all that bad.

Yet as you watched Mando fly off the blurrg’s back for the umpteenth you decided you had called that much too soon. For a man who always walked with such swagger you did allow yourself to enjoy the scene. Just a little.

Even the patient Kuiil was becoming frustrated with Mando’s slow learning curve.

“Perhaps if you removed your helmet.”

That would never happen.

Mando’s shoulders stiffen, “perhaps he remembers I tried to roast him.”

Kuiil shakes his head, “this is a female. The males are all eaten during mating.”

You try, you really do, but all your willpower combined at the moment is not enough to contain the laugh that bubbles up in your chest. “Ha! They’ve got the right idea.”

Mando’s helmet tilts back just a fraction. He’s rolling his eyes at you.

Kuiil chuckles softly at your side while you stick your tongue out at the bounty hunter. He blatantly ignores you, going in for another attempt at the blurrg. It ends the same of the others, Mando flat on his back in the dust.

You understand he’s frustrated, Mando’s never been the patient type, and just wants to complete the job and get back to working alone. A wound up, frustrated Mandalorian was never a good combo. Your hand hovers over the blaster in your thigh holster as he stalks towards Kuiil, just in case.

“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps at the ugnaught. “Do you have a landspeeder or speeder bike that I could hire?”

“You are a Mandalorian! Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur. Surely you can ride this young foal.”

Kuiil’s jab at his ancestry is enough to get Mando to try again. You look on as he approaches the blurrg, arms outstretched, murmuring calming words as he goes to pat the creature between its eyes. You would almost describe the scene as gentle. Not a word you’d have ever used to describe the helmeted man in the past. Where had this Mando been hiding all this time?

.

When you spot the compound in the distance the worries begin to creep up again. You wonder who exactly you were after and what Karga’s underground client wanted with them. People don’t just build fortified compounds on backwater, nearly uninhabited outer rim planets for no reason.

Kuiil points to the structure as the three of you come to a stop, “that is where you’ll find your quarry.”

Mando attempts to give Kuiil a pouch of credits. It was the least he deserved for all the help he’d given you. The ugnaught turns it down.

“Please. You deserve this.”

“Since these ones arrived, this territory has been an endless stream of mercenaries seeking reward and bringing destruction.”

“Then why did you guide us here?” you ask.

“They do not belong here. Those that live here come to seek peace. There will be no peace until they are gone.”

Mando turns to Kuiil, “then why do you help?”

“I have never met a Mandalorian. I’ve only read the stories. If they are true, you two will make quick work of it. Then there will be peace again.” The ugnaught guides his blurrg around, ready to make the return trip, “I have spoken.”

You and Mando sat for a moment, watching him ride away in silence.

For peace then.

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (2)

Summary: continuing on from the first drabble, Barok has returned to the ancestral home in North Devon to recover from the ordeal of being a prosecutor and alleged demigod for the last 5 years. On his first full day back home, he decides to visit his brother in order to pay his respects... Or does he?

Content Warnings: angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Barok awoke with the first rays of dawn to the sound of birdsong just outside his window. It was a peaceful change to the sounds of industry that were so commonplace in London. As he laid there, it dawned on him that he had no need to be awake so early; there was no pressing engagement at the Old Bailey or in his office. No meetings. No case files awaiting assessment. No crime scenes to investigate or policemen to interview...

There was nothing at all for him to do.

(I could have a lie in) he thought to himself, but the indulgent idea did not really appeal: why bother sleeping in? If he was awake then it seemed foolish to force his mind and body back to sleep merely because he could. No. Far better to get up and do something productive.

After a few moments of quietly listening to the birds, he threw the covers off and swung himself around to sit up then stand. He made his bed entirely on auto-pilot, forgetting that the ancestral home had ample staff to undertake such chores, and went to the bathroom to wash his face.

Once he was dressed, in a simple poet shirt, comfortable breeches and knee-high riding boots, he decided it was high time to undertake a spot of sword practice to maintain his form and competence with a blade. Thankfully the training grounds were as well-maintained as they had been 5 years prior and it took little time to set up a training dummy. As he focused on his footwork and poise, he couldn’t help but think back to the times that he had trained alongside Klint and the way in which his older brother instructed him.

“Good, little wolf, now watch that you don’t slacken your grip else it will be easy to disarm you. Focus on your footwork, too, lest you be tripped up...”

“Yes brother...” it was difficult to keep all these things in mind while also trying to watch for tells that his brother might offer up during their sparring match. He thought he saw Klint move to strike high, but it was a feint that moved smoothly into a low blow-- he only just caught it in time to block.

Klint grinned broadly, “Well done!”

He smiled to himself at the swell of pride that filled his chest: Klint was proud of him, he’d done well. Now, he wanted to impress him -- so he moved on the offensive in a bid to finally disarm his brother. It had been a long-thwarted goal, but today he wanted to succeed!

“Ha!” the Master of the House laughed as Barok took the initiative, “So you think you’re going to catch me off guard, eh Barok??”

In a blur, his weapon flew from his hands and he found himself being effortlessly wrestled to the floor with a blade at his throat. He looked up at Klint, blinking profusely, barely registering the clatter of his training sword on the floor.

“My win, little brother,” Klint held out his hand for Barok to take, then hauled him up with easy, “I must admit, you caught me quite off guard there!”

“Master!” Harvey’s caught their attention, “I apologise for disrupting your training with the young master, but a letter from London has just arrived. It was sent urgently via courier, so I presume it to be of some importance.”

“Mmm, I see,” Klint looked back to Barok, “Apologies, little wolf, let’s train again soon!”

He nodded, “Yes, brother,” then watched as Klint jogged over to join the butler and make his way toward the main building of the estate.

“. . . .” it took him a moment to realise he was standing just still, looking down at the humble wooden weapon in his hand. How long had he been lost to day dreaming? (To think... I’ll never cross blades with you again.) it was such a small thing, but it took him aback just how much that realisation hurt.

But rather than let himself wallow, he proceeded to resume his training in earnest. Even if he could not spar with Klint again, he could maintain his poise and competence as a means of honouring his brother.

“My Lord,” Harvey called as he drew near, “Forgive the interruption, but Agnes has prepared breakfast.”

Barok wiped under his chin and turned to the butler, “Thank you, Harvey, I shall take breakfast in a moment.”

“Yes, as you say...” the butler cocked his head to the side, “Um... might I be so bold as to ask what you are doing, My Lord?”

“Hm?” he looked up from dismantling the training dummy, “I was going to tidy up.”

“Oh please, do not trouble yourself with that! Allow me to do that while your freshen up for breakfast!”

“. . .” Barok blinked, before relenting with a nod, “... I ... Yes, thank you Harvey, I will go and freshen up then.”

“Very good, My Lord. Oh! By the way, will you be going for a ride later? The weather is supposed to be good today and it’s the perfect season for it. Black Gale is still in her usual spirits and I’m sure she would be pleased of your company.”

“Ah...” it had been too long since he last saw his temperamental mare, Black Gale, “... That sounds like an excellent idea, I think I’ll go and visit her after breakfast and ready her for an afternoon ride.”

“The stable boy would be more than happy to prepare her, My Lord...”

“No,” he shook his head, “I think I owe it to her to have a proper reunion.”

“Yes, as you say My Lord.”

---

After a breakfast of porridge, toast and eggs, Barok went to visit his equine companion.

Black Gale was known to most as a ‘cantankerous old goat born in the body of a horse’, but the van Zieks lordling had always been the exception. Some folks thought it was because Barok was the first thing the foal saw when she was born. Her mother had died giving birth to her, so perhaps Black Gale had decided the boy was her mother. Regardless of the reasons, everyone else had a far tougher time dealing with her.

He opened the barn door and approached her stable pen, “Hello girl, it’s been a while,” Black Gale whinnied and murmured in excited tones as she trotted over and butted her coal black head against his chest. Barok chuckled and patted her muzzle, “I’m glad to see you well and in fine spirits as ever...” the mare made a few conversational murmuring sounds and continued to nudge at him, “Yes yes, I know. I’ve neglected you, forgive me...” he continued to offer placating strokes, “It’s rather presumptuous of me, I know, but would you mind taking me to visit Klint’s grave this afternoon?” he received a contented sigh in reply, no doubt down to being stroked, “... I’ll take that as a yes.”

Once he had indulged her with a few more pets, Barok took to brushing Black Gale’s lustrous coat and checking her shoes. As with the rest of the estate, his mare had been greatly cared for. He laughed when she started chewing on the ruffles of his shirt, “There’s no need for that now,” he softly chided, before producing a handful of oats from a pouch at his hip, “You really do lack subtlety, do you know that?“ she ignored him and gladly chewed on the oats.

Finally, it was time for lunch, “I’ll saddle you up shortly, alright?” he told her as he led her back to her pen and closed the door. Black Gale whinnied a little before trying to chew his shirt some more, “You truly are a hellion!” Barok replied as he de-horsed his clothing and returned to the main building for lunch.

As he ate, he reflected on his intended pursuit that afternoon: he would go to pay his respects to Klint at his grave. It was still such a strange notion -- his vibrant brother, now laying cold and lifeless in his grave... A lump formed in his throat, which he was quick to swallow down. He’d already grieved so much for Klint, but it still seemed his sorrow knew no bounds. Like an endless font or a wound that refused to heal over. It just bled within him endlessly...

“Oh... um... My Lord,” Harvey sounded uneasy.

“What’s wrong, Harvey?” Barok asked as he set down his napkin after lunch, “Has something happened?”

“Um... well... yes... in a manner of speaking... it would appear that Lady Darlington has somehow become aware of your presence here. She’s at the door now, asking to see you.”

Barok groaned and dragged a hand over his face. The last thing he really wanted to do was entertain England’s most notorious gossip. “How on earth did she find out...?” he muttered, more to himself than to the butler, “... I see. Thank you, Harvey, please see her to the parlour... I’ll join momentarily, once I’ve freshened up.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

It seemed visiting Klint would have to wait...

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Healing Hands

After having left Thranduil eons ago, OC receives word that he was grievously wounded in the Battle of the Five Armies and still has not healed.  She drops everything to go and heal him.

MASTERLIST

OC Used:  Enyalie

Word Count: 1,686

Translation(s): Naneth:  Mother

Ceven dhaer, anno vellas lin enin 'raw hen:  Great Earth, may you give your strength to this body

Ion nin:  My son

Athae:  Heal(ing)

~~~

I reclined on my daise, staring off into the distance as I daydreamed of the times of old.  Of the days when I filled a different position.  One of mother, Queen, and beloved spouse.  Not a runaway, a deserter.

Then my Naneth appeared, Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien.  Her sudden presence removed me from the daydream, and I glanced up at her.  She looked grim and worried, which was never a good sign.

"There has been a messenger from Mirkwood."  She said, and I nodded, wondering what significance this held.  "Thranduil was injured in the Battle of the Five Armies."  She continued, and I frowned.

"But that was weeks ago!"  I said, puzzled over why we would be receiving this news now.  But my mother spoke again, a strange look passing over her face.  I thought I recognized it as pity.  But why?

"Yes, but the wound did not heal.  He lies on the delicate line of life and death as we speak, Enyalie."  She said softly, and I bolted upright, a cold, numbing feeling rushing through me at the thought of Thranduil lying on Mandos' door.

"I must go to him."  I whispered, and my mother nodded solemnly, the smallest of smiles decorating her face.  

"You must."  She murmured, and I rose to my feet, hurrying past her and grabbing a passing servant.

"Saddle my horse.  I ride for Mirkwood."  I said, and the servant sped away, leaving me alone to gather my things.

My horse and I flew through the trees, my cloak flapping in the wind.  I had no time to waste in reaching Mirkwood if I wished to save Thranduil.  If he still lived.

At the morbid thought, I urged my mare faster, firmly telling myself that it wouldn't be so, that he would be alright.  I would reach him in time.

The hooves of my mare clattered across the cobblestone of the bridge into the palace.  The

doors opened wide and I was greeted by a pair of guards, who crossed their spears to prevent my entering.

"Halt, and state your business!"  One called, and I slid off the horse, striding up to the guards and throwing back my silver hood.  

"Do you not recognize your Queen?"  I asked, my tone commanding.  The guards paled and quickly knelt before me, a hurried apology for not recognizing me leaving their lips.

I didn't stick around to hear it, and breezed past them, hurrying through the deathly silent hallways of the palace I used to call home.  

Nothing had changed since I'd left, several thousand years ago, except for the noises.  It used to be filled with laughter and talk.  But now it was like the grave of a forgotten warrior, buried in the mists of time.

In my frantic journey through the halls to Thranduil's bedchamber, I turned a corner and almost ran into a tall, blonde-haired ellon.  I didn't stop to chat and continued on my way.  But unbeknownst to me, the ellon stopped still, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.

Staring at my retreating figure, his blue eyes narrowed.  "Naneth?"  He whispered.

Finally I reached a familiar oak door, decorated with Thranduil and I's royal seal.  I pushed it open, striding quickly into the room, which was filled with several Healers.

Upon hearing my entry, they turned and began to tell me to leave.  Then they recognized me, and fell back, astonished.

"My Queen!"  One cried, but I ignored them all, focused only on the still form lying languidly on the bed.

"Thranduil!"  The words left my throat in a whisper, and I stood over him, eyes scanning his body, which was now frail and thin.  But his chest still rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm.  There was not much time left.

"My Lady, I'm sorry you have to see the King in this state.  We have tried everything, but nothing has worked."  A Healer said quietly, and I turned to look at them.

"What about Kingsfoil?  Have you tried that?"  I asked, and the Healer shook his head.  

"No, My Lady.  We have only just located a plant in the far off regions of Fangorn Forest."  He said, making me frown.

"Then why have you not tried it?"  I asked, before fear struck me again.  "My son, Legolas.  He is still...?"  My voice trailed off.

The Healer shook his head.  "No, Prince Legolas is alive, My Lady.  We just have not had the time to train him in the healing properties and usage of Kingsfoil."  He said, and I nodded.

"Well, prepare the Kingsfoil.  Quickly!"  I ordered, and the Healers whirled into action.  I turned my attentions back to Thranduil, who had begun to thrash on the bed in his delirium.

I caressed his cheek with my hand, shushing him softly, and murmuring a gentle Elven lullaby I had sung to Legolas when he was a young elfling.  Slowly, Thranduil calmed and lay still.  I continued to stroke his gaunt cheek that burned with fever.

"My Lady, the Kingsfoil is ready."  The Healer said, and I accepted the poultice he gave me.  He pulled the sheets back to reveal a gaping wound spanning across my husband's abdomen.  It had begun to heal, but was taking far longer than it should have, causing complications.

I grimaced at the awful sight, but nodded to the other Healers to hold Thranduil down.  He would fight against the sensation of something being held onto his injury.  Once the Healers were ready, I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I began to murmur an Elven healing chant under my breath as I pressed the poultice firmly against Thranduil's abdomen.

Almost instantaneously, Thranduil convulsed, but remained silent.  His body shuddered beneath my hands as I kept a continuous pressure on the poultice.  I concentrated on the chant, my voice rising slightly as I neared the end.  

"Ceven dhaerm anno vellas li(')n nin 'raw hen.  Athae!"  I whispered, stumbling backwards as I became aware of my surroundings again.  The Healers guided me to sit down next to Thranduil, who lay still.  Laying a hand on his forehead, I was relieved to feel that it was cool.  "The fever has broken."  I murmured, a smile appearing on my face.

Slowly, crystal blue eyes opened, glancing about the room until they landed on me.  I stared back in silence, realizing just how much I'd missed that gaze on me.

"Thranduil?"  I called softly, tilting my head to the side slightly as I smiled.  He watched me, a hint of sadness creasing his face.

"She speaks.  But she does not walk the same pathways as me.  She has gone on to a different life.  A journey within the lands of the West, of the stars."  He murmured, and I realized the full extent of how much I had hurt him in leaving.  He dreamed of me, I could tell.  But they weren't happy dreams, they were dreams of days gone by, dreams of my shadow, a being he could never catch.

But that was changing.  I had come home for good.  "Thranduil, it's me.  Enyalie."  I whispered, reaching my hand out and gently laying it on his cheek.  His eyes widened as he felt my touch.

"It is you.  Enyalie?"  He called almost in a whimper as tears filled his eyes.  I nodded, overcome with emotion myself.

Thranduil tried to sit up, but winced at the pain from his healing wound.  I pressed my hands to his shoulders, concerned.  "Take it easy, My love.  You are healing still."  I said, waiting for the Healers to help me ease him into an upright position.

He gazed at me for a moment, almost as if he still couldn't believe that I was sitting beside him after so many centuries.  Then he reached out, pulling me close to him as he stared at me.  "I missed you, so much."  He murmured as his lips met mine in a long overdue embrace.  Pulling away, I rested my forehead on his, eyes still closed.  "Don't you ever leave me again."  Thranduil pleaded softly, and I smiled, opening my eyes.

"I have no plans to do so, my love."  I said, gazing fondly at him, and only looking away when the doors slowly opened, and a blonde-haired ellon stuck his head in.

"How is he?"  He asked quietly, before noticing that Thranduil was alert and upright.  Then he saw me, and shock crossed his features as he stepped into the room.

Thranduil smiled beside me, and I wondered who this tall, handsome ellon was.  He seemed familiar though, and I looked at him more closely, beginning to notice similarities between him and Thranduil.  

"Legolas."  Thranduil called softly, just as I'd come to the conclusion that this ellon was my son.  Legolas stepped forward, eyes only on me.

I rose slowly, feeling like I was in a daze.  "Thranduil, this cannot be the little elfling I left behind that day.  He has grown so tall and handsome!"  I said, laughing slightly in disbelief.  Legolas watched me closely, his expression unreadable.  Then he spoke in a whisper.

"Naneth?  Is it you?"  

I nodded, and opened my arms wide as he stepped forward to pull me into a hug.  He'd grown so tall that my chin brushed his shoulder.    "I should never have left you behind."  I murmured, squeezing Legolas tight.  

"Naneth, you're going to squeeze me to death."  He called softly, and I let go, releasing him from my hug.  I studied him again, still unable to believe that this was my son.  Legolas looked me over as well.  "You are not leaving again?"  He asked, eyes betraying his fear at the thought.  

I shook my head, smiling.  "No, Ion nin.  I am here to stay.  Forever."  I murmured, and Legolas' face broke into a smile.

The Healers slowly began to trickle out of the room, leaving our trio in privacy.  I resumed my seat beside Thranduil on the bed as they both began to fill me in on what had happened in my 2,791 year absence.  

Which happened to be quite a lot.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Fractured Foundation: Chat Blanc

Summary: Since his own akumatization Chat Noir has been the perfect partner. Never questioning, never distracting, never asking for anything at all...

So, why wasn't it enough?

Ch.1 Double Standards

Chat Noir does everything right... But Adrien is still wrong.

---------------

Ladybugs swirled around him as Chat Noir came back to himself. Scanning his surroundings Chat Noir saw Ladybug helping who he assumed was a de-akumatized Backwarder.

Oh. It was over. The last thing he remembered was-

"Sorry about this Chat Noir."

... A push from behind. His heart spiking in fear. Backwarder's clock hand striking his chest.

"Chat?"

Looking up, Chat Noir held up his fist from touching the spot he was hit. He smiled at her "Bien joue, Ladybug."

"...Yeah. Bien joue." She bumped his fist and shook her head. "I need to go. Bug out!"

Vaulting over Paris, Chat Noir realized he never found out why the old lady was akumatized. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Ladybug won...

Adrien came out of the train's bathroom just as Gabriel did the same. Stiffening at the sight of his father, Adrien gave a slight nod and hurried to his seat. Heartbeat pounding far faster than when he was fighting Backwarder.

Kagami glanced at Adrien and he smiled reassuringly before putting his headphones in. At least he wouldn't have to sit through another lecture from Master Fu this time. Seeing as he'd be in London for the weekend.

Adrien would be in London for the weekend. No Fu, no Papillon, no Chat Noir. The thought made him feel... lighter. Taking his headphones out he turned to Kagami. "Is this your first time going to London?"

"No. Mother has taken me on several other business trips to familiarize myself with the company holdings." Kagami refocused her attention on Adrien. "But I can't say I've been sightseeing."

"Really? What do you want to see first?" Adrien fell into the ease of speaking with Kagami. Let himself enjoy this small moment of normalcy compared to the glorious disillusion of the akuma battle. Leaving Backwarder and Paris behind as the train accelerated.

----------------

Chat Noir soared over the rooftops. Grinning as the wind blew through his hair. For the first time in... he didn't know how long his heart raced with joy after a battle. He was useful! Sure he had to sacrifice himself so Ladybug could beat Gamer 2.0 but still!

Landing with a flip onto the designated rooftop he waited for Master Fu to show. Just like he did after (almost) every akuma attack. Except this time Chat Noir wasn't dreading it. This time-

The door opened as Master Fu stepped out.

"Master! Did you see... What's wrong?"

Master Fu held a stern expression. "Why did you not talk to Ladybug about what you intended?"

Chat's ears drooped as he pulled in on himself, enthusiasm forgotten. "Wh-what?"

"You sacrificed yourself without speaking to her first!" Master Fu sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ladybug might have come up with an alternative."

"But... I..."

"At the very least you should have let her know before you act."

You didn't tell her that when she shoved me onto Backwarder's sword.

Adrien flinched. "... Okay... I'll... tell her next time."

Even though she never tells me.

Satisfied, Master Fu's gaze softened. "You must be mindful of Ladybug's feelings." With that he turned back towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back. "It was wise to give Ladybug the last fight."

"..."

Chat Noir dashed across rooftops. Blinking rapidly as the wind blew into his eyes. For a moment he forgot. He forgot that Chat Noir was always wrong. That Adrien didn't get what everyone else did. He wasn't like everyone else. What they did mattered.

... Nothing Adrien ever did mattered. The universe was simply issuing a reminder.

---------------

Adrien didn't want to be at fencing practice today. He'd fantasized about taking Kagami to Kitty Section's rehearsal with the rest of his friends instead... But if his meetings with the Guardian had a theme it was listening to his... betters.

As though the universe could hear him the akuma alert went off just as he finished changing into his fencing gear. Making sure the rest of his teammates were gone, Adrien transformed and leapt out the window. Hoping Kagami wouldn't be too bored without him.

Quickly going over what information there was on 'Desperada' Chat Noir realized she was last seen at the Couffaine's houseboat. He ran faster.

A pang of longing came over him as Adrien remembered how tempting it'd been to skip practice and join his friends. But that meant disobeying. And disobeying never brought Adrien anything. Not with Father, not with his teachers, not with the Guardian.

Leaping across buildings a cyan blur knocked him five stories to the ground. Rolling with the blow Chat Noir readied his staff. The cyan blur was a lyre that came back to the hand that threw it.

A guy in a vaguely snake-like suit with cyan colored hair. "Sorry, Chat Noir. You would've gotten caught if I hadn't done anything."

To prove his point Desperada appeared and started shooting yellow blasts of magic. Chat Noir spun his staff as he ran for cover. Ladybug's yo-yo wrapped around him and pulled him into the alley. "Good, you're here. Chat, this is Viperion."

"Hello again, Chat Noir." Viperion smiled gently.

"... Hey."

"So what's the plan?" Ladybug asked the new guy.

Chat Noir stared. Ladybug never asked someone else to make the plan.

"Okay, first we need your Lucky Charm..."

In the end it was very simple. Chat Noir and Ladybug dodged Desperada's attacks long enough for Viperion to distract her with music from his lyre. Then Ladybug used the saddle her Lucky Charm gave her to restrict Desperada's movements. All three pulling the villain in different directions while Viperion threw his lyre at her guitar case, breaking it.

There was an extra 'Bien Joue' in their fist bump and then Chat Noir was running back to fencing practice.

...He'd done nothing. Viperion did all the work. And apparently he was so good at it he didn't even need to use his power. Or... was knowing what was going to happen his ability? Is that why Ladybug let him plan?

...Maybe he was reading too much into it. 'Bien joue' felt hollow all the time now. Just because it felt particularly empty this time didn't mean there was a reason besides his own selfish desire to be useful.

Back inside the locker room Adrien detransformed.

The door banged open. Adrien flinched.

"What is the meaning of this transgression, Agreste!?" M. D'Argencourt demanded.

Heart pounding, Adrien fumbled over his words. "I-I can explain!"

"I should hope so! I will have to inform M. Agreste of this behavior." M. D'Argencourt informed him.

Blood drained from Adrien's face. "NO! Please M. D'Argencourt, don't tell Father!"

Eyes softening, M. D'Argencourt shook his head. "I am sorry, Adrien. A student disappearing under my guard and I knowing not where he vanished to? I cannot overlook this."

Cold. Adrien was cold and his mouth moved without words. He collapsed onto the bench behind him. Heart hammering in his ears as he imagined what Gabriel would do...

---------------

Startrain rocketed into space, Nadja Chamack reporting over the image of the akumatized train. For a moment Adrien merely stood there...

"Hey, kid." Plagg pointed at the container of transformation cheese. "We gotta go help."

"R-right!" Coming out of his head Adrien tossed the purple, potion-infused cheese into the air. "Plagg, powerup!"

Swallowing it in a single bite Plagg glowed as the potion took effect. "Astro Plagg!" Small, glowing wings appeared on his back and his fur was coated with small star-like points.

Opening his mouth to say the phrase Adrien... His throat closed... the words wouldn't come... They wouldn't-

Plagg placed a paw on Adrien's cheek. "C'mon kid, your friends need us."

Friends. His friends were on that train! Finding his voice Adrien set his shoulders. "Astro Plagg, transforme-moi!"

Flying was unlike anything he ever experienced. And Astro Chat was flying faster than anyone had ever gone! Sky darkening as he rose above the atmosphere. Startrain had a head start he needed-

Sunlight lit up the Earth, cloud cover obscuring far more of its surface than was usually shown in photos. It was so blue... so beautiful. Adrien remembered what astronauts said about looking at the Earth from above.

He'd heard. But he hadn't known.

Turning back towards the void Astro Chat zoomed after Startrain. It was already past the moon. The moon which Adrien saw as only a handful of people ever did.

There!

Startrain was slowing down? That made it easier to catch up! Astro Chat's heart raced with excitement, willing his wings to go faster. He was almost there! Just a little more and-

A great, glowing, green portal burst to life directly in Startrain's path. Chat caught a glimpse of Big Ben on the other side and then the train sped through. Portal closing behind it.

Leaving Adrien in the void. Of course. Of course Ladybug already beat the akuma. And if that portal was any indication she had help. He wasn't needed. Wasn't necessary.

His friends were on that train and he couldn't. Do! ANYTHING! He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe! Everything was too big and too small! Infinity stretched forever in all directions and he was stuck inside this helmet! He wanted out! Wanted-

No. Focus.

As suddenly as his breath left him it came back. Adrien gasped and forced himself to breathe slowly... He couldn't stay here. There was nothing here.

Slowly, reluctantly, Adrien made his way back to Earth. Oh. Oh. He'd gone farther than he thought. Earth was a speck in the distance.

"A mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."

Tiny. Insignificant. Precious. An oasis in a desert. The closer you are to something the uglier it looks. Adrien kicked the thought away. It was small and meaningless. If you looked too closely at anything you failed to see the whole picture.

Adrien wondered what the whole of his picture, his world, looked like...