#but there's only like 2500 footsteps

[wickedcriminal]

The average person walking 7000 steps to reach High Hrothgar is incorrect. The average person walks about a few thousand steps to reach High Hrothgar. Dragonborn Georg, who was attacked by a FROST TROLL,

[bruhnze]

could you write a Ona/Lucy hurt comfort period sex fic?

Yes, i can :)

I’ll be right back - Lucy x Ona

This is not for everybody, i am aware of that, but i liked the idea and i wrote something... after i did i realised some might not really like the topic, and now i am a bit insecure about posting this... (what i shouldn't supposed to be bcs periods are not supposed to be a taboo topic) but i will put a disclaimer: period sex, on this.

Warnings: soft smut, hurt/comfort. minors dni.

Wordcount: about 2500 🤠

Ona laid in bed, curled on her side, hugging the heating pad to her stomach. No matter how much she shifted, she just couldn’t get comfortable. First she was too hot, then she was cold again. Her clothes felt wrong, her position in the bed felt wrong and the nagging pain in her lower back only made things worse. Her headphones were in, sad music playing on repeat, her eyes shut tight. Her brows furrowed in discomfort, her slow breathing tense and uneven.

To add to her annoyance, Narla and Coco scratched lightly at the door, but Ona had locked them out earlier, unable to deal with their boundless energy. Still, this wasn’t much better.

Suddenly, her stomach twisted in another sharp cramp and she grimaced, her body tensing as she breathed through the pain until it finally faded again. The sad music matched her mood perfectly as she felt physically and emotionally drained. Deep down, she wished Lucy was here.

Lucy had gone out with friends. Ona had said she didn’t feel up to it, that she rather stayed home. Maybe she had encouraged Lucy to go without her, sure—but she’d secretly hoped Lucy would stay. Lucy knew I was on my period, Ona thought, feeling disappointment. Pouting, she started to feel sorry for herself, and before she could stop it, tears slipped down her cheeks. She felt silly for being so childish, and a minute later, that sadness turned into irritation, directed at Lucy. She could’ve known I wanted her to stay home.

..

A while later, the front door opened, but Ona didn’t stir, too exhausted and wrapped up in her music to notice.

Footsteps echoed through the apartment as Lucy returned from her outing with friends. She was in a good mood, still smiling, but as soon as she stepped into the quiet home, something felt off.

“Narla? Coco?” Lucy called, spotting the dogs sitting patiently by the bedroom door, their tails wagging.

Frowning, Lucy gently pushed the bedroom door open. The dim light filtered through the room, and the first thing she saw was Ona, curled up under the blankets, headphones in, her expression drawn and tired.

Concern immediately replaced Lucy’s earlier cheer. She slipped into the room, careful to keep the dogs out, and sat quietly on the edge of the bed, not wanting to startle her.

“Ona,” Lucy whispered softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. When Ona didn’t respond, Lucy carefully removed the headphones, setting them on the bedside table.

Ona blinked up at her, eyes red and tired, but she managed a weak smile. “Finally found your way home?” she murmured, her voice quiet and a little hoarse.

Lucy’s concern deepened. “What’s going on, love?” she asked, brushing a hand through Ona’s hair, her thumb gently tracing her temple. “Period cramps?”

Ona sighed and glanced down. “Yeah,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly, but Lucy’s soft gaze made her feel comfortable.

Lucy’s heart clenched. Without a word, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ona’s forehead. “You should’ve called me,” Lucy said gently, pulling Ona into her arms. “Want me to heat up the pad again?”

Ona melted into her, the warmth of Lucy’s body far better than the heating pad. She rested her head on Lucy’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Lucy pulled back slightly, giving Ona a serious but gentle look. “You’re never a bother, especially when you’re in pain.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Ona’s ear and smiled softly.

Ona pouted as Lucy tried to reach for the heating pad. “I don’t want the pad anymore.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “But you have it now?”

Ona rolled her eyes. “I’m warm, I’m sweating.” She complained.

Lucy chuckled softly and placed her hand on Ona’s forehead. “You don’t feel—”

Before she could finish, Ona turned away and curled up again, her back to Lucy. Her body shook slightly, and Lucy heard the soft sound of quiet sobs.

“Hey,” Lucy cooed gently, running her hand up and down Ona’s back. “I love you.”

“Don’t touch me,” came a muffled whiny voice from between the pillows.

Lucy’s heart sank a little, but she stopped, her hand resting beside her curled up girlfriend. “I… I’m sorry?”

“No, you’re not,” Ona mumbled.

“I am, baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry, I mean,” Ona said, her voice quieter as she turned around, her eyes red from tears. “You’re always sweet to me, and I get why you wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m so… ugly… and grumpy.”

Lucy frowned, shaking her head. “What? Babe, no. I always want to be with you, especially when you feel like this.”

Ona’s lip trembled, and she pouted. “Even if I’m ugly?”

Lucy blinked in disbelief before smiling gently. “Even if—” She stopped, realizing what Ona had said. “You’re not ugly, Ona. Never. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Then why won’t you kiss me or hold me? Normally, you’d have kissed me by now.”

Lucy’s expression softened. “I just… didn’t think you’d want me to.” She paused, seeing the plea in Ona’s eyes. “Can I kiss you now?”

Ona nodded, her eyes watery but hopeful. Lucy leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, lingering for just a moment before wrapping her arms around her tightly.

Lucy pulled back from the kiss, her forehead resting gently against Ona's. "How can we get you comfy, bebê?" she asked softly, brushing her thumb along Ona's cheek.

Ona sighed, her body still curled up against Lucy. “I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice filled with frustration. “Nothing feels right.”

Lucy kissed her forehead again, her fingers threading through Ona’s hair. “We’ll figure something out,” she murmured. “Maybe a hot shower will help relax your muscles?”

Ona considered it for a moment, her face still flushed and eyes puffy from crying. The thought of warm water against her skin sounded appealing. She nodded slowly. “Okay… but only if you come with me.”

Lucy smiled softly. “Of course I will.” She gently untangled herself from Ona and stood up, offering her hand. Ona hesitated for a second before taking it, letting Lucy pull her to her feet.

As they walked into the bathroom, Lucy turned on the shower, adjusting the water until it was just the right warmth. The steam began to fill the room. Ona stood in the doorway, watching Lucy with tired eyes, but there was a hint of something else in her gaze, she felt needy, she wanted Lucy.

Lucy turned back to Ona and smiled reassuringly. “Come on, love. Let’s get you feeling a bit better.”

They slowly undressed and Lucy helped Ona step into the shower first. The hot water ran down Ona’s back and she let out a soft sigh as the comfortable warmth immediately started to ease some of the tension in her body. Lucy slipped in behind her, wrapping her arms around Ona’s waist and pulling her closer.

For a few moments, they stood together under the stream of water, Lucy holding Ona as the heat worked to soothe her. Ona rested her head against Lucy’s shoulder, closing her eyes as she melted into the embrace. “This feels so much better,” Ona murmured, her voice a little lighter now.

“Good,” Lucy whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”

After a while, Ona shifted in Lucy’s arms, turning to face her. Her eyes, though still tired, held a different kind of need now. She reached up, cupping Lucy’s face gently. “Can we��?” she asked quietly, her cheeks flushing slightly, but there was no hesitation in her voice.

Lucy understood immediately, her eyes softening with love and concern. “Are you sure, baby? You’re not in too much pain?”

Ona shook her head. “No, I want you to,” she whispered. “It’ll help… you always help.”

Lucy’s heart swelled at the words, and she pressed a loving kiss to Ona’s lips before nodding. “Okay, love,” she murmured. Her next kiss was deeper, more lingering, as her hands slid down Ona’s waist, fingers gently caressing her skin under the warm spray. Ona responded immediately, her body instinctively leaning into Lucy’s touch, the warmth from Lucy a soothing contrast to the discomfort she’d been feeling all day.

They moved together slowly, water cascading over them, as Lucy’s hands traced the familiar contours of Ona’s body.

Her touches was deliberate, careful, infused with the love and tenderness that defined their relationship. Ona closed her eyes, letting herself melt into Lucy’s embrace.

Lucy’s hands explored Ona’s body with care, her fingers eventually finding their way between Ona’s legs. She paused, hesitating for a brief second, aware of Ona’s period but understanding how much Ona craved this comfort and intimacy. It wasn’t about anything other than making her feel better—Lucy knew this could help ease her pain.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Lucy whispered, her voice gentle with a little concern, her hand stilling as her eyes searched Ona’s face for any sign of hesitation.

Ona’s cheeks flushed slightly, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. She leaned in for another kiss, her lips meeting Lucy’s with quiet urgency, the answer clear in her touch. "I want you," Ona murmured against her lips, her voice steady and sure.

Reassured, Lucy’s fingers moved slowly, gently, her other arm pulling Ona closer to her, holding her steady as the warm water washed over them. She wasn’t thinking about anything other than how Ona responded to her—every soft sound, every shift in her body guiding Lucy’s careful touch.

When Lucy’s fingers finally entered her, Ona whimpered, a sharp breath escaping her as a brief twinge of pain shot through her lower body. She grimaced slightly, her body tensing.

Lucy immediately stilled, her concern flaring. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” she asked softly, her brow furrowing as she searched Ona’s face, her hand already retreating.

Ona shook her head, pouting slightly, her eyes pleading. “No... I want you, please,” she whispered, her voice laced with both desire and need for comfort.

Lucy pressed a kiss to Ona’s forehead, her touch as soft as her words. She gently withdrew her hand, discreetly washing it under the shower as she captured Ona’s attention with another kiss. “I know another way, baby,” Lucy assured her, her voice soothing.

She cupped Ona’s face in her hands, giving her a series of slow, reassuring kisses before she repositioned herself behind her girlfriend.

Wrapping her arms around Ona’s waist, Lucy pressed her lips to the soft skin of her neck, holding her close. She kissed her way along Ona’s damp skin, whispering soft words of love between kisses, letting her presence and touch do the work of easing Ona’s discomfort.

Lucy’s fingers found their way between Ona’s legs again. She swiped along Ona’s core, feeling the slick warmth of her, before her fingers began to circle gently around Ona’s clit. The motion was slow, steady, designed to bring comfort as much as pleasure.

Her other hand, now free, glided upward to cup one of Ona’s breasts, her thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive skin as she pulled Ona closer into her. Lucy’s body pressed against her from behind, their skin warm and slick from the shower, the intimacy of the moment wrapping them both in a sense of calm.

Lucy buried her face in the crook of Ona’s neck, pressing a soft kiss there as she whispered against her damp skin, “You’re okay, love. I’ve got you.”

Ona groaned and gripped Lucy’s forearm as tension in her lower stomach started to build, the work of Lucy’s fingers combined with the sensation of Lucy’s tongue on her neck was just perfect.

It didn’t take long before Ona came undone, the tightness disappearing for a whole other feeling, much lighter. Like her uterus was carried by butterflies inside her. Her head felt light and she heard a buzzing sound in her ears as Lucy helped her through her orgasm.

She turned around in Lucy’s arms and nuzzled her head against her wet chest as Ona felt she now had an upcoming headache.

Lucy kissed the top of Ona’s head, ‘’was it okay?’’.

‘’mhm’’ Ona hummed.

..

After a little while more under the hot water they both rinsed off.

Lucy helped Ona dry herself, gently patting her skin with a towel before slipping her into some of her own clothes—knowing Ona always preferred wearing Lucy's things for comfort.

Once they were both dressed, Lucy pulled Ona into a warm embrace, her arms wrapping securely around her.

“Ready to face the two little monsters again?” Lucy teased with a playful grin.

Ona frowned, momentarily confused by Lucy’s words.

Lucy chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Ona’s temple. “The dogs, babe. You locked them out earlier. But I’m guessing they were bothering you?”

“Oh,” Ona groaned, the memory coming back. She sighed, then chuckled softly, until, without warning, tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through the sudden wave of emotion.

Lucy’s heart clenched as she quickly pulled her closer. “Nooo, don’t be,” she soothed, her voice soft as she kissed the top of Ona’s head. “They can be little devils sometimes. You’re always so good with them. Don’t worry, love.” She scolded herself for making Ona cry.

She gently stroked Ona’s back, trying to offer comfort. “How about I make you something to eat? A nice cup of tea? Maybe get the heating pad again?”

But Ona’s tears didn’t stop. Instead, they fell harder, and Lucy could feel her trembling slightly. Lucy grimaced, unsure of what else to say. “Hey… I’m sorry,” she murmured, realizing her words might have been too much at once.

Ona turned around, burying her face in Lucy’s shoulder. “Headache,” she muttered weakly, offering no further explanation.

But Lucy didn’t need any. She understood that Ona was overwhelmed.

Without a word, Lucy guided her over to the couch, helping her lie down in the soft cushions. When Ona was comfy she draped a blanket over her, tucking it around her to make sure Ona was comfortable.

“I’ll be right back,” Lucy whispered, leaning down to plant another gentle kiss on Ona’s forehead.

[drunknillawafer]

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader (part 9)

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend, Zuko. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 8 Part 10

hiiii omg yall know ill never leave yall hanging!!! i love this fic like i want to finish it to the very end and even had some older zuko & reader stuff... maybe even some korra time period stuff... like!! reminder: characters are not mine I do not own them... word count approx 2500... let me know how u like it! don't forget to reblog like comment if u do like it hehe >.<

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It wasn’t the throbbing headache pulsing in my right temple from my lack of sleep. It wasn’t the danger looming over our shoulders in the form of a Fire Nation metal machine. It wasn’t the shouts and trembles of earth from Katara and Toph’s adjustment to a fifth member on the team. It wasn’t the fact that Appa had crash-landed and some tree branches from the speed of dropping cut my bicep. No, it was not any of those things that finally drove me over the edge.

It was what Aang said when he was inevitably driven to madness because of our current situation.

It’s one of those rare moments that Sokka is standing outside of a group outburst.

“You’re not carrying your own weight, Appa is,” the young-air bender begins, “We didn’t have trouble flying when it was just the three of us!” My sigh punctuates his confession.

Without another moment passing us by, Toph grabs her cross-body bag and heads toward any direction that would take her the furthest from here.

Sokka steps in her way as a last effort for resolution. Oh, how it must feel to stand outside of the tension, holding the ability to remain neutral. “Wait!” He tries. She moves him in one swift kick and the dirt from under him grazes him to the side.

I’m right behind her.

“Where are you going?” The boy in blue questions me. His begging blue eyes glaring into mine.

I shrug it off. “With Toph! The three of you will be fine.”

Did they all think this about us—Aang, Katara, and Sokka about Toph and I: newcomers to the group of children burdened with saving the world? I push it aside with the rest of the questions I don’t want the answer to. It didn’t matter anyways. I’d never leave them for good.

The dirt crunches under my boots. A forged path in the spring forest leading us further and further away from the commotion. It’s just me and the earth-bender walking side-by-side with no plan in place.

It had only been a week since her official admission to the group but we both quickly registered that we’d prefer the walk to be silent. After the last two days, peace and quiet were preferred. Mandatory. A requirement.

You could feel the breeze as we begin the warmer time of the year. Flowers blooming, baby birds learning the tunes of their being, and Appa shedding. I can’t help but breathe in and out as I let the changing of the seasons cleanse me.

Toph speaks first. “Were they like that when you joined?” 

I briefly think about what I’d been up to since I met them. Aang shared how he learned he was the Avatar before going in the ice. I told them where I’m really from and what I can do, something I’d never done with anyone outside of Zuko. I ran into Zuko at the Northern Water Tribe, and he kicked me in the ribs and caused a rift between Sokka and I. Over it. Unfortunately, Aang met Azula. And now I’m here. Walking away from it all with a child I met over a week ago.

I’m also just a stranger she met a week ago, so at least it goes both ways.

“I’m not sure.” Which was true. Was it Aang’s crankiness from the sleep deprivation or did the harsh words have some truth behind them? He could’ve been defending Appa. Still. I couldn’t help but let it burn.

As we continue our walk in silence agreement with each other, she stops her movements. Her pause halts my footsteps as I watch her use her senses. She confirms any suspicion and stomps her foot down in the direction of a boulder that’s clearly hiding something behind it. A line forms as rock bends toward the culprit like a lop-eared rabbit digging underground. Suddenly, I hear a thud and a groan.

Both of us quickly make our way to investigate and we’re confronted with an old man lying on his stomach, rubbing his lower back from Toph’s damage.

“That really hurt my bottom.” The familiar voice hits my ears—It can only be one person.

Iroh.

He grunts as he stands up on his two feet to face us. The old General’s not wearing any of the classic royal clothing he wore the last time I saw him. The moss-colored robe contrasts the memories of crimson I have. But most of all, he has cut off his ponytail.

The rumors are true, then. Azula was in fact not lying to me. Zuko abandoned his post, and she’s most likely tasked with catching him. Somewhere along the lines our paths crossed and the big metal machine that’s been chasing us no longer remains a mystery.

The dots connecting cause a smile to escape me. It always comes back to him, doesn’t it? In some way, in some form, his presence in my life is inescapable. Almost as if the universe is pushing us together, but I don’t know why. Am I stuck with having to figure that part out too?

“Y/N.” Iroh greets me. “Who is your friend?”

“Who are you?” She asks, he’s the intruder—not the other way around.

Everything in me would like to run in the other direction, but I remember Iroh protecting the moon spirit over the Fire Nation. He can be trusted, I believe. “It’s okay, Toph. Iroh is an old friend.”

He feigns offense that’s only obvious to Toph. “I’m not that old.” 

“No!” I’m immediately wary of my next words. Even after all these years, I wouldn’t disrespect a General. It was instilled in me from the moment my father found out I could speak. “I meant like. I know him.” Nervously, I laugh and at my expense, the young earth-bender can trust this old man we bumped into in the forest.

☆

“Here is your tea.” The three of us are sitting around a small fire warming up a tea pot. Three handle-less cups are placed and ready to be filled.  Iroh grabs the kettle, and I watch as he gracefully pours us our share of tea. “You’ve separated from your group?” Politely, he breaks the quiet.  

Toph remains silent and the responsibility of answering the question falls on me. “We… got into a disagreement. To say the least.” I take a sip from the wooden cup, and it tastes as good as springtime feels.

He couldn’t help but question the lack of supervision in attendance. “Aren’t you a little too young to be traveling alone?”

“Aren’t you a little too old?” This wins Toph a laugh from the former General.

“Perhaps I am.” His humble reply softens the cloud looming on top of us. It seemed to calm us down: the tea and the view of the endless landscape. Tall trees with mountains in the distance. The sun beginning to rise over the east casting the skies with lilac and blush pink.

The young earth-bender goes on. “I know—I look like I can’t handle being by myself.”

This prompts a shared glance between Iroh and I, a secret conversation to affirm if this was what the fight was about. I tilt my head a bit to the left to say yes. He understands.

“I wasn’t thinking that.” Solemnly, he replies.

All day, Toph had spent defending herself against Katara so much that it had cast a lens over the conversation. Immediately, she’s defensive. A true earth-bender, mighty and as stubborn as they come. She needed to be if she was to survive this world. “You wouldn’t even let me pour my own cup of tea.” She argues.

Iroh’s earnest intentions paint his face. “I did it because I wanted to, nothing else.” One hand holding his warm tea and the other over his chest.

“People always assume I can’t take care of myself. But I do it and I do it by myself.” She states, confident as ever.

“You sound like my nephew.” The mention of him causes my heart to drop. I can’t tell if it’s racing or resting at the pit of my stomach. “He thinks you need to always do things on your own without anyone’s support.” I keep my eyes glued to the ground praying Iroh isn’t looking at me.

I’ve managed to keep him away from my thoughts when the sun shines. Training, hunting, gathering, and constantly moving place to place keeps me distracted. Sokka helps too. But when the light goes away and the moon comes up, he comes and visits me in my dreams.

When I’m dreaming, my heart can’t feel the difference between reality and fiction. The yearning fights to come out of my body in my sleep. I wake up feeling the ache of missing him in my bones.

And the dream itself is always the same. I find myself with our current selves, gone rogue from the Fire Nation, but we’re not fighting. We are walking side-by-side in some earth town, neither of us wearing our home colors. He’s smiling and we’re laughing. The conversation I can never make out, but it gives me what I need: a false replica of what we used to be and how I used to feel. At this point I can feel tears wanting to escape my eyes, both in my dream and in real life.

I wake up with the sun softly kissing the sky purple and the cycle begins again.

It wasn’t realistic, but I had been hoping the Northern Water Tribe would be it. I’d never see him again.

Iroh continues. “There is nothing wrong with letting people help you, you know.” Toph’s shoulders drop as she begins to calm down from a two-day fight. The mention of Zuko doing nothing to her, she would have no way of knowing who he is.

The question I never thought I’d ask rests at my tongue. I struggle to say it out loud in proximity to other people where someone might hear me. “Where is… Zuko?”

In honor of the shared truths, Iroh confides in us. “I’ve been tracking him.”

“Is he lost?” Toph asks.

“Sort of.” I put the cup down, wanting to stick to every word. “His life has recently changed and he’s going through very difficult things. He doesn’t know who he is, and he went away to figure it out. By himself.”

It’s almost hard to buy: Zuko all alone out there. He’s never needed to feed himself one day in his entire life, he’s always had people who would remember and do it for him. What would he do? Wander around without speaking to anyone? No, he’ll meet someone and maybe they can teach him something.

From what his uncle is telling me, he’s going to need it.

Zuko.

Changing from empathetic to merciless to empathetic again?

“Now, you’re following him.” Toph’s speaks for both of us.

Iroh sighs. “He doesn’t want to be around anyone right now. But if he needs me, I’ll be there.”

The last three years at sea must have shown Iroh something about Zuko that’s worth protecting. He’s looking past the space his nephew has put between himself and everyone else.

“He’s very lucky.” The young earth-bender comforts the old man with her words. “Even if he doesn’t know it.”

By now, the argument with Katara seemed so little. Aang’s words were fading in the distance. The metal doom machine chasing it remained large and now that I knew it was Azula, I had to get back to tell them.

Toph stands and I take this as the ending cue to our impromptu tea stop. “Thank you.” She tells him.

“My pleasure. Sharing tea and bottled-up emotions are one of life’s gifts.”

“I meant for what you said. It helped with my… disagreement from before.” Toph hooks her bag over her shoulder and motions for me to follow her. I’m on my feet with nothing but my swords with me.

Iroh has always been as wise as a winged lemur. He knows what to say and when to say it. Hopefully, one of these days it can get through to his nephew.

“Thanks, Iroh.” I don’t tell him for what specifically, but I think he knows. The small update on my old friend to let me know he’s safe. What’s going through Zuko’s head would have to be something I ask him personally about.

Before we begin our journey back, Toph leaves Iroh with some wisdom of her own. “Maybe you should tell your nephew that you need him, too.”

☆

The old town is desolate, dry, and arid. It’s a single strip with abandoned buildings scattered all around. There seems to be no civilians around. It’s perfect for Azula.

The three of us, Toph, Iroh, and I found our way to this empty shell of a village. Toph sensed multiple people with different directions depending on who you want to find. We’ve decided she’ll go look for Sokka and Katara and I’ll go with Iroh to find the royal siblings. “You’ll be fine by yourself?” I double-check with her before going.  

“Do you even have to ask?” She gloats. “There!” Toph points us in the general area we need to go toward, and we go our separate ways, better adjusted than before to fight this fight.

As the old man and I step closer and closer to one of the empty wooden homes, we find Zuko passed out on the ground. We slightly jog to him, reaching him before Azula distracts us.

His ponytail is gone too and he’s already grown some hair back. I’ve never seen him like this, I can’t take my eyes away. Zuko looks as if he is sleeping and if I squint, I can see my friend and not just his rage.

Iroh stands over his nephew as he wakes up. I wonder what he’ll first see, me or his uncle.

“Y/N?” He grunts. Whoever knocked him out must’ve did it good.

“Get up.” Iroh sternly tells him, almost like an order. He’s not going to let him go down now.

The old General holds his hand out for Zuko to grab onto and the prince gets up on his feet.

Without a second thought, my body reacts first to being in close proximity with him once again. I get into my fight stance, unsure of his next moves. Our eyes meet and I make sure there is no sign of nostalgia in my glare. I’m angry. “Don’t wanna fight?” I tell him.

He doesn’t get in a defense position. Zuko just stands there, processing the consequences of his actions. “No.”

“You did the last time I saw you.” I make sure to add every drop of bitterness in my words.

“That was—” He clears his throat and holds his hands up, “Look, remember what we said when we were younger?”

Where is he going with this? “I’m not following.”

Clear as day, he states. “Fine isn’t fine.”

“Azula always lies.” I finish for him. When we were younger, we made up a quick phrase to help us with his younger sister’s alarming behavior. Well, to help him with her. Zuko wants to believe his family, he wants to give them a chance no matter how much they lie to him or hurt him. In the Fire Nation, a trait like this can only be used against you.

It seemed like a childhood rhyme you forget about, but I guess he didn’t. And now, it’s come in handy. A quick way to explain our current battle.

“We can’t let her get him.” He pleads.

“So, you can?”

“I don’t know.” It was the first indication of a glitch in his unwavering loyalty toward his father. Not a yes, not a no.

He’s finding himself. Iroh’s words run through my mind. He’s choosing patience when it comes to Zuko and for now, just now, I have no reason to doubt it. We must stop Azula. Even if he tried something, I don’t think Iroh would let him. And that’s enough to calm me down.

I lower my hands in surrender and nod. “Fine.”

Zuko’s eyes are digging into mine, desperately trying to find me but I’m not letting him.

I practice this all the time—in my dreams. Zuko and I are on the same side once again, but the sun is glaring at me and I know I where I am. I know our past means nothing here.

This is reality, where me and him aren’t friends anymore.

tag list: @camilleverreault @staygoldsquatchling02 @yunloyal @lily-ann-b <3333

[farahtissaiamyloves]

Hey,

Do you write Fate: The Winx Saga fics? If so, can you write a fic where Bloom is in a slump (depressed from everything). She blocks out everyone from trying to help her. Her magic gets erratic because of her emotions. Farah helps her through everything. Gives her advice and comfort. She is a mother figure for Bloom. Just a fic that starts out very angsty and just leads to pure comfy at the end. If it can be at least 2500 words, I'd appreciate it. If not, it's understandable.

P.S. Not a lot of FarahxBloom fics, so.... kinda hope you could help me.

Making peace with the past

Farah Dowling x Bloom Peters (plat)

Another wonderful request was completed. I hope I rose up to the challenge successfully. I have never truly written anything which isn't xreader but I think that this came to be wonderful. You, Anon, requested for 2500 minimum, so I am providing you with my longest one-shot, 3236 words. Enjoy.

Bloom was sitting alone on a bench. Her eyes were glassy as she looked at the horizon, the endless beautiful fields outside of Alfea.

Her mind was a huge mess. So many things happened the past year. She could hardly comprehend what was happening anymore.

She had done a murder.... It was self-defense, but still... She did have blood on her hands... Two people's blood.

Obviously, both Rosalind and Sebastian had to die or at least be defeated one way or another if she wanted to ensure Alfea's safety.

Still...

Bloom looked down at her hands, half expecting them to be covered with their blood.

The girl sighed, placing her head against her hands. She was feeling so...

Lost?

Even she didn't know.

The only good thing that came up due to the discovery of her dragon flame was her ability to resurrect one of the only people who cared for her, not because of her abilities, no... but because they cared about everybody's well-being.

She found some solace at the thought of making things right... Saving the woman who stood by her when she needed it the most.

Bloom felt beyond ashamed and responsible for her death as well... If only she had believed her...

Rosalind would have never been freed. Everybody would be happy. Farah, Ben, and Saul would still be best friends. Bellatrix and Stella would have the chance they deserved to be together...

Bloom sobbed, realizing that she was the cause of everyone's problems.

She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve her friends, Sky, Headmistress Dowling... She didn't deserve anyone.

Bloom's blood turned cold, remembering her mother's burnt flesh.

She was not the hero everybody painted her to be...

No.

Everything was actually happening in the first place because of her.

She was a monster.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

Bloom was sat alone in the library.

She knew the girls had planned a study period in their living room, but she didn't feel like going.

She did not deserve it.

She deserved loneliness.

She deserved to feel the pain.

She didn't hear the footsteps getting too close to her.

Her eyes were glued to her book before she noticed someone standing in front of her desk.

She looked up to see Aisha standing with crossed hands in front of her.

"You coming or what?" Her friend spoke with an expecting gaze.

Bloom didn't respond for some seconds before she shook her head and looked back to her book. "I'm busy."

Aisha titled her head, tapping her foot against the wooden floor of the library. "You are studying here. You may as well as study with us. Same thing." She waved Bloom's excuse off.

Bloom shook her head. "I really need to stay focused.... You are not helping." The girl started feeling agitated. She didn't wish for her company as she didn't deserve it.

This was her punishment.

Aisha took a step closer, hovering above Bloom. "See this as a small break. Come, we gonna be late."

Bloom didn't look at her as she turned the page, pretending to be reading. "I don't wish for a small break. Go."

Aisha's hands crossed over her chest. "Bloom.... You are acting like a baby. Just be done with it."

Bloom rolled her eyes in annoyance, her little patience gone. "I SAID GO."

Aisha's eyes widened in shock before the water fairy blinked. She tried to snitch Bloom's book away from her, only to be met by Bloom's hand slapping her hand away.

Bloom abruptly stood up and looked at her friend in the eyes. "WHAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I WANNA STUDY ALONE!"

Aisha swallowed hard as she took a step back at the sound of Bloom's shout. Many heads turned to look at their fight.

The water fairy looked around, noticing the attention they got before turning to her roommate.

Aisha looked at Bloom for a moment and then turned around and left the room feeling beyond shocked due to Bloom's outburst and ashamed of disturbing people's peace.

Bloom sat down on her seat with a relieved sigh.

May the torture continue.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

A week later, Bloom found herself in Farah Dowling's classroom.

The headmistress would soon be walking around the classroom overseeing everyone's abilities, as she preferred to give some time to her students to begin chanelling and do the needed preparations.

Today's lesson main focus was control.

Bloom, who was usually sitting next to Aisha, was keeping her mouth shut and not saying a single word.

Aisha was just glancing at Bloom coldly. They hadn't talked since the episode in the library, even if they were seeing each other every day due to the fact that they were roommates.

Through this week, Bloom managed to get into a very heated fight with Stella as well.

Many words were spoken that Bloom regretted immediately, but she had chosen to leave Stella and abandon her in the middle of the fight.

This, alongside Bloom's emotional turmoil, didn't help her at all as she struggled a little bit to maintain her little fire under complete control.

Bloom took a deep breath to calm down and focus on her task.

Make Headmistress Dowling proud.

Farah finished some of her workpapers and decided to walk around the classroom and see how everyone was faring.

Considering that the class has done far more difficult and complicated tasks, she thought that this lesson would be a piece of cake for everyone.

The headmistress had decided to start over and progress the difficulty of the lessons quickly to see her pupils' progress throughout Rosalind's cruel treatment toward them.

The headmistress was pleased to see that everyone was having rather fun, enjoying the simplicity of the task without any kind of pressure or high expectations.

Everyone, except...

Farah raised an eyebrow, noticing that Bloom was no longer sitting at her usual spot.

The woman was perplexed as to why the student wasn't sitting next to her friend, Aisha, like they always do.

Farah looked at Aisha, trying to decipher her feelings without the use of any kind of knowledge.

The girl seemed more troubled and cheerful than usual.

The woman's eyes followed the rest of the company of friends, all of them gathered around each other and whispering here and then.

Farah pressed her lips in a thin line. Something had happened... or rather it's still happening.

She walked next to Terra, a girl who was practically her niece, who was no longer her normal cheerful self.

She didn't say anything about what was happening between them and Bloom, Farah's experience was telling her that the girls just needed some time to solve their problems.

She thought that it was best to interfere and make things worse for both parties.

She just patted Terra's head congratulating her for her impeccable control and then walked to Musa.

She could tell that all of this time without her magic left Musa a little rusty, but still, no one could question Musa's mastery of her mind magic.

Farah smiled at the girl and then walked to examine her assistance work.

The woman was impressed by how well Aisha was taking to the challenge. Farah couldn't help but remember the first classes in which Aisha struggled with taking control of the small particles of water....

The girl seemed like she had been doing it for years.

The headmistress gave a proud smile at her and a nod. Farah was aware of Aisha's ambition to succeed her one day, and she was more than just open with the idea.

"I'm sure you'll be a wonderful headmistress one day." Farah complimented the teenager.

Aisha smiled at her as her eyes sparkled, but Farah couldn't help but notice that the smile didn't reach as high as her usual one.

The woman didn't comment as she continued observing everybody's use of magic. However, she couldn't help but feel worried.

She cared for all of the girls deeply, and watching all of them in such distress brought her not just sadness and anxiousness but distress as well.

Farah walked through the rows of desks, commenting here and there, as well as observing everybody's progress and noting their new abilities.

The woman stopped at Bloom's desk abruptly.

Farah always knew that Bloom's magic was different, stronger than the usual fire fairies, but there was something wrong with the girl.

Normally, knowing that Bloom transformed, Farah thought that Bloom had managed to not just barely contain but perfectly control her magic.

Her assumption was errored.

She stood by Bloom and watched the girl slightly struggle with the strict maintainance of the size of the fire.

She took a step closer and examined both the magic and the troubled girl. "Bloom, I believe you need to calm down first. Then, not only will the task bring better results, but it won't be as exhausting and frustrating as it already is for you." Farah calmly spoke, trying to coax the girl into letting go for a while.

Bloom briefly glanced at her before shaking her head. "There's no need, Headmistress Dowling. Everything is under control." The girl defended, decided not to follow the mind fairy's advice.

Farah sighed and placed her left hand on Bloom's right shoulder. "I know, Bloom. I just believe I have seen enough." The headmistress decided not to test the girl further to see whether she was actually saying the truth or not.

Bloom took a deep breath, filling determination. She had to make the headmistress feel proud of her. She thought this was the only way for her to truly show how sorry she was.

Bloom's red eyes remained on her tiny flames. "Are you sure? Because I can really keep going. Please, test me further, Headmistress. See for yourself." Bloom encouraged the older woman.

The headmistress' eyebrow rose at the sound of her eagerness to be tested. Farah wasn't sure about this, but she did wish to see Bloom's progress.

Hopefully, Rosalind taking over will have at least one good outcome.

The mind fairy's eyes shone as she used her telekinetic abilities to move a little leaf toward Bloom's little fire.

"If that's what you wish, Bloom. Now, I will move this tiny leaf into your fire. If it remains intact when I pull it away, then you will officially excel the test. Is it understood, Bloom?" The headmistress asked, holding the leaf near Bloom's fire.

The girl nodded eagerly as she awaited for the test.

Farah slowly had the leaf approach Bloom's flames. She gave some time to Bloom to prepare for the intrusion before she deeped the leaf right into the magical fire.

The headmistress watched with a proud smile as the flames danced around the leaf, leaving it completely unharmed.

Farah had the leaf remain inside Bloom's fire while she slowly moved it around the flames, testing the girl a little further.

Bloom didn't comment as she continued focusing on her magical fire and keeping the leaf intact.

Farah hummed in approval. "Good job, Bloom. You're doing wonderfully." The woman congratulated the girl as she kept the leaf in place.

Bloom smiled at her as she maintained her focus on the fire. "Thank you, Miss Dowling."

Before Farah had the chance to politely smile at the girl, she felt it before she saw it as Aisha accident fell over Bloom's desk with a glass of water.

The water mainly spilled over Bloom's fire, but it was too little to have it extinguished. Some water landed on Farah's shirt as half of Bloom's face became wet.

It was just for a moment, but Bloom's concentration broke, resulting in the leaf getting burnt.

"Oh. I'm so so sorry, Headmistress Dowling. I meant to go to the sink to get more water." Aisha politely excused herself.

Farah nodded at her before listening to Bloom's anguished cry. "NOOOOOOO."

The woman's eyes widened as she turned quickly to look at Bloom. Bloom's eyes were a darker shade of red as the girl stood up and looked at Aisha. "YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE!"

Aisha swallowed hard, taking a step back in fear. "I- No. Bloom, control yourself." Aisha couldn't admit that she did indeed do it on purpose.

Flames erupted by Bloom's right hand as her magic matched her anger. A pair of wings appeared behind her back. "YOU AND YOUR STUPID JEALOUSY!" Bloom was furious with her friend.

Farah quickly stepped between the two girls, making sure that Bloom couldn't accidentally hurt her friend.

The mind fairy took a step forward and looked deep into the girls' eyes. "Bloom, I know that you are angry at Aisha for ruining your test, but you excelled at it. Please, calm down, and I assure you that we can talk this out."

The girl looked at the headmistress for a moment before she took a deep breath. Miss Dowling was right. She always was.

The fire fairy lowered her hand and let her wings vanish. Bloom slowly sat back in her seat, glancing at Aisha coldly.

The water fairy attempted to leave before she was grabbed by the headmistress. "You shall come with me to my office. Ad for everyone else, you did really great. Class dismissed. " Farah announced as her hand was wrapped around the girl's wrist without even looking at the teenager.

Aisha swallowed hard as everyone else were preparing their things to leave.

Farah turned to look at Bloom. "I shall see you later at... our spot." The headmistress decided, winking at Bloom.

The girl nodded with a small smile. She was so happy that the headmistress wasn't angry with her, even though this was literally the only good thing in her life at the moment.

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

Farah had put on her coat as she walked out of Alfea. Her boots touched the grass underneath as she slowly walked to the place she and Bloom conversed for what they thought to be the last time.

The headmistress took her time, enjoying the magnificent view of Alfea's grounds at the end of the autumn.

She had reprimanded Aisha greatly for what she did to Bloom and reminded her that it was only normal for Bloom to feel angry and detached after what she lately discovered about her true identity and age.

Farah shook her head. She didn't expect a bunch of teenagers to understand how much trauma and regrets can impact someone's mental health.

The headmistress partially blamed herself because she should have seen that Bloom didn't just need some time, but she needed help. She needed guidance.

Farah finally reached the bench, and she admitted that she waited for Bloom to already be there.

Bloom was sitting on the bench, and at the same side, she sat during their previous conversation in this place and was looking at the school's grounds.

Farah slowly approached and sat down next to Bloom. "Good afternoon, Bloom. I hope you are feeling better."

The girl nodded quickly. "Yes. Yes, I do. Thank you again, Miss Dowling. I don't know what I would have done without you."

The woman smiled, gently patting Bloom's back. "It was the least I could do for you, Bloom...."

The girl smiled at her. "You don't owe me anything, miss Dowling."

Farah gently sighted as she gazed affectionately at the younger girl. "I'm aware, Bloom. However, I shall express my worry for your well-being."

Bloom frowned. "Miss Dowling. Only one of us came back from the dead, and that's not me. How have you been?"

The woman titled her head to the side. "You're avoiding the topic."

The redhead shook her head with an incredulous expression. "I am not."

Farah raised an eyebrow. "Bloom... I know you. You are lying."

The girl's eyes widened. "I- Aisha is just jealous! She believes that if I study a bit more, which I am doing, I'm going to become your favorite, and she- she wishes to be just that."

The older woman sighed and messaged her temples. "Bloom... I care about all of my students equally."

Bloom shook her head and leaned closer to the headmaster. "However, I'm no mere student like everybody else. I have the dragon flame. I killed Rosalind. You love me a little mo-"

Farah silenced the girl with a wave of her hand. The woman looked deep into Bloom's eyes. "So, this is what's all about? You and Aisha fighting for my affection? I can understand why Aisha is trying to be on my good side. She wants to succeed me after all... But you Bloom? You have done more than enough for me and the school?"

Bloom bited her lower lip and looked at the ground. She couldn't tell her the truth. "I- I just really value you. You mean a lot to-"

"Bloom." The woman cut her off. Her voice was serious.

Th girl swallowed hard, expecting her professor's rage. "Yes?"

Farah sighed and took Bloom's hand. "Pushing people away will get you nowhere."

Bloom shook her head quickly. "You don't understand, miss Dowling."

The woman intertwined their fingers. "As a matter of fact.... I think I do. You are still blaming yourself for everything."

Bloom looked at the elder woman with teary eyes. "I- No. Miss Dowling, I just wished to show you my appreciation for everything you have done for me."

Farah smiled sadly at the girl. "I appreciate that. But do you know what I would prefer more?"

Bloom shook her head. "What is it?" She asked excitedly.

The headmistress patted the girl's head. "For you to accept your mistake and move on."

The fire fairy's face fell. "But-"

"No buts! You made a mistake, and you fixed it. I'm so proud of you for achieving just that. There's no need to put yourself and your friends under all of this pain, pressure, and suffering." Farah cut the girl off.

Bloom looked at the woman with a sad facial expression. "Miss Dowling... I've done horrible things..."

The mind fairy shook her head as she took Bloom's face on her left hand. Her right hand was still wrapped around Bloom's left one. "Taking two terrible lives and saving over a thousand isn't considered as a horrible thing Bloom." The woman retorted.

A tear run down Bloom's cheek. The girl's whisper was barely heard as her voice shook. "I killed you."

Farah's eyes widened. The woman shook her head as she immediately pulled the girl into a tight hug. "No. No. No. Rosalind killed me, Bloom. You had nothing to do with it."

Bloom started crying in her professor's arms as Farah could do nothing but rub her back and whisper soothing words, assuring the girl of her heroic actions and her lack of involvement in her murder.

When Bloom's tears slowed down, the student looked up at the elder woman. "Can I... at least do something to show you how sorry I am?"

Farah smiled and caressed her cheek. "I believe that bringing me back to life and protecting Saul when he needed it is more than enough."

Bloom chuckled and pressed her head against her chest.

Farah hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

Things would never be as they used to in the very beginning, but from now on, neither of them would mind it.

It was for the best.

[im-no-jedi]

MLWTBB: Business Is Business

aka the (continued) journey into my self insert nonsense✨

chapter summary: while the Bad Batch is away on a mission, an oddly familiar Devaronian kicks Cid out of her parlor and takes it for himself, causing several problems for Hannah...

notes: this is a continuation of my story, “My Life With The Bad Batch”; I highly recommend reading that first before this one! I created a few new planets for this story. I’m also not 100% versed in SW terminology, so forgive me if some things are labeled incorrectly! each chapter will be rated accordingly, as opposed to the overall fic. lastly, there is romance in this story. hope you enjoy! 💙

add. notes: this chapter was edited and proofread by my sis @jam-n-ham! thanks sis!! 😋💙 also, in case it isn’t obvious, this story is my version of episode 13 “Infested”. I tried to stick to canon as much as possible, while also delving more into one of my favorite side characters in the show (please more of the Durand family in season two 🙏🏻)

Chapter 1, 2500+ words, rated G (there’s mentions of alcohol and that’s about it LOL)

next chapter

✨MLWTBB masterlist✨

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It was yet another slow Primeday at Cid’s Parlor. Hannah had woken up a bit late that morning, but thankfully Cid didn’t dock her for it. So far, only Bolo and Ketch were in the parlor, like usual. There was a bit of mess to clean up from the night before, but it didn’t take long for Hannah to get that taken care of. It was an extremely boring time, even more than usual.  

All Hannah really hoped for now was that she would finally see her friends come walking through the door again. They had been gone for a few days on another mission for Cid, something Hannah was quite used to by this point. But she was extra lonely this time and missed them more than usual. She thought about how she was going to give Omega the biggest hug ever when they all got back. She imagined Wrecker joining in and scooping both her and Omega up into a squeeze fest between the three of them. She pondered the sort of snide comments Tech and Echo might say about their mission, as they often did whenever they came back to the parlor. She dreamed about seeing Hunter again, the man she loved with all her heart, and telling him how much she missed him as she ran her fingers through his long, dark brown hair. It would be absolutely wonderful.

Suddenly, footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs towards the parlor. Hannah’s heart leapt into her throat, desperately wishing it was who she thought it was.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Several intimidating looking men in dark armor came flooding into the parlor, each of them carrying a weapon. Hannah bolted upright from the counter she’d been leaning against, unsure of what to do. Then another figure came stepping in, quite confidently. It was a male Devaronian with green skin, wearing a nice suit and holding some sort of small lizard creature in his arms. He was obviously the leader of this group. The room went silent as the Devaronian looked around, surveying the place.  

Hannah had a moment of panic at the sight of him. Memories of Volruna flooded into her head, with the man in front of her briefly being replaced by the visage of Vin Drazundr instead. She had to literally shake herself back to reality and exhaled deeply. Then she looked to Bolo and Ketch, who were completely frozen in place. With a deep breath, she gathered up all her courage and decided to approach the newcomer. “Uhh, hello! Can I help you?”

The Devaronian adjusted the collar of his shirt before answering her. “I’m looking for Cid. Would you happen to know where she is?”

Cid wasn’t expecting anybody today to Hannah’s knowledge. She knew what she was supposed to do in situations like this. “I might... who exactly is looking for her, if I might ask?”

“Roland,” the Devaronian replied proudly. “Roland Durand. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The name didn’t ring a bell to Hannah at all. The way he was acting though made it out like he was important in some way. Regardless, she didn’t like the vibe she was getting from this guy at all. It unfortunately reminded her of Vin again. “Yeah, a pleasure. I’m sorry, what is your business with Cid? It’s kind of my job to ask so she doesn’t get bothered unnecessarily.”

Roland chuckled. “Adorable. You’ll be a fun bartender, I’m sure.”

Hannah blinked in shock. “Excuse me?”

Roland then made a hand signal to the armored men, who began searching the entire parlor. Bolo and Ketch tried to avoid them as much as possible, insisting they were just there as patrons; eventually, they just ran out of the parlor altogether. Hannah opened her mouth to try and retort to what was going on, but Roland silenced her. Then one of the men discovered the back room and alerted Roland about it. Again, Hannah tried to speak, but was stopped by Roland.  

“Be a dear and whip up some drinks for me and my men, would you?” he said as he walked towards the back room.  

Hannah stood in place, completely dumbfounded. She was wrong before; this guy was somehow worse than Vin. “Jerk didn’t even tell me what kind of drink he wanted...”

Despite her curiosity, Hannah kept herself away from the room, much to her discretion. She knew Cid had told her to stay out of stuff like this in case there was trouble, but she couldn’t help wanting to rush in and at least see what was going on.  

It didn’t take long before Hannah got her answer. The door to Cid’s room slid open, catching Hannah’s attention immediately. To her surprise, Cid was walking out of the hallway, hands in the air, with Roland and some of the armored men behind her.  

“What’s going on?” Hannah exclaimed.

“A simple change of hands, sweetheart,” Roland replied. “Nothing more.”

“More like a hostile takeover,” Cid retorted. She saw the concerned look on Hannah’s face and reassured her, “Don’t worry, Red. This ain’t permanent.”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Roland said slyly. “Get her out of my parlor, would you, boys?”

Hannah scoffed. “Your parlor?”

As the armored men began literally shoving Cid out, she turned to Roland, shouting, “You better not lay a hand on her, Roland! You’re not her type!”

Roland rolled his eyes and scoffed before turning to Hannah. “Congratulations, you’re now a part of the Durand syndicate. You can thank me by getting those drinks I asked for earlier.”  

Hannah was once again too dumbfounded to even move. She felt Roland step closer towards her and instinctively backed away.  

“Now, now,” he reassured her. “No need to fret. I’m not your enemy, I promise. In fact, I’ll gladly double whatever Cid was paying you before as a show of my sincerity.”  

Hannah scowled at him. “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

Roland chuckled. “You’re a feisty one. Just do as I say, and you���ll have nothing to worry about.” He gave her a sly look before returning to the back room. A look similar to the one Vin first gave her at the Prism Palace.

Now Hannah knew she definitely had something to worry about.

*********************

The following day, Hannah decided to conveniently avoid the parlor as long as she could. It didn’t matter what Roland said, or even what he tried to do, there was no way she was going to work for someone like him. Especially while she was alone. Then again, that entire situation would never have happened in the first place if the Bad Batch were there. Hannah began imagining scenarios where the five of them had put a stop to Roland’s takeover of the parlor, if only just to keep herself sane.  

In the back of her mind though, she worried. Any number of things could happen between then and whenever her friends actually came back to Ord Mantell. And Roland’s words from the day before still concerned her. She tried to not think about it, but her worries were too strong. The fact that nearly everything about Roland reminded her of Vin didn’t help either.

Maybe she could just leave. She could find somewhere else to stay until the Bad Batch came back and fixed everything. Mrs Ygreu had always said her place was open if Hannah ever wanted to visit, maybe she could go there.

No, Hannah didn’t want anyone else to get involved in this mess unnecessarily. She had to ride this out on her own, as much as she hated it. Maybe Roland would just leave her alone if she stayed away long enough...

Suddenly, there was a knock on her door. Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. Initially, she thought it might be one of the Clones finally coming back. Nobody ever visited other than them or Cid. Maybe it was Cid. Hannah hadn’t seen her since the day before. Did anybody else even know where she lived?

Another knock on the door. Hannah’s heart began racing. She had to know who it was. Throwing caution to the wind, Hannah went over to the door and opened it without a second thought, hoping beyond hope it was someone she knew.

Unfortunately, it was the one person she knew that she wished she didn’t.

“Ahh, there you are,” said the recognizable voice of Roland. His lizard-like pet, Ruby, was in his arms and two armored men stood behind him. “I was worried when you didn’t come in today. Is there a problem I should know about?”

Hannah almost laughed. “It’s my day-off,” she replied, a visible scowl on her face.

Roland pursed his lips and hummed. “Good to know.” His eyes began scanning the room behind her curiously. “Interesting space you have here. Mind if I give it a better look?”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Depends. What’ll you do if I refuse?”

A snicker escaped from Roland’s fanged grin. “I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”

There was a familiar pang in Hannah’s chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and a shiver ran down her back. It took her a moment to remember that she was talking to Roland and not Vin.

Without waiting for a response, Roland pushed his way past Hannah into the room. The armored men stayed outside, but waited in the doorway.

“Quite the collection you’ve got in here,” Roland said as he walked through the space. “Although I doubt all of this stuff is yours.” He gestured to one of the large crates against the wall and chuckled.

“It was part of our agreement,” Hannah told him, her arms crossed with a stern look on her face.

“How noble of you,” Roland responded. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the crate. The two armored men came into the room and began dragging the crate out of the apartment. “And now it won’t bother you ever again.”

Hannah maintained the stern look on her face. She could see what Roland was trying to do, and it wasn’t going to work. “What do you want from me, Roland?”

The small lizard creature in Roland’s arms began growling happily as her owner rummaged through Hannah’s fridge. “A drink would be nice,” Roland responded, pulling out a piece of food for Ruby to munch on. “But apparently, it’s your day off.” He sat down on one of the kitchen stools with Ruby in his lap, happily munching on the snack she’d been given. “That’s alright though. You’ll have plenty of time to make up for it tomorrow.”

The hairs on the back of Hannah’s neck were beginning to stand on end in anger. She walked up closer to Roland from behind the kitchen island with a mighty scowl on her face. “I’m not coming back tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or ever again.”

A small smirk grew on Roland’s face. “Defiance will get you nothing but trouble, dollface. And really, what reason do you have to be that way anyway? I haven’t done anything harmful to you.”

“You stole Cid’s Parlor from her!” Hannah exclaimed, nearly slamming her fist on the counter.

“So?” Roland bluntly responded. “How does that hurt you, exactly? You’ve still got your job. Your home. I’ve even helped clean up this place a bit for you.” He snapped his fingers again, and the armored men returned to carry out another one of the crates from the room. “There, I just did it again. You’re welcome.”

Hannah shook her head, the scowl still firmly in place. “I don’t care. I know how people like you work. You’re not the first crime boss I’ve encountered, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

“Living here on Ord Mantell?” Roland said with a scoff. “That’s for certain.”

Hannah took a few steps closer, now standing directly in front of Roland from behind the counter. Her tone was laden with malice as she spoke. “You can try to sweet talk me all you want, but it won’t make a difference. I work for Cid, not you.”

Once again, Roland snickered behind his fanged grin. “Quite the loyal employee, aren’t you? A good quality to have.” He took Ruby off of his lap and placed her on the counter between himself and Hannah. The little lizard creature looked up at Hannah and growled before snuggling up to Roland’s hand. “You’re better off putting that tenacity of yours to good use down at the parlor than trying to intimidate me.”

Hannah’s hands came slamming down on the counter so hard, it spooked Ruby. “Quit messing with me, Roland! I already told you, I’m not coming back! I don’t care what you do; take my whole apartment away if you want, I don’t care! I’d rather live on the streets than work for someone like you.”

The entire time Hannah was yelling, Roland’s expression remained calm. If anything, he seemed entertained by her outburst, with the small smirk returning to his face again. Once Hannah had finished, Roland chuckled to himself and began petting Ruby to calm her down.

“I wonder if Cid feels the same way,” he slyly responded. “I wonder if that’s why she’s stuck around.” He looked Hannah directly in the face, still smirking slightly. “I wonder... how things might change if she suddenly wasn’t around anymore?”

The serious determination on Hannah’s face began to fade. Her eyes went wide with realization, and she began to slink back away from Roland.

“I’m really not asking for much, sweetheart,” Roland said, shaking his head. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be fine. Cid will be fine too. It’s that simple. Or, we could make things more difficult, if that’s what you really want.” He slid off the stool and came up beside her, almost uncomfortably close. Hannah could just feel the smirk spreading across his face. “I don’t know about you, but I much prefer when things aren’t so complicated.”

Hannah said nothing and just stood still, absorbing Roland’s words and practically shaking from the weight of it all. Roland left her side and told her to enjoy the rest of her day off as he headed for the door with Ruby still in his arms. He paused in the doorway briefly to turn back to Hannah and said, “See you bright and early tomorrow, dollface.”

And with that, he was finally gone. Hannah was left alone in her kitchen, still shaken by the entire experience. She felt like crying and throwing up at the same time. With shaky hands, she leaned over the counter, resting her head in her hands and breathing heavily, with small sobs gradually creeping out.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Cid’s voice berating her for being so foolish. She wasn’t worth the trouble, is what Cid would tell Hannah. Save yourself, she would absolutely say. But Hannah couldn’t do it. She wasn’t going to sacrifice Cid’s life just so she could avoid working for Roland. Even Irridas back at the Prism Palace hadn’t been that cruel.

If working for Roland is what would keep Cid safe, then she would do it, no questions asked.

[iconoclast-infidels]

Yong-Tezoth (Alias: Minzy Mee) | Imugi-Black Dragon| Demon Caim’s Wartime Consigliere | Original Character | Gong Minji  

Petite and Feisty Miss Minzy Mee  was once the monster serpent from Korean legends that won God’s game that gave all Imugi’s a chance to find a place in Heaven and become a real dragon. But, once she got there, her black soul corrupted and disrupted the heavens causing chaos in her every footstep. She was cast back down to her earthly prison banished for all time. But, now she’s a black dragon that’s roams the world with the demon she’s attached to. For all dragons guard a coveted treasure. This dragon just picked a demon’s unholy weapon. Now, she’s President Caim’s agent.  She’s got a nasty attitude and can be pretty high and mighty, quite the little spit fire.

(extended profile)

 Character Name: Yong-Tezoth

Nicknames/Aliases: Minzy Mee Age: Date Unknown - (Sometime during the Republic Era) Born in Korea - Around 2500 years old - Appears as a 21 year old Race: Dragon (Imugi turned dragon)  Powers: Can breathe out toxic poisonous acid or gas. The vapors she can huff are practically napalm. The effects can cause anything from different levels of skin burns to asphyxiation, unconsciousness, and death depending on how much exposure the victim gets. She also has an acid spit. Her special spit can eat through metal, so this is definitely something you don’t want on your skin.  Weaknesses: Minzy is susceptible to physical injury, especially decapitation. She loves metallic objects and anything that catches a reflection like water or mirrors and can be easily distracted by them. Alignment Evil Occupation: Manager (of a Demon’s Act) & his Wartime Consigliere

Personality

Minzy is obsessed with death, evil tempered and doesn’t hide it. She’s a nocturnal creature playing in the night. Minzy loves attention, but only if the attention is given exactly the way she demands it. A person will know right away if they’re not doing it right. She states what she wants, takes what she needs, regardless of what might happen. She’s easily angered and quick to find revenge. She has a smart mouth and an evil eye. If vengeance is sought one will never know when it is coming, possibly not believing if it ever will. But, Minzy doesn’t like to fight fair and prefers surprise attacks.

All this isn’t to say that she never acts happy. She’s really one satisfied dragon when all is going her way. She loves to swing through the city’s nightlife, dance and sing, trying to be center of attention, even with her devil-may-care attitude about who’s watching. She loves luxury and spends a lot of time shopping for designer fashions and high living.

Likes: metallic objects, mirrors, reflections, rotten soaked in the river corpses, the occult, rotting vegetation, luxury, attention (as long as it’s exactly how she demands it)  Dislikes: When that dern demon says her treasure is his, or when he calls her Mimzy isntead of Minzy, bothering to read when you can watch the movie, anyone who gets in the way of what she wants  Fears: Dragon Hunters, People Taking her Treasure, Loneliness Education: No formal training in the human world, but her in-your-face demeanor (and life experience) has taken her everywhere she’s needed to go.  Languages: Italian, Korean, English Season: Fall Color: Black Food: fish, eels, mermaids, water soaked corpses, ocean & river critters Ice Cream:Eel Ice Cream & Octopus Ice Cream Drink: Swamp Water Smell: The Smell of Fear in the Morning Hobbies: Dance, Clubbing, Collecting Antique Hand Mirrors Place: Swamps  Music: Korean Pop, Metal, American Pop Fav Song:Eat You Up by Boa  Movies: Final Fantasy VII Advent Children, Spirited Away, and The NeverEnding Story TV Shows: Korean Game Shows Book: What a boring activity! Pets/Animals: Black Great Dane named Sin

History

There’s a Korean legend about monstrous serpents called Imugi that roam the lands. They are given a chance to become a real dragon every 500 years and ascend to Heaven. To earn that right they have to perform a very good act of selflessness to prove their worth. The problem is there are good Imugi and bad ones. Minzy was a bad one. But, that didn’t stop her from earning her way in with acts of kindness. She did indeed turn into a full fledged dragon and gained entrance to Heaven. But, having a dreadful soul like Minzy’s in Kingdom Come didn’t last long. She completely disrupted the Heavens and was kicked out. Just like when a fallen angel turns into a demon and banned from celestial bliss and her dragon powers mutated into the poison acid that was her soul.

She fell back to Earth as a black dragon with noxious, lethal, vaporous breath and ready to strike a vicious vendetta against the world for being stripped of her rightful prize. She claimed the Yeouiju and was stripped of her very rights. So now she intends to strip everyone of theirs. 

It wasn’t long after that she met a partner in crime, the demon Caim also banned from Heaven. However, they were not instant friends. Minzy was traveling the globe determined to taint every country when she happened to see him in Rome, Italy. 

She saw him as a man in the Colosseum (near the ending of the Republic Era) sword fighting a gladiator when that mirror-smooth reflective shine caught her eye. It’s gleam was brighter than she’d ever seen, not to mention the jeweled handle sparkling in the hot sun. She wanted it and had every intention of making it her very own, keeping it as a dragon’s guarded treasure. The moment he left the arena she jumped him and took it. This wasn’t something he was about to just let go. She underestimated her foe as a mere man. The sword’s luster was so radiant because it was no ordinary weapon. It was an unholy, magical sword forged in the fires of Hell by the Demon President Caim.

The new enemies engaged in a hostile struggle battling over the ownership of the sword. Minzy, in dragon form continued to spit acid on the demon melting not only his skin, but his complete innards, killing his body more than once only for him to come back from Hell to continue their war. Caim had the ability to call the sword right to his hand and out of her grasp, but she was too fast for him breathing her poisonous gases and knocking him clean out, only to retrieve it again. The epic feud went on for so long that they were both tiring out, both unbelieving of the entire situation.

The exhausted demon finally tried to talk some sense into the dragon attempting to outwit her instead just physically fighting her. She didn’t listen to a word he said until he spoke in frustration, “Come the Fuck on! I have some infernal smiting to do damn it! I have a job to do!” In her own weariness this caught her attention. She had a taste for bloodshed being obsessed with death and wanted to watch him reap outside the arena. Demise was expected in the arena. She loved the idea of watching unexpected death. Caim eventually agreed to let her come along with his travels becoming friends of a different breed. They were definitely a horse of a different color. But, Minzy still saw the sword as her treasure. She stayed with Caim for the fun of aiding his work and protecting her treasure. Arguing over the sword on constant is putting it lightly. The years haven’t slowed their bickering.

As times of the world changed she eventually had to start staying more in her human form due to slayers bringing her species to near extinction. In modern times she has taken to being Caim’s career agent and is all about the money. 

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

6.20.22 Tuesday

12 am

I was awakened by a fast hearbeat or palpitations few minutes ago...

My left body is aching, it feels that there is a pinch nerve in me...

2:47 am

In the Nutshell:

Well, as I posted yesterday about the old man's hormones some are still active on having their happy hormones or still wanting to have it even they are already an old man...

We discussed it before in the lecture room of caregiving class that in the homecare you will encounter some old men masturbating coz of their hormones and their sanity is sometimes failing but not insane... You have to be clever and strong as a caregiver but there are some male caregivers that you can ask help on handling those kind of old man. ( But I'm a Biology graduate ).

7:07 am

Uncle Jun is up already, now in the kitchen...

Me? I still have windblow trap and last food providence yesterday....Meaning waiting for Uncle DD signs of life today about the food providence...

Bitter-strange ( Mike ) texted me something negative...I wonder if he is here somewhere like a fox? I have no guilty emotion... I never hide my true skin on him...Probably, he chose the other route coz they all have blackish and callous skin underneath... I was never plastics...

Revelation, I met bitter-strange (Mike ) in cuddle-lite but so strange if this Mike are 4 Mike's...It is just weird to talk to 1 name having 4 different personalities....( Fox- the one who will choose the best route only for his sake, Dog- the one who will always be faithful on you no matter what happens plus a good companion, I wonder if there is a cat and snake? ).

My personal case:

I hope and pray that there will be a knight and shining armour for me, my new favorite is a colored alien bf but we still don't hold the future... But I want a man that I asked from my fairy God-mother or from my good witches or good warlock...

I feel hurt,bitter and frustrated since 2007....These some monkeya'Z took away my life, took away my rights to have a good life since 2007!

They took my seat for 16 years... I'm healed but like what I said year 2011 I was already awakened and mature but they don't take me seriously...

I need money and job angels... I don't wanna commute that far... I need a support system and I have low self-esteem...I need a job! Some- Fake FilipiNOSE Monkeya'Z!

9:20 am

Well, Uncle DD sent the bridging money,is he working? Just for a week food providence... But of course, we badly need a food providence for this week...

Not reacting on my text and I have something in my head now, I knew that Uncle DD is the controller...

Theory:

I therefore conclude that the synchronization of words of Uncle DD and Aunt Teresa are really synchronize and something scary...

That Uncle DD said it will be just for a week and they will go back again... Then, all of a sudden Uncle DD will allow them to use their blackish car ( that from the previous years, they were kinda strict and firm that black car is owned by Aunt Karen and she wouldn't allow anyone to use it but only them. ).

Well, as I can see probably these adoptive parent's will go back here secretly coz Uncle DD and most specially Aunt Karen got some links on other people like on beauty salon, hotel and some stuff about life... Coz Aunt Karen and Uncle DD are active on the road, in a way... My main point Uncle DD can actually do that kind of control coz he is putting a GAP here and he will live there at the side of our kitchen... Gets my point angels? They got the gateway on something here by doing their "stealthy footsteps"...

10:14 am

This cheap Uncle DD commenting only food and water...huh? Cheap providence... Calling2x no wifi here only data...I want Uncle DD be dead right away...

What about our soap here,dishwashing liquid... He texted that only for food and water... Again and again in 2500 I included dishwashing liquid and some soap here...

I think Uncle DD can do hacking? Or is he answering for Aunt Teresa???

4:35 pm

Done, doing personal errands but I don't wanna end up with someone having a skin of blackish and full of callous underneath coz Mike wants to have a better skin...

Anyways, I bought our food for the week but it sadly super thrift but thankful but I don't want my angels to think that I'm fine with being like this...

I got our new spin mop which part of my shallow happiness in the house aside from the other stuff that I have to have in the future with someone...Someone with full maturity and stability and having a heart of an adult...

Though, I used to have yaya or assistant but there are days like these....

Green is for simply cleaning the floor, the purple will be used for the poops and wee2x of baby John...

6:50 pm

My chicken pocheroh!

9:04 pm

Done ,doing the night routine... I can hear the thunder or noise coming from the skies... It is just weird that my old religion "church of christ" during our church service time that I was active, there were days that the doctrine it is about the final days or end days or near the end... The minister said you will hear a loud noise coming from the skies,meaning Jesus will be going down soon, like a thief without warning...

Yeah! My days are tiring but life must go on... But I still wanna leave the hometown if I can't get progress... I still feel frustrated and bitter... Will be 42 in a lil while, I have no achievement and it is my major frustration... I need to have a job and O needed money for my starbucks everyday and for my personal needs... I still wanna remove my "deep smile lines"...

I hope and pray to find my soul mate... I wanted a colored alien bf but only fate can tell or time can tell... I want someone who is sensitive and having big ego to be with me, if ever.... A real man with a good heart or religious but with full maturity...

[poptod]

Revelation and Reverence (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: After spending several years silently pining after the young Prince, you receive a letter.

Notes: so theres a letter in this story and the structure of it was a little weird because i tried to follow the 'grammatical' rules and the usage of the egyptian language back in like 2500 BC, like look up egyptian poetry, that kind of thing. also the gifs not super related to the story but i saw it when searching for a gif and i couldnt just LOSE that gift of a gif WC: 2.8k

+ 

Your mind often wandered as you weaved. Sunlight streamed through the weaving room, offering a golden glow that reflected off the sandstone brick walls. The warmth and low light often brought you to a sleepy daze, where you worked without thought, your fingers moving in ways you'd long memorized. Others in the room spoke to one another in low voices as they worked, but you never found it prudent to join them.

Instead, you spent your time dreaming of the youngest Prince. You'd been working for him for nearly five years, designing and creating the fabric used in his ceremonial garb.

He was an overwhelmingly friendly man. Every servant you knew who worked directly for him remarked him as kind, generous, and teasing, whatever that meant to them. You only knew him from a distance, but it was enough to admire his smile, his soft, dark skin, his plush lips, and the manner in which he held those traits.

You supposed part of your job required you to stare at him, since you were never allowed an actual chance to gauge his measurements or fit him into different styles. Really, the staring helped you––helped you to know to accentuate his hips with a heavy belt, to leave his midsection bare, to create a collar whose edge just barely revealed his chest. For the more day-to-day clothes you gave him a short skirt, and designed leather sandals that spun like snakes around his calves. All to accentuate his best features.

Time passed in a thick, unknowable sludge between work and freetime. A bad memory made it more muddy and clouded than the river Nile in inundation season. Only certain moments made it through––the rest were reserved for daydreaming, as none of your real life could ever be as satisfying, except for those tiny, certain moments.

Moments where his sandals skidded past at the edge of your vision as you lay bowed at his feet, no more than a pretty statuette to worship him amongst a pathway lined with beautiful servants.

This was his entry to reward, to waiting parents who greeted him with smiles and wreaths of lapis and ruby, donned in the golden cape you weaved into being. The long end of it trailed after his footsteps, just barely brushing the tips of your fingers that lay spread across the floor. A smile twitched at the end of your lips.

When the servants were allowed to raise their heads, you watched him with eyes that wouldn't dare part from the sight of him. Surely others looked at him the same way––surely you were not the only one awed into worship, who would fall apart if the Prince raised your chin when knelt before him. Even the thought of it sent a shiver through you, imagining his fingers finally touching your skin.

You never bothered to check, though––to try and see if anyone else was as desirous as you. If you had, you would've noticed you were nearly the only one, and if you were truly paying attention, you would've seen that Ahkmenrah noticed you.

While your thoughts centered around the worship of a God, his revolved around the worship of a person. To him, it was only a matter of an excuse––some inane reason to finally speak to you, to not pass you in the hall without the slightest sign of recognition. The last time he'd shown interest in the befriending of a civilian, his father forced him into twice as many khopesh lessons than before. He wasn't able to see the person again before they were moved to Aswan on a boat full of servants.

He wouldn't let that happen again. No, he needed to be covert. Secretive. Quiet. Above all, he needed to be someplace that no one would think to look for him at, and he needed you to be there as well. He needed to get you––and himself––alone.

How to do so without alerting either his father, any of the soldiers, or his priestly teachers, or any of the head servants, remained a topic of great controversy in his thoughts, until at last he came upon a solution.

A week later you received a scroll written in a sloppy, hieratic script. The strong papyrus was curled by a ribbon of soft leather, and contained a seal you couldn't identify. All you knew was that it arrived in your family home, where, like many other single people your age, your mother, father, and brother––along with his wife and children––lived. Your sisters had moved out by now, leaving you the 'disappointment' of the family. Oh well––you were the only one working in the palace, so your parents didn't mind your marital status too much.

So, when the letter arrived, looking clean and well presented, your mother decided it was for you. Besides your brother, you were the only one in your family who could read.

You frowned when she handed it to you.

"Did you see who sent it?" You asked, slowly pulling it out of her grip.

"No," she said. "I think.. it was delivered in the night."

"Hmm."

You set it away to read in the evening, when you returned home from work.

That day, as you worked a loom, you saw the Prince and several of his father's advisors pass by the door to the weaving room. You couldn't help your eyes flickering up, and when they inevitably did, you caught the gaze of the Prince, who stared right back at you for the millisecond he could see you. Your breath caught in your chest, eyes wide as you recognized the actual color of his eyes––blue. You thought they'd be warm, something honey and brown, but maybe that was because you'd never seen anyone with blue eyes before.

You couldn't concentrate on anything the rest of the day, and thrice had to go back and recount your stitches.

The letter went unnoticed and forgotten for the night as you ate with your family, and didn't enter your brain again until you stumbled over to your bed. Your area of the sleeping room––closest to the home's altar––was far more decorated than anyone elses', as you took home the various tapestries and blankets that the palace found unfit for their uses.

You slumped down in bed, your gaze lingering on the wax statuette of Bastet sat upon the altar. What did the letter matter? You never received good news, anyway. With your luck, it was likely a letter notifying you of a change in your job, and that meant being moved to different parts of the palace, or of the city, or even within the whole country.

But if you didn't read it, they'd still move you. You'd just have no time to prepare. Following the hefty sigh that shook through you at the thought, you reached for the scroll as you lay down, pulling apart the ribbon and revealing the black script.

Thank the Gods the fireplace was still filled with embers, as you wouldn't have been able to read it otherwise in the dusk.

Hanif ––

So, it was for you.

I have seen you one too many times in my dreams. From my mind I cannot shake these thoughts of you and as such I cannot concentrate on the duties that give me my standing. I have seen you and you have seen me, I know. But I cannot lay stake my name, and I am sorry, Hanif. I can wait no longer in the absence of your touch––I must know you, as Hathor knows drink, as Shu holds up the sky. I wish to drink from you, to share in your company, to hold the planes of your skin.

We will see if the vine has blossomed, the bud opened, the pomegranates bloomed. I will wait in the haven three nights for you though I warn I will gain no sleep doing so. Come to be with me. There I will give you my love.

One night had already passed. But before you could become excited, confusion took its place. Who was this? Whoever it was, they wrote well, and so had a good education. There wasn't anyone you were interested in, though––besides Ahkmen, of course, but it wouldn't be him. To you, it was obvious that, if he wanted you, he could waltz into your home now and take you without another word.

It didn't matter. You were exhausted, and you were already laying in bed, naked and half-asleep. One more night, you said.

One more night wouldn't hurt.

In the morning, you ate the hearty breakfast your mother always made for the house, and rushed off on your way to the palace. There was a larger carpet a couple of the other seamstresses were working on, and yesterday they'd asked for a little assistance from the rest of the workers. You agreed to help, as you believed it did you well to keep busy, keeping your mind off your rather pathetic and still-dwindling social life.

Late in the afternoon you presented a finished flag––one your group had completed several days ago––to the Pharaoh as he held the court of worship. He had it taken from your arms by the high priest Gyasi, who informed you that it would hang behind Osiris in his temple. As customary, you bowed and thanked him, never meeting his eye. And, because you didn't look up, you didn't see nor feel Ahkmen's eyes boring into you, nor the dark circles printed beneath them.

As you were headed back to the weaving room to collect your supplies and go home, you passed through a rather thin hall that was packed with other weavers, as well as some of the officials funneling out of the courtroom. Amidst them, and within the dark, windowless walls, you brushed up against familiar fabric and gold and lapis beads. You didn't stop, of course, until a hand circled around your wrist and forced you to look up, freezing you amongst the channeling crowds.

Your heart froze when in the dim light you made out the Prince's cool eyes, how they scanned you, distracting you from the way his hands pulled you closer.

But only for a millisecond. The light of an approaching torch tore him away from you, and for a moment, you wondered if it happened at all. Your mind had done a great number of strange things to you before.

The letter recurred to you, and as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, you hurried back to the weaving room.

It mentioned no specific location, the letter; try as you might, reading it over and over again made the answer no clearer. The only part you could make out was that it was a garden of sorts––a place of greenery, of lush pomegranate trees and blossoms. Part of you hoped it was the palace gardens, as to you, that meant it was most certainly the Prince, but doubt still heavied your mind.

You're setting yourself up for disappointment, you thought, absently playing with your hair as you ate dinner. Just say it isn't him. Then you won't be disappointed, you'll just be right, and if you're wrong, you'll just be pleasantly surprised.

Your brow twitched imperceptibly.

It's not him, you told yourself firmly.

Pomegranates.

It was the only real clue in the letter. Were there any places within the city that grew pomegranate trees? There was one in the palace, you knew that, but there was also one in the gardens of the Temple of Osiris.

Then it hit you.

The boathouse docks near the edge of Memphis were overrun by the nearby grove of pomegranate trees, that bloomed after a caravan of Hyksos ships met with Egypt. They brought––along with a great deal of immigrants––the horse carriage, and a fleshy fruit from their homeland they called the pomegranate. It happened when you were a child, but at the time you lived up near Thebes, where the trades of knowledge and goods hadn't yet reached. When you eventually moved to Memphis, the grove was mentioned often by the natives you spoke to. A free source of foreign fruit would always be popular.

As your brother and his two children were herded to the outdoor fire, around which were placed one of the carpets you gifted your mother, you made for the door. She almost stopped you when you motioned silently that you were leaving for the night, but when she caught sight of the palace letter, she relented with a dissatisfied smile.

"I only feel they ask too much of you," she said quietly, having stepped away from the rest of the family.

Usually, she'd be right, but it was you scheduling yourself so harshly.

"It's alright. It only means they'll pay me more," you said with a subtle wink.

A soft smile spread across her face, and with that you left out the gate, entering the dusk-filled streets.

Warm, summer wind brushed past your bare skin, clenching up your shoulders. Despite your quickening heartbeat and the sun's lingering warmth, your fingers still froze from the excitement teeming at the edge of your being. A secret was to be revealed tonight, whether it was your own or the sender of the letter.

Your pace only slowed when you reached the Nile's edge, the pomegranate grove now in sight. Red plumes of fruit hung like full moons from the thick branches. Those heavy leaves and twigs acted as a wall between yourself, the boathouse, and the inner haven of the grove, where if all was right, someone would be waiting.

A shaky breath filled your chest as you pushed aside the brambles, ducking into the quiet privacy of the Nile. Nightjar birds chirped quietly, accompanied by the rustle of leaves and the flowing of nearby water, but the sound that caught your attention was that of a twig snapping. You froze, and through the brush, you caught a glimmer of gold sitting still at the riverside.

His back was to you. You'd recognize those star-freckled shoulders anywhere, though––even hunched over and heavy with exhaustion. Blue eyes stared half-lidded at the muddy shores, glancing down every other second to watch his hands snap nearby twigs.

You tried to swallow, but you could barely even breath.

With much hesitation and wariness, you summoned your words and asked, "my Prince?"

He whirled around, standing as he met your eye. A certain surprise hid behind them, and for a moment a pit dropped in your stomach, but the way his lips hung parted and plush in the dusk stopped you from feeling anything but intoxicated. When your gaze inevitably dragged down his body, you had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing at how muddy his nice skirt was.

"I waited for you," he said, desperate to break your stunned silence. "Two nights. I earned no sleep."

It was a dream come true, and for that reason, you couldn't bring yourself to believe it.

"I..." Heavy breaths filled your chest, gentle and shaky. "How did you know my name?"

"I know a little bit about you," he chuckled softly, and took a step closer. "I know you make much of my clothes. I know you're a hard worker. And I know you're... very beautiful."

The way his eyes scanned you, flickering to every feature upon yourself, from messy hair to blistered fingers with a reverence never found in any subject of worship––it sunk you to the spot, unable to retreat or advance from his shy steps forward. Eventually, he met you where you stood, and gently reached forward to hold your hands in his own.

"Why did you make me wait?" He asked, and your gaze was drawn once more to the dark, crescent moons beneath his eyes.

"I didn't... I didn't think it was you," you managed to whisper out. "And if it wasn't you, I wouldn't care. You gave me no name."

"I know," he said, brushing his thumbs over the back of your hands in an almost apologetic way. "I am sorry for that. I can't risk letting anyone know about you, about.. me, I suppose. My father doesn't want me consorting with anyone but his friend's daughters. I couldn't let him send you away. Do you understand?"

You nodded, just barely, and a quiet breath of relief left him. In the same movement he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours and brushing your nose with his.

"Never-mind it all. It won't matter till the morning. Nothing will but you," he murmured.

"I – I don't understand," you said, shaking your head. "You barely know me. I'm not worth this amount of risk."

"I don't care about the risk," he said sharply. "But I understand if it's too much for you. You can leave now, if that is what you wish."

"... I don't think I could stomach that," you whispered, your gaze wandering in thought.

In an attempt to settle your anxieties, he raised his hand to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

He paused before he spoke, carefully choosing his words.

"I feel as though I have stared at you forever, wondering what your lips would feel like," he said. His grip tightened ever so slightly. "May I know?"

There was only one answer.

"Please."

[dreamypqulson]

— sometimes it’ll hurt

requested by anons: can you write about Cordelia and Misty being reader's parents and reader is having a hard time mentally. Maybe some angst/hurt then fluff and comfort. + Can I just make a request of anything with Mama Delia Mama Misty !! It can literally be anything!

pairing: cordelia goode x misty day x daughter!reader

warning: self harm, depression, anxiety

word count: 2500

There were times were you were happy. And then there were times were you weren’t. There were times where it felt like there was not enough room for you on the earth. You hoped it would be a continuous cycle, so you could feel that happiness again, even if everything else is numb. It doesn’t feel like it though. Not at five in the evening. Not when you can hear the girls chatter downstairs, gathering for dinner. Not when you're laying in bed with a irritated face from crying. It feels like you’re stuck in this obis of darkness.

You could predict how this night would end. Everyone would finish dinner with laughter and chatter, and go out to parties on this Friday night. You would lay in your bed. That numb feeling after sobbing for hours consuming you. It didn't effect anyone if you weren't here. So why stay with the pain? What was it worth?

However, the night took a turn when you heard a knock on your bedroom door. Three knocks meant it was your mother. She always knocked three times in a specific pattern.

You didn't feel like answering. You didn't have enough energy to. And you didn't want your mother to see you like this. You didn't know what you what anymore.

"It's mom. Can I come in, baby?"

You didn't speak at all. With all your strength gathered, you hummed your permission. You're not entirely sure that she heard you. You could hardly hear yourself. The door slowly opened anyways.

She walked into your dim room, blinds shut but the white furniture and walls made the room glow even in the dark.

"Dinners ready, sunshine. Are you coming down?” Your mother asked. Her footsteps got closer, and soon enough she was sitting on your bed. You could not see her with your back to her. You haven't seen her the entire day, and you longed to just see her motherly eyes to ground you.

You didn't dare move. You felt stuck in every way imaginable.

“No, i'm tired. I just want to sleep if that's alright." Your gravely voice pierced through your eyes. You didn't sound like yourself. You didn't know who you were anymore.

"You've slept all day, I haven't even got to see your pretty face, my darling. Are you feeling well? Mama told me she asked if you wanted to go to her swamp today, and you turned her down. That's not like you."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight at her bombard of questions. You couldn't handle this right now. You weren't really tired, but now you are. Now you want to sleep and never wake up.

"I'm fine!," You snapped, sucking in a deep breath. "I'm tired! I told you that. Can you just leave me alone? I want to be alone right now!"

Silence occupied the room. It was unsettling and you gave it all your effort to not hide under the covers like a child scared of a thunder storm. You hurt her, however, she didn't take it personally. She understands hardship. Cordelia understands what it's like to have so many negative emotions that can't even fit into your body, and to eventually burst.

"Sweetie," she took a deep breath. Your heart stopped. You took it too far, you knew so. "My sweet girl, i'm here for you. Please just talk to me. I don't want you to hurt any longer."

You could hear the pain in her voice. Bad, bad, bad, you thought. Upsetting mom. You only ever upset people. It's what you're best at. Everyone would be happier without you.

"Mom," you whined voice cracking right with Cordelia's heart. "I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

"I'm going to worry about you." She turned your body to face her. A single tear had slid down her face, but it was nothing compared to your puddle of tears. She moved away your hair that was sticking to your tears. Delicate, like you would shatter with a single touch. "You're my baby. I'm going to worry about you. Me and Mama are always worrying no matter what."

You cause your mothers stress. You cause them fear and sadness.

"I don't- I don't want to talk right now. I'm so exhausted mom." You sounded so small, muffled into Cordelia's lap. You wish you were again, back before you disappointed your mothers. When the only hurt was not getting the toy you desired.

"Okay, okay. We don't have to talk about anything until you're ready. I'm right here for you, whenever you need me, sweet girl."

You cuddled closer into your mothers side, her arms welcoming you closer. She sat there with her hands stroking through your hair, the calming way you like it.

Over your desperate cries to feel better again, you hardly heard the door crack open again. You only felt Cordelia's head turn to the side. You didn't feel like moving, didn't have the energy to move, so you waited for a voice.

"Darlin's?" A southern drawl echos against the four walls. Soft, and light, it almost seems as though you dreamed it. "Oh no, what's wrong?"

You supposed that Cordelia had mouthed something to Misty, because it was an uneasy silence before she sat beside you both. Out of your blurry vision, you could only see blonde curls and pale skin.

"M here. Mama's here, angel." You could feel cold rings through your shirt, rubbing against your back. So much love, and for what? You didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," you began to ramble, you breath growing shorter with each repetition. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

You wanted to talk, you truly did, but you didn't know what to say. Anyone on the outside would agree that you have the perfect life. Perfect parents, perfect house, perfect support system. And you do. But everything hurt, everything hurt so badly.

"Nothings wrong with ya, precious. I promise ya."

"No mama. Everything is. Everything hurts. It hurts so bad, and I don't know why. I can't make its stop. Please make it stop." You sobs got harder, louder, and you gripped on tighter to Cordelia's blouse. It was damp from your tears and you felt the need to apologize for that too. However, your mother beat you to speaking.

"Baby..." Cordelia had sounded so heart broken. You knew she was beating herself up, blaming herself for your pain. It's how she is. "I wish I could make it better, but you have to let us in. Tell us what hurts."

"Just life and existing. It's so hard. I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired of feeling like this. So ugly, and lonely, and stupid." A wrinkled formed between Cordelia's eyebrows at your words, and Misty pursed her lips in concern.

"You're not. Ugly, and lonely, and stupid. You're not. You're our beautiful girl, ever since you were born. And ya have the both of us, and all the girls. We all love ya very much." You looked down, shame spread on your cheeks in a deep red hue. Stop being like this. You have no reason to be sad all of the time. "Ya one of the strongest witches too, sunshine."

When Misty finished, you crinkled your face up. You haven't used your powers in days. You never use it. You would never be as strong as your mothers. You couldn't bring people back to life, and you would never be able to complete the seven wonders.

"Then why does it feel like I am those things?"

Cordelia resonated, "because we have to live with ourselves all the time. We have to see and live through all the bad things, and that hurts more than how the good things feel good. It sticks with us. It's easier to accept that you're these negative thought about yourself, than it is the easier ones."

A deep exhale of air elicited from your lips. You pulled your sleeves down further, fisting the cotton in your hands when it slightly risen. Cordelia and Misty both understood what it was like to feel so much pain at such an early age, but never this way.

"Sweetheart..." Cordelia noticed, Misty too, the way that you protected your arms once the conversation grew deeper.

"No! No! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You felt like you should apologize for you're existence too. "I'm sorry. Please." You gripped at your hair, tugging the strands, knotted from sleep.

"Shhh. Calm down." Cordelia guided your hands away from your hair and wrapped hers around them. Warm and soft, it felt like the feeling of hot chocolate settling in your stomach after playing in the snow as a child. "We aren't here to hurt you, baby. We're not you're enemies. We want to help."

Misty's own fingers started to delicately work through your knots. You felt too weak. You were going to fall asleep. You could feel it. But then your mother started talking again, and everything; your defense, and hurt, and fear, awakened in you. Awakened you.

"Can I see, pretty? I won't judge you. Mama won't either. We just want to make it better. Promise." You weren't afraid of the judgement. Maybe a little bit, but not from your mothers. You trusted that they wouldn't judge. They had never been those type of people. You were, however, terrified to see the look of pain on both of your mothers faces again. The look from the first time that they saw you had hurt the beautiful person that they created together.

"No. Please. Mommy please. I don't mean to upset either of you. I don't want to. Tell her, mama. Please tell her it's okay," you begged, and begged, and even pulled out the 'mommy' trick that had always worked. Though, you looked at your mother in her crystal blue eyes, and she held the same expression that Cordelia did.

"You're not upsetting us, baby. It's okay. We can handle it. We're just saddened that you're hurting, and that's not ya fault at all," Misty said. She seemed stronger than you're other mother, but she looked on the verge of tears as well.

You finally released your arms from your protective wall. There was no fighting something they already won.

Cordelia, gently, slid up your sleeve on one of your arms. Cuts, old and new scattered there and you wanted to pull back but there was an invisible chain keeping you in place. Cordelia, however, could feel the muscles in your arms tense under her fingers.

You watched a lump in a her throat as she swallowed hard. Disappointment. "Baby, it's okay. Okay? We're gonna get through this." Her voice cracked and she, slowly, brought your arm up to her face. Her lips pressed against your scars and cuts in the most softest, lightest kiss; you wouldn't have even know she did it if you didn't feel the love course through your blood.

An aggressive sob bursted out from your lips and Cordelia immediately gathered you back up in an embrace again. Misty grabbed your arm, and her fingers gently brushed over the raised skin, drawing stars around your scars. "I'm so weak. I'm sorry. It's so ugly."

"You're not weak and it's not ugly. It's okay to feel down sometimes. Ya mother's the strongest, most power witch and woman on this planet, and she still feels sad sometimes. Being sad doesn't make ya weak, darlin, it's just a normal feeling that everyone goes through in their life," Misty says. Maybe you're not weak. But your legs are. Your arms arm. Your entire body is from laying in bed crying so long. That is what's weak, that it was makes you feel as if these emotions make you weak.

Cordelia sadly smiled down at you and began, "come to us, baby. No matter what time or day it is. No matter what we're doing. Let us take away the hurt. You've hurt too much already."

"Okay," you sniffled, fingers tracing the patterns on Cordelia's blouse to distract yourself. "Thank you mom's. I love you's."

"I love ya too, precious." The hug got tighter with Misty's arms wrapped around you.

"I love you too, sweet girl." You all stayed like that for only a little bit longer and then coldness corrupted you again. Your heart sank with the feeling of anxiety that's been bubbling in your chest for a few days, for no good reason. "Let's go clean your arms up, pretty."

You nodded, slowly, hesitantly. You still hadn't got used to them seeing your arms. You don’t think you ever will. Even if it is the second time, you still felt shame. You still felt bad for them over your own hurt.

Misty left the room to gather some of her healing mud from the swamp, and Cordelia took your hand to the bathroom. She helped you slid up onto the counter, and wet a rag to clean the dry blood on your skin.

She looked at you and smiled, waiting for your consent to look at it and touch it. You nodded, and she rolled up your fallen sleeve again. Only one arm at a time so she wouldn't overwhelm you.

"What do you say, me and mama take you out for ice cream tonight?" She trying to cheer you up. You're helpless. "Just the three of us?"

You could hardly feel the rag brush against your bloody skin. It wouldn't hurt as much as the pain you endured and inflicted on yourself, you knew that. She was gentle anyways. She always has been. Brushing your hair as a child, caring for cuts and scrapes when you fell at the park. Now she was cleaning cuts that you purposely did to yourself. It was a full circle.

"Yeah. I would like that. I think mama will too." You both laughed, your mama's sweet tooth was huge.

After a few moments later, Misty came back with the greenish-brown jar of mud. You never did like using that, but it help tremendously with healing, and right now, you wish you could apply it to your heart and mind too.

Misty carefully applied the paste to your arm, and you sat there with your arms out, waiting for this to be all over. You bit your lip, nearly drawing blood. And your feet, dangling from the counter, shook vigorously from side to side.

“It’s okay,” Misty muttered. Her warm hand was on your cold leg and her rings worn across all of her fingers grounded you. “Just take a deep breath, sweet pea. In and out. We’re right here for ya.”

“We’ll always be here for you, pretty. I want you to remember that, okay? Promise you’ll come to us next time?” Cordelia asked, titling her head to look straight into your eyes. Trying to convey her seriousness.

“Okay. I promise.”

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[ibis-gt]

hello i have written an au based on @unicornofgt 's fantastic gtms series! please go read that if you haven't yet, it's a real fun ride.

2500 words, warnings for swearing, brief gore and violence.

~~~~~

Cam woke up. It was still dark out, though, so he decided he’d try and go back to sleep before his alarm clock went off. He went to roll over and pull the covers up, and realized there were no covers because he wasn’t in bed, or even lying down. He was on his feet and he could feel his arm was outstretched, hand curled into a fist as though he’d just thrown a punch. Then he became aware of a little voice screaming in his head. Or, maybe right in front of his head? It sounded frustrated and scared.

“Why can’t I move? Why isn’t anything working!? Oh, shit, it’s getting up, left left go LEFT goddamn it!”

Left? Cam knew which way was left. Should he go left? He sidled that way slowly, unsure of what else to do. He still couldn’t see, it was too dark out, and he didn’t know who the voice belonged to or what it was talking about.

Suddenly, something slammed hard into his right shoulder, spinning him around, and he heard the voice scream in panic. There was the screech of something sharp scrabbling against metal. Whatever had hit him was hanging on, trying to drag him to the ground. He widened his stance and leaned away from it, trying to counterbalance to keep on his feet. The voice cried out again.

“Shit, shake it off, c’mon! Watch out for the tail - hand up! Now!” Cam threw his free hand out in front of himself and felt something slam into it - the tail, he supposed.

“There! Good! Now pull it off!” He got a grip on the tail and tugged as hard as he could. The weight against his right side lessened, and finally with one last metallic screech came free as he tossed it away.

“Oh, god, what the hell? Did we switch to voice controls mid-battle and no one told me? I hate this army. Ok, fine. Forward!”

Army? Battle? Voice controls? Cam’s head was spinning, his adrenaline was pumping, and he still couldn’t see. Following the voice had to be his best option. If they were in a fight, it was his only chance of getting out alive. He made himself march forward, but he was still hesitant. It was one thing to grab for things you couldn’t see, but walking when you couldn’t tell what was in front of you was nerve-wracking. There could be a big pit or something right in front of him, and he’d never know.

“Forward, c’mon, I need to get to it before it gets up! Move!”

Well, the voice would tell him if he was going to step in something, wouldn’t it? It seemed like its survival depended on him defeating whatever that thing that had hit him was. He moved forward with more confidence, picking up the pace and breaking into a jog.

“Slow down, we’re right on top of it! Stomp!”

Cam skidded to a halt and lifted his foot. He hesitated for one moment - what if he missed? - and the voice came back.

“LIttle to the right… there you go. Down! Hard!”

He brought his foot down. Something crunched and splattered underneath it. Cam felt bile rise in his throat as he realized he had no idea what - or who - he’d just stomped on. What if that was another person’s head? He’d assumed whoever it was had been trying to kill him, but he didn’t know. What if they just wanted to subdue him? Why were they fighting?

“Give it another one, just in case,” the voice said. Cam recoiled in horror and took several steps back, and the voice called out in confusion. “What? What’s going on?”

To hell with this. Now that Cam had a moment to think, he could feel something around his head. It wasn’t dark out, there was something covering his eyes. He tried to put a hand on his face and hit some smooth, flat surface. The voice whimpered.

Cam reached up with both hands and felt around his head. Some kind of helmet thing, it felt like. He got a grip on the sides and pulled. It resisted at first, like it was tethered in place, but he gave it a twist and yanked, and whatever had been holding it snapped. He pulled his head free and gasped in fresh air. Fresh-ish air. Better than the stale stuff stuck in the helmet, at least.

He turned the helmet over in his hands, giving it a curious once-over, and stared at the front plate. There was a window that showed a little cockpit, complete with a little chair surrounded by controls. Sitting in the chair was the tiniest man Cam had ever seen. He was probably just about the size of Cam’s thumb. He looked absolutely terrified.

The little man screamed. It startled Cam enough that he screamed too, starting and tossing the helmet in the air. He fumbled for it, knocking it from hand to hand for a moment, before narrowly catching it before it hit the ground.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Cam said, and turned it back around to see the little man. He’d gone limp and pale, eyes closed, mouth hanging open a little. Must’ve fainted.

“This is so bizarre,” he murmured. “I mean, I had a tiny man controlling me?” He looked up, finally taking note of his surroundings. He was standing in a burned out, desolate city, buildings smoking and crumbling, cars strewn about the street like discarded toys. As Cam looked around, he came to a horrifying realization. The man in the helmet wasn’t tiny. Cam was huge. He dwarfed the nearest buildings. He could track his footsteps by the crater-like prints left in the street.

“O… kay. Okay. I don’t remember being this tall.” Cam laughed nervously, unsure of what to do. Then he caught sight of what he’d been fighting.

Whatever its head had looked like, it was impossible to tell. Cam’s boot had smashed it into gory chunks. Its body was leonine, four legs and paws with razor sharp claws, but with a long, thick, almost lizard-like tail that ended in spikes. A thagomizer, Cam thought. The word came to him unbidden, and he didn’t know how he knew it. He realized suddenly that he didn’t know a lot of things. His name was Cam. Was that his first name or his last name? Did he have another name, too? He couldn’t remember. How old was he? Where was he from? How had he gotten here? Where was here? The questions were piling up, and he had no answers for any of them. His hands still clutching the helmet began to shake. There was no time to freak out, though, he had to keep his cool. If there was one monster, there could be more of them. As if on cue, a chorus of growls kicked up some distance away. Cam tucked the helmet under one arm and started to sprint. He’d get out of the city, find someplace quiet, wake up the little man, and get some answers.

~~~

Luther stirred, eyes slowly blinking open. Somehow he’d fallen asleep in his pilot chair, and he was stiff and sore as hell. He sat up, stretching, and then everything flooded back to him. Oh god. His mech. FM-609. It wasn’t a mech at all, it was a person, and they had taken him off and looked at him. Had they known all along? Had they just been following orders til they suddenly decided not to? What the hell was going on?

Looking out of the windshield, Luther could see that the helmet was sitting upright on the ground. He was surrounded by the dusty, rocky plains, no living soul in sight. Maybe he’d been left behind? The helmet had no power on its own, so he couldn’t call back to the base for help. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He couldn’t just stay here, either, that was a death sentence for sure. Luther slowly eased himself out of the chair and down to the ground. It was early evening, the sun just starting to set, dusk settling over everything. He took a few shaky steps forward, then found his legs and started to sprint.

“Whoa!” A voice thundered behind him. Luther gasped, adrenaline kicking in, spurring him to run faster. A shadow fell over him, and he had only a moment to choke out a shuddering sob before fingers longer than he was tall wrapped around him, lifting him high up into the air. Luther kicked and struggled, tears spilling down his cheeks, as he was turned to face the giant who’d been inside of his mech. The sheer scale of the man took Luther’s breath away. He was sitting down, legs crossed, still wearing the mech suit. Those intense eyes bored into him, neon blue and literally glowing, like headlights in the growing dark.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the man said. He seemed to be trying to keep his voice low and soothing, but it wasn’t doing much to calm Luther down. “You’re okay, I’m not going to hurt you, I just have some questions.”

“I - I’m sorry,” Luther choked, “I didn’t - I didn’t know - I didn’t know you were in there.”

“You didn’t know,” the man echoed, his voice flat.

“And that, that doesn’t excuse it, I’m not - I just, I - ,” Luther broke off, his sobs distorting his voice too much to be understood.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” the man tried. “That’s okay. Here - maybe this is better.”

Luther shrieked as the hand opened, letting him slip free, but instead of plummeting to the ground so far below, he fell harmlessly into the man’s waiting palm. He scrambled backwards, trying to get away, but only bumped up against the man’s curled fingers. Luther froze, chest heaving, mind racing, trying to think of what to do next.

“Okay,” the man said again. “Let’s start over. What’s your name?”

“L-luther,” Luther breathed. “Luther Algers.”

“Luther. Hi, Luther, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Cam.”

“Cam…?” Luther prompted. Cam frowned.

“Um… just Cam, I think.”

“Is that… is that short for anything?”

Cam shrugged. “Just Cam. I don’t remember anything else. That’s, uh, that’s actually what I wanted to ask you about. I don’t remember anything before I woke up in this suit of armor. Actually…” Cam’s face screwed up with the effort of remembering. “I remember a voice. I think it was yours, it sounds about the same. Just bits of it, though, always talking about a fight. You were using me to fight those monsters, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Luther whimpered. He shrank further back, hopelessly aware that it did him no good. Cam surrounded him on all sides. If he wanted Luther dead, all he would have to do was squeeze…

“No, it’s okay,” Cam sighed. “I’m not mad. Well, I’m not mad at you. I assume someone put you in that suit, right? And they didn’t tell you there was a person inside it.”

“No, they didn’t. I mean, yes, they gave me the mech, but no, they never said… you know. They told me you were a robot designed to fight nemeans.”

“Nemeans?”

“That’s what we call those lion-looking monsters, the thing we killed today,” Luther explained. “You were really good at it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I always kind of wondered, you know… if the mechs were robots built to a schematic, why did they all look sort of different? Different builds, I mean. Like people. But if they were constructs, wouldn’t it be easier to build them all the same, so you don’t have to get specialized parts to repair them?” He sighed. “I guess I know why now. But I don’t know how… Have you always been giant?”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Cam said. “I mean, like I said, I don’t remember anything before. But when I woke up in the city it all looked wrong. Like a scale model instead of a real place. I guess that means I’m used to being your height?”

“Or that there’s secretly a giant civilization built to your scale that humanity has somehow never discovered, and then the government found it and covered it up, and used its citizens as military weapons,” Luther supplied helpfully.

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, then simultaneously burst out laughing. The absurdity of the situation was just too much for them.

“Yeah, I bet it’s that,” Cam said, wiping a tear from one eye. “Whoo. Okay. You’re a card, Luther, you know that?”

Luther smiled despite himself. “I try.” He’d relaxed considerably over the course of their conversation. He took a moment to look Cam over. Long, dark hair spilled over his shoulders. A thick beard and moustache covered the lower half of his face. His features were all impressive - huge, pointed nose, thick eyebrows, strong cheekbones, strong jaw, softened a little by fat. He was quite handsome, when Luther really looked at him. Those eyes, though - those glowing eyes. Those were unsettling.

Luther’s expression sobered, and he sat up a little. “What do we do now?”

Cam sighed and leaned back. “Well… we can’t go back to the military, they’d probably throw me right back in a suit and lock you up for exposing their secrets. We’ve got to be on their radar at least, since we just up and disappeared. I’d like to get this armor off me as soon as possible, because it’s really heavy and uncomfortable. And then… how much do you know about this area?”

Luther looked around, getting his bearings a little more. “A bit. There should be some groups of rogues around here - bandits, thieves, outcasts, the like. We could try to join up with them. They’d have food, at least, and they’d probably welcome the kind of protection you could give.” He looked back up at Cam. “I mean, if you want to. I’d understand if you never want to fight again. This has got to be horrible for you… Oh god, I’ve been so focused on myself I didn’t even realize…” Luther got unsteadily to his feet, finding it difficult to stand on the soft, uneven surface of Cam’s hand. He took a few steps towards Cam’s thumb and all but fell on it, wrapping his arms around it in the facsimile of a hug.

“Are you okay?” Luther asked, looking up at Cam with real concern on his tiny face.

Cam stared down at him. All he’d thought about up until now was how to guarantee his own survival. He’d bottled up any feelings he had about being used as a weapon, he didn’t have time to break down, he needed to get to safety and figure out what was going on. But now, in this moment of calm, with this person caring so genuinely for him, it all spilled out. Tears welled up in Cam’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. A huge, choking sob rose in his throat.

“No,” he quavered, hands beginning to shake. “I’m not.”

[coconut-cluster]

hello folks and welcome to the “Aaron is a prick but hey at least Logan and Janus actually make up after being dysfunctional gay messes for two weeks straight” fic. this is a direct follow-up to the wall pin, which you can read here on tumblr or here on AO3. 

(also find the uni au masterlist here, the AO3 here, and if u wanna buy me a kofi you can do that here. now enjoy Logan being a mess for like 2500 words)

--

Logan is sitting alone in the library, and though he’s always a sucker for some peace and quiet, it’s just kind of pathetic at this point. 

Given, sitting alone isn’t a new thing for him. Most of his high school experience was spent sitting by himself - in the cafeteria during lunch, in class during group work (which was always, inevitably, solo work for him), in the bathroom stall after school while he waited for the last bus to pull out so he could walk home without another shove to the concrete. He sat alone at the dinner table most nights, knowing his parents wouldn’t be home until he was already asleep. Even now, with all those tribulations largely behind him, he sits by himself in classes and on trains and park benches, accrues peace and patience in solace. He is used to sitting alone. 

The issue lies more in the fact that he should not be sitting alone here, now, in this... general scenario. And it’s really starting to get on his nerves. 

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since Janus had shown up to their study sessions. Two weeks of excuses and absence and a general lack of engagement with Logan, and oy vey, Logan knows it’s his fault, but at this point, he’s fairly certain he’d take an awkward study session for two over drowning his thoughts in black coffee in the sociology section of the campus library every day. 

(He’s even brought earbuds this time to try and curb the frenzy in his head - it’s certainly easier to sit in one’s own prolonged company if there’s something else to occupy the mind, something other than the shuffling footsteps and hushed voices of the other patrons - but all that’s gotten him so far is a frustrated gay crisis with a Regina Spektor soundtrack. Better than having a crisis in complete silence, he supposes.) 

Janus’ chair is empty across from him. He knows this, not only because Janus has not shown up to fill it, but because Logan’s eyes flit to it every few minutes, as if checking to make sure it is still, in fact, empty. (Note to self, he huffs inwardly after the umpteenth glance: it is still, in fact, empty.) The first few days this happened - this empty chair situation, that is - he waited patiently, expecting Janus to show up late, as he was occasionally prone to do. He didn’t. He texted excuses instead; an extra shift here, a project for another class there. They didn’t seem like excuses at first, but at this point... well, Logan can be a fool sometimes (especially, it would seem, for smooth-talking philosophy students with pretty eyes). But he is not an idiot. 

Janus is clearly avoiding him, so he’s sat alone at their table. For two weeks. 

He is very done with sitting alone. 

The snap of his books being slammed shut attract a good few looks from other patrons and the librarian, but Logan’s earbuds are still in, and frankly, he has bigger frustrations to ignore. (He still sends a polite, albeit tight smile to his favorite librarian as he leaves.) He’s down the stairs and out of the building within a minute, messenger bag thumping against his leg and coat slung carelessly over his arm despite the chill as he stalks to his car, as if the beat-up Dodge Stratus is going solve all his problems as soon as he gets in. 

He rips his earbuds out as he starts his car, sitting for a moment in silence, a near-white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel. He’s not sure what he’s angry at, exactly. Janus, maybe, and the way Logan feels he can never truly read what’s hiding behind that constant smirk. Maybe himself, tired of the way he prides himself so foolishly on a logical demeanor that can’t last through a wink or a tug to his tie, a hand on his waist, or the way he keeps remembering the disappointed flicker in Janus’ eyes when he pulled away in the library two weeks ago and the way he’s been overanalyzing it since. Maybe both. Maybe something more than he can name. Whichever it is, it eats away inside him, a lit fuse rapidly approaching something explosive- 

Someone honks at him, waiting for his parking spot, and it’s the only thing that snaps him out of his thoughts. (Stupid thoughts.) 

The drive home is quiet, no music or audiobook or passenger to fill his head. His fingers are numb against the steering wheel - he really should have put his coat and gloves on before he got outside, but there was a sort of momentum just pushing him forward, out of the library and away from that godforsaken table - and it’s too dry out for him to be biting his lip as much as he has been, chapped as it is. Force of habit.

It’s a habit Janus has too, he’s noticed; he has an infuriating tendency to do it when he’s proud of himself, though, like he’s trying to hold back a smile, saving it for some unspecified victory. The thought brings Logan’s memory back to the day in the library - Janus’ back pressed to the bookcase and a smirk barely suppressed on his lips, that glint in his eyes that seemed to dare Logan to move forward. The way it almost worked. Logan’s hands curl tighter around his steering wheel, because he really wanted to move forward. Maybe Janus had actually wanted him to, too. 

Logan focuses on the pleather of the steering wheel digging into his palms. This train of thought - the one he’s returned to relentlessly for the past two weeks, always back to Janus’ smirk and the frown that came after - doesn’t help anything. It just serves to make him frustrated all over again, and... confused, maybe. Lost. Annoyed with himself and Janus and everything in between. 

He takes a deep breath, redirects his thoughts to the patches of ice staining the road instead of mismatched eyes and sharp canines and lingering smirks. If it’s inevitable to brood over this again, he prefers it not cause a car wreck. 

When he finally arrives at his apartment building - free of car wrecks, but unfortunately still encumbered by... well, everything else - he heads straight for the stairs, hands stuffed into his pockets in the hopes of regaining some kind of feeling in his fingers before he has to unlock his door. (He really should have put his gloves on.) 

And as expected, unlocking his apartment door is another minute hassle that simply adds to the building frustrations of the day. He is in no rational state of mind to be dealing with all this. Even in his ire, though, he huffs a laugh at the thought of him having a breakdown about a door lock in the middle of the hallway. Seems par for the course lately, he supposes. 

He finally gets the door unlocked - no breakdown fated just yet - and shoulders it open, shedding his bag and coat as soon as he steps inside. The apartment is quiet, just like the library was, just like the snow-covered city was. The one time in his life he would give anything to have a noisy environment, everything seems to have fallen quiet. Maybe his thoughts are just louder than usual. 

It seems more possible by the minute, especially as he simply stands idle in the living room. There’s an odd unbalance in being home so early in the day, he realizes. It’s not as if he spends every possible moment at the library during the week, but he’s certainly established a routine by now, and breaking it - solely out of frustration, no less - makes him... antsy. He stands in the middle of the room for a minute, unsure, tugging at his watch strap. 

(He has the urge, small and sudden, to text Janus. He’s not even sure what he’d say if he did - “Hello Peters, sorry I almost kissed you two weeks ago and then left without explanation,” maybe. “I just realized I had feelings and panicked immediately thereafter. Want to get coffee?” - but he pushes the thought back as quickly as it comes, so it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.)

“Oh, Lo!” He’s snapped out of his thoughts (yet again - he really needs to get ahold of himself) as Patton emerges from the hallway with a stack of notebooks and boxes of art supplies, his laptop balanced precariously on top. He tries to offer a wave that nearly sends it all tumbling. “You’re home early! How was your day?” 

Logan sighs and crosses the room, taking his roommate’s laptop from the top of the stack to set it down on the coffee table for him. Patton sends him a grateful smile. “It was fine,” he replies with a tense smile in return, which drops as soon as Patton focuses once more on the hazardous pile in his arms. 

“Got a lot of work to do, I’m guessing?” Logan blinks at him. “‘Cause you’re home early, I mean. But I guess you usually do your work at the library- was it closed today? I heard they might be doing renovations on campus soon,” Patton raises his eyebrows like it’s exciting news, finally setting his notebooks and boxes on the couch and rooting around in them for something particular, “although I’m not sure the library is getting renovated as part of that, since they’ll want to preserve some of the old architecture, I think. That’s what Remus was saying earlier when we talked about it-” 

“I just needed a change of scenery.” Noise is good right now, but if he has to talk about the library or campus or anything could lead back, somehow, to Janus, he’s going to have that breakdown after all. 

Patton pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “From the library?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” He stares at Logan for a second more, something quizzical in his eyes, before he just nods, more to himself than his roommate. “Well, I guess that makes sense. You do spend a lot of time there.” 

He sits down and starts flipping open his notebooks, getting to work on some project without another word about the library. “Tell me when you’re hungry and we can make dinner,” he adds flippantly as Logan starts to turn. “I saw a cool recipe earlier I think you’ll like.”

Logan just nods, despite Patton not facing him to see it. He heads straight to the kitchen, grabs a random K-cup from the little stand they’re tucked into and shoves it into the coffee machine. He’d have stopped at the local coffee shop on his way home instead of this, but Janus picked up an extra shift today - assuming his excuse for the day is truthful - and Logan’s far from eager for that kind of exchange. He snaps the lid of the coffee machine shut a little harder than necessary. 

If Patton notices his mood, he says nothing. He hasn’t said anything for the past two weeks about the... situation with Janus. Logan knows he’s figured out something is wrong, mostly from how carefully he’s avoided mentioning Janus or their study sessions since Logan came home early that day two weeks ago, snappy and otherwise silent - and Patton’s courtesy, while appreciated, just serves to remind Logan how much of an absolute child he’s being about the whole thing. His best friend shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him just because a boy is ignoring him. (Petulant still, a small voice in his brain blames it on Janus for ignoring him in the first place.)

The coffee machine makes that horrible gurgle that means it’s finished and knocks him out of his thoughts at last. He takes his cup, ignoring the little container of sugar next to the machine and heading directly to his room instead. Maybe black coffee can knock some sense into him at last. (That, or it will buzz him enough to actually get some work done. A win-win in his book.) 

His desk is, for once, a mess when he goes to sit down at it. It’s not unmanageable - just some notebooks splayed out, pens left astray here and there - but as he goes to straighten things up, his eye catches on what seems like trash at first. Upon further inspection, he finds it’s a coffee cup sleeve from the cafe. On one side is the coffee shop logo; on the other, in neat cursive and with a little heart doodled beside it, is Oli.

For a moment, he’s still. The sleeve is almost tucked away, nestled gently between a stack of post-it notes and a box of paperclips, as if he’d wanted to keep it in place. Of course he remembers its origin - the day he was sick, when Janus had stopped by the apartment with tea (and the message to get a better immune system, ever the sentimentalist).  

...This whole thing is his fault. He’s well aware of that. If he hadn’t instigated Janus that day in the library, entertained his game, he would never have been in the position to pull away and leave in a rush in the first place. He’d never have been close enough to consider - to seriously consider - kissing him. At the very least, he wouldn’t have faced his feelings for a while otherwise. He’s the reason Janus has been making excuses, and if Logan’s being honest, he doesn’t blame him. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting to fix it.

It also doesn’t mean he knows how to fix it. 

So here, now, he just resorts to what he does best: he distracts himself. 

He gets to work on the pile of projects and papers he has due, diligent and unceasing, dispelling any thought that strays from the work before him and filling his head with the work alone. And for a bit, that works. He gets through a paper for his neuroscience class, the remainder of his lab report for Organic Chemistry, and the various busywork due in his electives, all without any substantial thought of Janus. For a while, and for the first time in two weeks, Logan feels as if he’s actually got some sense about him, some scraps of control in his desperate hold. 

But all good things must come to end eventually. He’s disgruntled to find ‘eventually’ is, apparently, only a couple hours. 

The last assignment he needs to get done is a presentation for his Human Memory course. Normally, he’d already have it done, but it’s a partner project, and his partner has been conveniently missing from their study sessions for two weeks. 

Still, there are only a few things he needs to work with Janus on for this presentation, a couple clarifying questions to ask, and then he’s good to finish his part by himself. It’s due in a few days; he could just wait until they’re in class tomorrow, awkward as it may be to talk face-to-face for the first time in a while. 

Or he could call him. 

He could call him, get the answers immediately, finish his part now and push it from his mind right after. He could call him and maybe - just maybe - satiate this unrelenting urge inside him. He could call him, impetuous, unnecessary, indulgent as it would be.  

He picks up his phone and clicks Janus’ contact.

His finger hovers over the phone icon, a moment of hesitation that makes him feel foolish, even though he’s alone in his room with no one to witness it. After a minute and a spurring countdown from three, he clicks the button and holds the phone to his ear. 

The rings play through his head as he fiddles with the page of his notebook, folding the edge back and forth and tearing off the little triangle it creates, rolling it up between his fingertips. He ignores, duly and in vain, the racing of his heart - he’s never had a problem with phone calls, but now there’s a nervous thrum in his chest as he waits. It’s still ringing. 

He leans back in his chair; he can hear Patton moving around the kitchen, the clatter of pans and the upbeat melody he’s singing along to, and Logan can almost picture his horrible dance moves (not that Logan could do much better). It makes him smile, for just a second. Still ringing. 

He’s about to hang up when finally - finally, and his heart does something plainly stupid in his chest - Janus picks up. 

“Logan!” a bright voice greets, and it takes Logan approximately one second to realize it’s not Janus. Not Janus, but... familiar. Vaguely. “Long time no talk, buddy!” 

He takes a second to remark to himself how stupid that phrase is before alarms blare in his head. Familiar voice, not Janus, but Janus never lets anyone touch his phone, so “Who is this?” 

“Who is this?” the voice repeats, incredulous. It’s so familiar- Logan finds himself frowning at the wall, waiting for an introduction or his brain to connect the dots, whichever comes first. Whichever comes quickest. “I thought I made a good impression,” the voice pouts, slightly muffled, like they’re speaking to someone else instead of into the phone. There’s still no sound from Janus, and the beating in Logan’s chest turns from nervous to something dreadful. 

...did they call Logan ‘buddy’?

It’s a ridiculous nickname, but it’s as familiar as the voice- familiar in the voice. He tries to think back quickly. Buddy, buddy, annoying voice, allegedly good impression... 

The only thing that comes up in his head are flashes of a party, people bumping into him and music playing too loud and Roman and Remus assuring him they’ll all head out soon. Some frat party, if he remembers correctly, that Janus was as annoyed at attending as Logan was. Logan just disliked parties in general; Janus, though, he spent the night in a corner, locked in conversation with Logan or Remus or Patton, determined to avoid that ex of his- 

Oh. 

Oh, good Lord. 

[mandoalorian]

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 2: The Way ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2500>

Warnings: Domestic!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist **reblogs appreciated!

Din pulled up the throttle and exited hyperspace, thankful that he was now in the perimeter of the hot and arid world of Mandalore. He'd never been to Mandalore before, only heard talks and folklore from the creed who raised him. He had thought that, since the war, Mandalore had become inhospitable. He'd thought a lot of things— but now, as it turned out, not everything was as it seemed.

When the Imperials took over Mandalore, it was said that they slaughtered the monarchy, ruthlessly, and showed no remorse. Whilst no body of yours was ever discovered, the absence in communication from you, the princess, was enough to assume that you had passed away alongside the other Mandalorians. Kriff— even a memorial had been held for you.

Din didn't know how to feel… he was being sent out to protect and marry a princess. Him, out of all people. Din sighed, leaning into the plushness of his leather pilot chair. "I don't understand kid," he hummed, shaking his head as his ship glided through the stars. He watched as he neared your planet, anxiety nesting in his tummy. "Why couldn't she assign Paz to marry her? Or one of the other Mandalorians."

Grogu, Din Djarin's little green bean of a son, garbled something incoherent, blinking his big black eyes innocently. "Hey! Speak for yourself!" Din chastised, wiggling his finger. Grogu giggled and Din rolled his eyes under his beskar helmet. He had no idea how this would possibly go, but as long as he had Grogu by his side, he knew he'd be okay.

As he approached Mandalore, he set the ship for landing. He apprehended some Imp infiltrating the comms system, requesting Din to state his business; although strangely, nothing of that nature occurred. He wasn't going to argue over it. It just meant he'd spent the last four hours making up excuses as to why he was going to Mandalore for no good reason.

"I could say we're going to Mandalore for…. a farmer's market. Do you think they have a farmer's market?" Din quizzed. Grogu spluttered in disagreement. "What about… sourberry picking?" Din shrugged helplessly and Grogu made another sound of dismay. "Well I don't see you having any bright ideas!"

The child reached over to a lever on the ship and groaned wantonly, his little claws flexing as he yearned to grab the ball his father would always let him play with. Din sighed in defeat, unable to resist his son, and unscrewed the silver ball from the lever. Grogu squealed excitedly and immediately used his special powers to lift the ball in the air. He watched it float around the cockpit with a curious glint in his eyes and Din let out another deep exhale.

"No doing the magic hand thing on Mandalore either, especially not in front of the princess. You heard what the Armorer said about you guys… the Jedi. If there was a war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians then the chances are she's not going to take a liking to you lifting up rocks at your own free will. Just please be on your best behaviour. Please?" Din asked. Grogu curled his large ears in understanding and Din smiled. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to make some bone broth before we land. Want some?"

Grogu grinned happily in affirmation, his two little teeth pointing over his lips and the corners of his round eyes crinkling with delight. Bone broth sounded yummy right now.

"Your highness, The Razor Crest has requested permission to land in docking bay 94 of the palace. Do you accept or deny?" An Imperial soldier asked you.

You blinked momentarily. Razor Crest? That ship was pre-Empire. "Yes, that's fine." you nodded casually, looking down at your hands until the guard had left your quarters.

You had to play it cool. Nobody knew that you had sent out a distress call and nobody could know— it had to remain a secret, because if an Imp found out, they'd have no choice but to tell Moff Gideon. And if Moff Gideon found out that you were communicating with surviving Mandalorians, he'd have you done for treason. You may have been the princess, but he was still technically the Manda'lor, and not only that, he was a high ranking Imperial officer. You couldn't mess this up.

You pulled yourself out of your bed and slid your feet into your fluffy slippers, grabbing a silk robe and draping it over your body. They were here already. You couldn't believe it. Your protection. You wondered many things; would they be human or another far off species? How many eyes would they have— and what colour? Blue? Green? Brown? Pink? Would they have hair, and if so, is it long or short, curly or straight? So many questions.

Din held Grogu tight in one arm as he left the ship, and let a nervous hand drop his thigh holster just in case he encountered any trouble. He was thankful to be able to dock within the palace walls because it meant he didn't have to walk for miles in order to reach you. The anxiety was beginning to settle in. Mandalore was important to all Mandalorians, and the monarchy was something they respected very much. Din couldn't even think about marrying you and what that meant, even though the beskar wedding rings that the Armorer had forged were already weighing him down... all he could fixate on was how he was even going to talk to you. You were literally royalty. You came from the Kryze bloodline who were some of the greatest Mandalorian leaders. He'd read about you and your people in storybooks. Leaving Nevarro was one thing; because Din had left his home planet many times to do bounties and Guild Work. But this time, he wasn't even sure when he'd return or if he'd return. Mandalore could be his new home. If he were to marry you, this could be his new life, and Din wasn't sure if he was ready for such a commitment.

As he approached the palace, a cold chill hung over his shoulders and Grogu scowled at the onlookers. The Imperials who guarded your home watched as Din walked through the gardens, their own fingers feeling very trigger happy. A Mandalorian on Mandalore? What were the chances? It was said that the Mandalorians had been obliterated; wiped out and scattered amongst the galaxy to fend for themselves. Of course it would be ridiculous to assume that their entire creed had become extinct, but no Imperial would have ever expected to see a Mandalorian, suited up in full beskar armour, back on Mandalore. Especially since the princess had been announced dead by Moff Gideon after the great take-over. Immediately, the Imperial guards knew that something wasn't right. A Mandalorian had no reason to be on Mandalore— not after everything that had happened to their people.

As Din approached the gates, he couldn't help but feel the glares of his enemies grow colder, and their stares burned into his sheathed body. Grogu made a questioning noise and Din shushed him.

"I don't know…" Din mumbled, not wanting to cause too much fuss or bring too much attention to him and his son.

The point was; the princess had accepted the Mandalorian's request to land in the palace docking bay. The princess was apprehending his arrival. She knew about this.

The two troopers who manned the entrance of the palace did open the doors to Din, although begrudgingly. The strange feeling that surrounded the duo was not lost on Din. He wondered if it was in fact a trap. Maybe the plea the Armorer had received was an old holo recording of your voice that the Imperials had utilized to get a Mandalorian sent out. Either the Imperials were expecting Din, or they weren't expecting him at all. But Din had just assumed the princess had at least made it safe for him to come.

The lobby of the palace was enormous. Beautiful marble floor that must have been centuries old. Ornaments and flower arrangements stood erect on every corner and tall, gold pillars held the building together. Din wondered where he'd find you, but his pondering was cut short when he heard your delicate footsteps clicking against the floor. He turned around, his grip on his son tightening in anticipation, but the moment his eyes met yours, his whole body deflated.

There you were; the Princess of Mandalore.

Din couldn't find words. His whole body involuntarily tensed up as his gaze raked your body. It was perfect; you were shaped like a goddess, or perhaps one of the angels from the moon of Iego. Your hair was the most beautiful colour and Din admired the way it shone under the amber candlelight. Your eyes were doe-like and sparkling just like the stars, and your lips were simply the perfect plumpless.

But your heart was struck with fear when you saw the Mandalorian; fully dressed in beskar armour and a helmet. Not a single inch of skin was on sight, and your vision immediately turned red. There was only one Mandalorian tribe who never took off their helmet; and it was the tribe who was responsible for the death of your mother. It couldn't be…

Grogu's sweet little voice interrupted the silence, his garbles echoing throughout the extensively sized yet empty room.

Your lips curled into a smile as you approached the child, extending your arms and taking him out of Din's grip. "Hello friend." you cooed, and the little green bean giggled under your touch.

"He likes you," Din said, his voice modulated from under the helmet. "He doesn't like many people."

You ignored Din's comment, too busy fussing over the child. Grogu laughed and squeaked as you caressed his floppy ears. "Grogu, hm? You're a cutie."

Din furrowed his eyebrows together, perplexed. He wasn't the best at understanding Grogu, but how did you know his name already? Din hadn't told you.

"Oh, you like it?" You asked curiously, taking your earring out of your ear and placing it in Grogu's claw. "It's a ruby."

Wait— you were talking to him. You could understand him. The only person who could fluently communicate with Grogu was Ahsoka Tano, and that was because she was force sensitive. Of course Din could understand menial gestures and phrases, but here you were, the princess of Mandalore, having a full conversation with the little green bean. For a brief second, Din considered if you had any force-like abilities similar to what Grogu and Ahsoka had. But the thought passed fleetingly. There was no way a Mandalorian could have force powers. Not after the war between Mandalore and the Jedi sorcerers.

"His name is Din Djarin… I see." you nodded knowingly at Grogu before glancing up at the Mandalorian.

"Uh- yeah, that's me," Din said awkwardly, taking a step closer to you. "It's an honour to meet you, your highness. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to visit Mandalore tonight. Or ever- really." Din rambled, picking at his mustard coloured gloves.

"Do they still… do they still think I'm dead?" you asked uncertainly. Din nodded and you swallowed. The Imperials had really done a good job of covering up your existence then. You glanced back down at Grogu, and back up at the Mandalorian. "You walked through the palace gardens… dressed like that?" you asked him with a frown.

Din looked down at his armour in bewilderment— your comment suggesting that there was something wrong with what he was wearing. "Uh- yes?"

Your eyes went comically wide and you thrusted the child back into Din's chest. "Are you out of your mind?" you gasped, slapping your hands over your mouth in distress.

Din placed a hand on his hip. "Excuse me?"

"Take off your helmet." you demanded, your eyes stone cold.

"What? No!" Din gasped, taken aback. "Why aren't you wearing your helmet?"

You blinked. "Why would I? I'm not in battle!" you argued, raising your voice slightly. "Take off your helmet, that is an order from your Manda'lor."

"How could you ask me to do such a thing?" Din asked defensively, his fingers curling around his blaster pistol. "Are you really the Manda'lor— or are you an imposter? A true Mandalorian wouldn't ask me to remove my helmet."

No. You weren't the Manda'lor, you didn't have the darksaber anymore. But Din didn't need to know that.

"Are you… are you a Child of the Watch?" you whispered, feeling genuine fear wash over you.

"What?"

"What is your tribe's mantra?" you beckoned further, your eyes desperately trying to search for his through the visor of his helmet.

"Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength. This is the way." Din informed you.

You gulped and looked away. He was Death Watch. His people were the ones who teamed with Darth Maul and attacked Mandalore. They were the ones who killed your mother, and now, for the very first time, a Death Watch Mandalorian stood right before you.

You had sworn that, on the occasion you met a Child of the Watch, they wouldn't live to see the dawn of a new day. But this man… this man was a father. And killing him would orphan a child, just like you were orphaned as a young girl. You could never do that. You were not a fighter.

"I think you should go." you whispered, hating the way the words left your lips. You sounded weak.

You were struggling to hold it together. You didn't realise how much it would hurt, seeing a Child of the Watch. You didn't realise how it would bring to life a million memories of your beautiful mother.

"What? I just got here."

"I am sorry for bringing you out here, and I'm even more sorry for asking you to remove your helmet. But you need to go." You said more sternly. Din didn't move. "Go!" you shouted, and Grogu flinched slightly.

"No." Din insisted.

The tears were spilling from your eyes now, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You shuffled backwards until your ankles hit the first step of the grand staircase. You sunk down onto the steps and held your head in your hands, sobbing. You missed your mother so much; it was like every bone in your body ached for her touch. You missed the way she'd comfort you and hold you and whisper the Songs of Eon's Past to lull you to sleep. She was the greatest of leaders— a pacifist who would never hurt a single soul. She renounced all wars, even at the cost of her own life. She wouldn't want you to hurt Din. All these years you told yourself you'd kill the Children of the Watch for vengeance. But how could you now?

Hesitantly, Din placed Grogu on the ground, and padded towards you. He sat down next to you and wrapped a big arm around your body, pulling you into his beskar clad chest and hugging you. It was the first time in over a decade you'd had the pleasure of feeling human touch. You sunk into him and whimpered, letting your tears fall and dampen the black material under his chest plate. Din said nothing, only shushed you and rubbed comforting circles into your back.

He had no idea what caused the onset of your tears, but he knew better than to ask. There was no shame in crying. None at all. All Din knew was that he was not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. He was going to make you his wife.

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Let me know if you wish to be added to my permanent taglist or my Borrowed Time taglist.

[ikeromantic]

Future-Speak

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 2500 words of pure fluffiliciousness.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: An Uncertain Alliance

The inn was on the outskirts of Kyoto. It wasn’t as comfortable as the room they’d left behind, but Mitsuhide would not introduce dangerous allies to one of his safe havens. Besides, they needed a larger room to assemble supplies and hold meetings. This place fit the bill. 

He spent several days writing and responding to missives. Notifying his Kyoto weapons’ dealers of his needs, and keeping in touch with Kyubei on the hunt for Ashikaga. But most of the planning was waiting. Waiting to see if the remaining allies he called would come. Nevermind what he would do if they did.

Mitsuhide only hoped he could keep his emotions under control no matter the threat. They couldn’t risk another repeat of his first meeting with Motonari. Not only had it shaken him to react so emotionally, it had shaken his little mouse. 

Though she was quiet about it, her introspection and anxiety was hard to miss. Mitsuhide took every moment he could to comfort her but the effects were only temporary. She was on edge, and would be until this business was finished.

Mitsuhide was about to go out to meet with another agent when the innkeeper arrived.

“There is a man here to see you,” the innkeeper told him. He kept his gaze on the ground as if afraid to really look at Mitsuhide. 

“What does he look like?”

The innkeeper took a moment to consider. This wasn’t to remember the appearance, but to weigh the pros and cons of accuracy. “Ah, he isn’t quite as tall as you, my lord. And he has dark brown hair. Brown eyes. And . . . he wears a thing on his face. Over his eyes.”

“A mask?”

“N-no . . .”

Mitsuhide didn’t recognize the description at all. It could be some new disguise for one of his agents. Or an assassin sent by Ashikaga. Or anyone else entirely. He loosened his sword in its saya. “I do not know this visitor.”

The innkeeper bowed again. “Nevertheless . . .”

“Yes, let him up.”

The chatelaine stood from her work - sewing a more mobile kimono for herself - and backed up. 

As the innkeeper scurried out to fetch this ‘guest’ Mitsuhide positioned himself beside the door. He motioned to his little one. “Be ready to greet this man when he arrives. If he looks dangerous, I will kill him before he even knows I am here.”

She winced at his blunt instruction but nodded. “Only if he looks immediately dangerous ok? Dangerous describes like . . . half my friends in this time.”

Mitsuhide snorted. “It isn’t anyone from Azuchi.”

“Still. Let’s not murder some innocent messenger, ok?”

He wanted to tell her innocence was a commodity more rare than saffron, but she already looked worried enough. 

There was a shuffling outside, the sound of footsteps and then the door slid open. 

“I’m sorry to call on you so early in the morning -” he began. But he didn’t get very far.

The chatelaine flung herself across the space between them to wrap him in a warm hug. “Sasuke!”

Mitsuhide felt a twinge of jealousy at the way she smiled up at this stranger, her expression one of delight. Still, it didn’t seem that this visitor was an immediate threat. He let go of his sword hilt with only a little reluctance.

“Good to see you too,” the stranger - Sasuke - grinned down at her. “I really am sorry to just show up like this. I tracked your location because I have something important to tell you.” He pushed the chatelaine back, holding her by the shoulder. “Do you know what day it is?”

Her expression fell.

Mitsuhide stepped forward, tugging her away from the stranger. “Do you know this man?”

Sasuke held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mitsuhide Akechi.” His flat expression and tone did nothing to reassure the warlord. 

“And it seems he knows me.” This made Mitsuhide very uncomfortable. He was the man who knew things, not the one who was known. Perhaps he’d let go of his hilt too soon.

“I’ve been reading about you since I was little. It’s an honor to finally be able to speak to you in person.” Sasuke bowed. “My name is Sasuke Sarutobi and I’m a - a friend from her home town.” He gestured toward the chatelaine.

Mitsuhide felt one eyebrow rise. “Her hometown, you say?” He took a step toward this - this Sasuke and a note of challenge entered his voice. “Then you are also from 500 years in the future?”

“Galileo’s glass! How did you guess that?” Sasuke’s expression remained flat, but his voice rose with surprise.

The chatelaine blushed. “I told him, actually.”

Sasuke looked between the two of them and his eyes widened. “You two . . . are in love?”

Mitsuhide grimaced. “I wasn’t aware there was a second time-traveler here.” It made him wonder what other tidbits his little one might have kept back. And what delicious techniques he could use to get her to confess everything she knew. Like what a Galileo was.

The chatelaine stepped around him to face Sasuke directly. “Thank you for coming all the way here to remind me. But . . . I decided not to go back. I’m going to stay here in this time.”

Sasuke stared at her as if he didn’t understand.

Mitsuhide felt a knot of tension in his chest release. It was a worry he hadn’t realized he was carrying. But hearing her say this, aloud, and to a man from her time - it felt good. He found her gaze with his own and smiled. 

“I’m staying here for Mitsuhide. And for the other friends I’ve made.” The chatelaine returned his smile with a warm one of her own. 

Sasuke’s eyes finally narrowed again, crinkling a little at the edges as he shared their grin. “It seems we find ourselves in a similar situation then. I came here in part to tell you that I didn’t plan on returning.”

“You fell in love too?” The chatelaine’s whole expression lit up with joy at the idea of this stranger falling for someone in this time. It reassured Mitsuhide to see it, for surely, if they had been lovers, she wouldn’t be so pleased about that.

The stranger chuckled. “Not exactly. It’s just been a busy four years and I’ve gained a mountain’s worth of people too important to me to leave behind.” He paused and adjusted the contraption on his face. “Not that I would leave at this juncture anyhow. There is still the matter of Yoshimoto to settle, for one.”

“My apologies for interrupting you - Sasuke - but I cannot stay quiet after hearing that name.” Mitsuhide felt another stir of jealous venom. Yoshimoto. He still remembered the way the fallen lord of the Imagawa has looked as his little one that night at Honnoji. He knew too well what that spark meant in another man’s gaze, but the chatelaine was his. 

Mitsuhide slid an arm around her shoulder before continuing. “It would appear that you are more than a childhood friend. Who are you, Sasuke Sarutobi? And who do you work for?”

“Sasuke is, um, ah -” The chatelaine stumbled over an explanation before the stranger interrupted.

“It’s alright. Returning you to the future wasn’t my only reason on this visit.” Sasuke gave another slight bow. “I wanted to say thank you for what you did for Yoshimoto.” Then he turned to face Mitsuhide full on, not flinching a bit. “To answer your question, I am a ninja in service to my lord. Kenshin Uesugi.”

“Fascinating.” Mitsuhide tightened his grip on his little mouse. Yes. There were very many questions he had for her, and getting every answer was going to take at least one whole night. Perhaps several. Just to be sure.

Sasuke went on blithely. “Yoshimoto and his vassals were originally taking shelter with us at Echigo. When he disappeared, Yukimura Sanada and I were tasked to bring him back - which is how I wound up watching events unfold at Honno-ji. I witnessed how the two of you saved Yoshimoto and the remnant of his vassals.”

“I hope Motonari shared the popcorn,” the chatelaine muttered. 

“What?” Sasuke looked confused. “There was no - ah, I see.” The two of them shared another grin. “After the battle, I relayed this information to Kasugayama. And let me say, it is with thanks from all of us that I present this token of our appreciation for your actions that night.” He presented a little box.

Mitsuhide stared at the item suspiciously. Too small to be an effective explosive. Large enough to contain any number of sharp, poisoned items. Or a serpent, angry at it’s imprisonment. Ready to strike whoever opened its cage. 

Of course, his little one wasn’t nearly so wary. She reached for the present excitedly. “Oh, what is it Sasuke?”

“My very own homemade ground spike. Hand selected by me, for you.” 

She opened the box as Mitsuhide stood ready to knock it away from her should it prove dangerous. But, it was exactly as Sasuke had said. Full of small caltrops, perfect to slow and wound a following enemy. That didn’t discount the possibility that they were poisoned. 

Mitsuhide eased the box from her hands as she exclaimed over how sharp they looked. He set it on the table and put the lid back on. “Am I to understand, Sasuke, that you approached an enemy warlord with no weapon in hand, only gifts at the ready?”

Sasuke nodded. “Despite living the hashtag sengoku hustle, I maintain a work-life balance with emotionally fulfilling parasocial relationships.”

Mitsuhide took a moment to parse the babble. There were some actual words in it, but mostly, just gibberish. He looked to the chatelaine to see if she’d understood any of that.

She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry for the future-speak. What Sasuke means is that even though he works for Echigo, he admires you as a person.”

Future-speak. So in her time, gibberish was spouted as a normal course of conversation. Yet another reason to question her . . . thoroughly. It reminded him uncomfortably of the space between them, even while exciting him at the idea of closing that distance. There were so many things about her that he had yet to explore. There’d been no time . . . not yet. But there would be, if he lived.

“Tee whiee,” Sasuke responded back with more of his impenetrable code language.

Mitsuhide frowned. “This insight into your time has made me lose all interest in the future.” Which wasn’t true, but he felt annoyed with this connection between his little one and her friend. Not that he would ever admit it. 

“Did you manage to catch up to Yoshimoto?” The chatelaine asked, moving the conversation back to shared topics. 

“We did. But now Yoshimoto has decided to take full responsibility for his clan leaving Echigo.” 

“I don’t like the sound of that.” 

Sasuke nodded again. “He said he hoped his vassals would be welcome, but that he was not in need of a home.” The ninja gave an exasperated sigh. “We couldn’t convince him to come back with us, even though a lot of people are waiting for him in Echigo.”

The chatelaine made a worried sound, her eyes wide. “I want him to feel able to go back.”

“Even his vassals couldn’t convince him to return.” Sasuke looked to the side. “Yoshimoto may seem to have his head in the clouds, but he has a will of iron.”

Mitsuhide listened to the conversation intently. He could personally care less if the Imagawa clan head lived or died. But his little mouse cared and so - he put his mind to work, turning the problem inside and out. Pride was often a useful tool. Fatalism as well. “I have a suggestion,” he said when the two friends fell silent.

“Out of respect for you revealing yourself to me, Sasuke, I will reveal something to you. I am planning to kill Yoshiaki Ashikaga.”

Sasuke nodded thoughtfully. “I suspected that was the reason the two of you stayed behind in Kyoto.”

“Mmm, well, should I fail here, I am certain Echigo would be Ashikaga’s next target. As this is assured, I think it may be wise to approach Yoshimoto with an offer of exchange.” Mitsuhide’s smile widened. “I’d like him to rejoin his allies in Echigo and bring the battle of dragon and tiger back to the Oda forces.” 

The chatelaine and Sasuke both gasped at the same time. 

Sasuke shook his head. “Could this be Akechi’s infamous betrayal? With me as an accomplice? A second - no a third Honno-ji Incident?!” 

“Calm down,” the chatelaine told him, though she didn’t look calm herself. “I don’t think Mitsuhide means a real war. At least, I hope he doesn’t.”

Mitsuhide gave his little mouse an approving look. “Correct. It will only appear that hostilities have resumed, when in fact, a temporary alliance will have been formed.”

“How does this help,” Sasuke asked.

“The conflict will draw Ashikaga’s eyes away from me, and that will give me the opportunity to strike.”

“Yes, I see. With Echigo next on the shogun’s list, Yoshimoto’s return would be riding to the aid of his allies and assisting in Ashikaga’s defeat.” Sasuke’s brows twitched. “Thus giving him two powerful and still noble reasons to return. Brilliant.”

Mitsuhide was pleased that he need not spell it out completely. “If ever you chose to leave Echigo, Sasuke, do let me know.” 

“That is unlikely, but thank you.” Sasuke’s lips turned up in a small smile. “I will take it as a mark of honor that the Mitsuhide Akechi tried to scout me.” He raised and lowered one fist in the air in some sort of bizarre salute or prayer. 

“You know, I could write him a letter.” The chatelaine spoke up.

Sasuke agreed. “A letter from you would be perfect. He is always very receptive to your suggestions, and I think it would cheer him up.”

“A little too receptive,” Mitsuhide muttered. Then said more loudly. “I agree that will be effective. But -” the words pushed their way out even as he tried not to say them. “You’ve never written a letter to me.”

“Oh.” His little one blushed, making one of the faces he adored so much. Her lips were just slightly parted, eyes wide. Cheeks pink. She held a hand almost to her heart. 

It made Mitsuhide want to pull her close and kiss her breathless. But they had a guest. The kiss would have to wait.

“I can write you a letter whenever you like,” she offered.

“Then you will write one for me first. Then. You can write Yoshimoto.” 

Her smile was so wide it looked almost painful. “You really want me to write you a letter? Even though I’m right here?”

Mitsuhide did pull her close then, lips brushing against her ear. Her hair tickled his cheek. “I would. The joy of receiving a letter from you would only be enhanced by your presence.” And then, just to emphasize and not at all because he felt jealous, he kissed the edge of her ear lightly.

Sasuke gave an awkward cough. “I-Is it alright if I interrupt?”

“My apologies.” Mitsuhide straightened. He wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“Nothing to apologize for. I just wanted to say, when the letter to Yoshimoto is finished, let me know and I’ll deliver it immediately.”

The chatelaine giggled. “It’s second on my to-do list, I promise!”

Sasuke gave her another of his small smiles. “I believe you. And I think that is my cue to be off. I’ve left my contact information with your innkeeper.” 

“I hope next time you visit, we can have tea and chat.” 

Sasuke’s gaze slid from the chatelaine to Mitsuhide and back. “That could be very interesting.” 

“Very,” Mitsuhide agreed drily. Then saw the stranger - no, Sasuke now - out. What an odd turn of events this was. He returned to his little mouse with many things on his mind.

Next: Keeping Secrets

[tachyonpen]

Weird size community meme idea- your taste in size content represented via playing cards.

No, seriously.

Set the red suits and black suits in two separate piles to start, and set the Jokers aside- cards laid vertically will be things that you're generally interested in, or that you'd like to see in a partner of a different size. Cards laid horizontally will be ideas that would apply to you.

The black suits, clubs and spades, will be giant-related. First, kings, queens and jacks- guys, gals, and nonbinary; who's the big party in your ideal g/t story?

Next, the numbered cards. In a setting built for the smaller party (so the big ones are giants, dealing with inconveniences like being unable to ride in cars or enter most buildings comfortably), what's your ideal size gap between the giant(s) and everybody else? [Word to the wise- The max. height is going to be A) in Imperial units and B) shown off using a relatively short 5 ft tall and a very tall 6'8" multiplied up to the relevant proportions ahead, like so 5'/6'8"]. 2 is up to about double, where everyone is about double-ish the norm- 10/13 feet, about, so the smaller ones come up to their waist or higher, typically. 3 would be from there up to about 5x the norm, so anywhere up to 25/33 feet tall- about to the shin. 4 is from there up to the beloved Brobdingnagian x12 difference, or 60/80 feet tall- one foot to the humans is about an inch to the bigs. 5 is from those proportions up to a 20x difference, 100/133 ft, where people are about the size of their finger or ear, and a 5/6 story building is their equal in height. 6 is where we start getting crazy- an up to 60x difference, 300/400 ft. tall, meaning the average person is only as tall as their toes, and their proportions mean that they need to be careful lest they knock over skyscrapers- they're about as tall as a 15/20 story building at this point. 7 is a difference up to 240x, or 1200/1600 ft tall, which is the point where they'd start genuinely causing damage to the landscape and civilization with their footsteps, and people would start to resemble small bugs to them. 8 on up is much less common, but I'll keep going- this number indicates anywhere up to a 500x difference between the giant and the human civilization, or 2500/3333 feet tall; this is around half a mile, and where living on or inside the giant(s) becomes a feasible option- the giant would be no more cognizant of the individual people than we would be an aphid. 9 is where we make significantly larger jumps for those who like their giants colossal- this covers anything up to 7,500,000x normal size, or 7500/9833 miles tall- approximately the same size as Earth's diameter, or literally planetary-scale giants. Lastly, 10 covers anything up to 225 million times normal size, up to 225,000/300,000 miles tall- so large than even the Earth itself is 2 inches across, or about the size of a largish gumball, by comparison to the giant, a card I don't expect most of you to set out.

Last, the ace- do you like it when the big has to grow big to get like this? Its absence will be for giants born enormous (or made enormous in the case of mechanical or divine beings).

For the red suits, your hearts and diamonds, these are for tiny roles. Again, the kings, queens, and jacks- tiny guys, smol gals, little enby pals.

The numbered cards here refer to settings designed for the comfort of the bigger party- your Borrower or HIStK settings go here. 2 is for anything down to half-size smalls, 2'6"/3'4" coming up to about the waist of their bigger counterparts- an inconvenient existence, but not by too much. 3 is from that point down to one-fourth size, 15"/20", which would leave our smaller party at about knee height, and taller people would look like two-story buildings at about this point. 4 takes us down to one-sixth size, 10"/13", which is about the length of the bigger people's forearm, and just the right size to mount your average housecat or small dog like a horse. 5 takes us down to Lilliputian one-twelfth, or 5/7 inches tall- this would put the smaller ones at about the length of people's hands from base of palm to tip of pinky finger, and small enough to hide in underwear; notably, this is a great "small civilization" size in other works as well, with mice and rats occupying a role as mounts, various common lizards acting the role of dragon, and both cats and hawks being relatively threatening. 6 takes us to the ever popular one-twentieth, or 3/4 inches tall- about as tall as a person's ear, or as long as their finger if laid out; notably, this is a pretty common Borrower size, as your bog standard inch-and-a-half sewing needle makes for a decent rapier at this scale, large bugs are a relatively even fight, socks are bigger than you and fluffy enough to make into beds, etc. 7 takes us to the one-sixtieth size smalls, or approximately an inch tall- to the people, they're about as tall as their toe, or the length of a single joint on a finger; these are the settings where they frequently interact with, say, snails, crickets, and hummingbirds, but brown ants are about the size of dogs to the littles. 8 is where we start getting extra little, specifically down to one-hundred-twentieth scale- this makes the smalls about the length of the bed of an unpainted fingernail, and where the common small trope of "a few crumbs is too much" genuinely starts to apply. 9 takes us all the way down to one-five-hundredth scale smalls, or about the size of fleas- notably, this makes the smalls actually small enough to not break water's surface tension (read- walk on dirty water) and a head of hair becomes a forest. 10, lastly, brings us down to the genuinely microscopic smalls, the ones who can't be effectively seen by the naked eye unless they're moving or in a group, down to 1/1200 scale for the sake of stating an identifiable number- at this size, every inch is a five-mile trek, meaning that it's usually reserved for brief jokes and villain punishments; that said, would briefly like to note Fantastic Voyage plots, but effective conversion for numbers that small is giving me a headache.

These aces note a love of shrinking itself being pointed out. If not used, they instead indicate littles born or created that size being your preference.

You can use as many cards as apply to your tastes.

[checkurwindow]

we can’t do this

Book: Open Heart

Warning: one or two swears, lots of angst. Rating: General Pairing: Ethan x F!MC Word Count: 2500+ Author’s note: Sequel to ‘denial’. I’d advise you to read the first part here before reading this to avoid any confusion. More notes about this fic is in my reblog.  While you’re at it, take a look at my masterlist!

“We wish you a merry Christmas...”

The words trailed off her lips, almost soft enough to be drowned out by the sound of her boots crunching against the snow. It was uncharacteristically quiet for her.

Her hand lightly brushed against the railing next to her, quickly retracting back when her nerves registered the low temperature of the surface. The sudden movement made a lump of snow that had previously sat calmly on top of the railing to fall to the ground before her feet.

Another clump fell, this time many meters further, the sound of it meeting the river below the bridge where she stood disrupted the short period of calmness that washed over her for the first time in quite a while.

The cold was starting to numb her fingers, making them feel stiff and frozen; though she was more distracted by the fallen snow that had unsurprisingly seeped through the thin layer of clothes she was wearing, which were now painfully scrubbing against her clammy skin.

“...we wish you a merry Christmas…”

The sky hung above her like a blackout curtain, the stars nearly invisible behind a thick layer of clouds. Surroundings only dimly illuminated by the faulty streetlights that lined either side of the road, she focused her vision on the small clouds of air that escaped her mouth with each shuddering breath in between each line of the song.

The song wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her mind, always lingering at the back of her head, even though Christmas was long over. If one would consider a week long, that is.

She paused longer this time before continuing the next line. Bringing her soaked sleeve to her face and rubbing her stinging eyes, she tried to clear her vision from the tears she’d been struggling more and more to hold back the further she strayed from the city.

“...we wish you a merry Christmas…”

She leaned against the metal bars in front of her, the only things preventing her from plunging into the rushing river below.

Amid the peaceful environment she isolated herself in, she could hear the sound of the people in their homes not too far away. The cheers and celebrations from the people celebrating the new year with friends, family, the people they love.

Imagining it like it was taking place right in front of her eyes, she saw how everyone stood close together, bright sparklers in one hand, bubbling champagne in the other. She swore she could hear their laughter and drunken giggles. She smiled as she thought of them shamelessly slurring their favourite songs at the top of their lungs next to the old karaoke machine they only got out of the closet for times like these, her favourite times.

But she wasn’t them. Hell, she wasn’t even the one awkwardly lingering at the corner of the room, envious of all the fun everyone else was having with their friends but too afraid to join in. No, she was standing there, in the cold, with nobody by her side.

Tugging on the green leather jacket, the only thing she brought with her, she brought it closer to her chest. She was sure that it was the one thing she could never bring herself to let go of. It was the one thing of his that she still held on to, and yet it still failed to protect her, to give her warmth, a tiny feeling of not being so alone in the numbing weather. She laughed at the irony of that damn jacket being the polar opposite of what he was to her.

A glance at the watch on her wrist that was half-hidden by her sleeve told her that it was 23:54, 6 minutes until midnight, a point in time that symbolised a new beginning for so many people, but was just yet another moment that had lost its spark to her.

“...and a happy...new...year…”

Her voice gave in, barely managing to pronounce those 5 little words, and her legs soon followed.

With her back now turned to face the barrier, she let herself slide down as slowly and gently as her jittery legs would allow--which admittedly, wasn’t a lot anymore. She more or less plummeted into the snow on the rough floor beneath her soles. And though her breath was caught in her throat for a moment as she felt the full extent of her body’s impact on the bitter cold, there wasn’t any movement to indicate she was getting up anytime soon.

A tear fell from her eyes. She didn’t feel it, she didn’t feel a lot, but she could still register that it was hot in contrast to the seemingly never-ending shower of snow that slowly fell on and around her. Another tear slipped out and she mindlessly watched as tear after tear dripped down her cheeks and fell onto the thick bed of snow.

Before she knew it, her face felt warmer than before, the wet tracks down her face warming her despite the sobs that shook her body more than the cold ever had. She shut her eyes as tightly as her weakening body would allow her, it was a desperate attempt to stop and she knew it. And so she let go. She let the shaking and the sobs and the cold take over, letting her legs go limp and fully enclose themselves in the snow, her hands fell to her side instead of tightly clenching them inside her pockets. She let herself be exposed to whatever poor soul was roaming the streets on the outskirts of town at that time of the night and had the displeasure of witnessing the in the state she was in.

Bells rang loudly in the air, signalling the start of the new year. The formerly pitch-black sky behind her was now filled with the loud and colourful explosions in the form of New Year fireworks. She didn’t want to start the new year just yet, still too caught up in everything that happened last year. She only wished she could turn back time.

The last time she saw him was bad, horrible, but that feeling wasn’t as bad as the one she was feeling right now.

The last time she saw him was...so long ago. At least that’s what it felt like. In reality, something she wasn’t too sure she was even apart of anymore, it had barely been half a year, yet it felt like an eternity ago.

As the fireworks died out, so did she. It was like the memories of him were slowly moving past her along with the previous year.

She started walking back to Donahue’s, simultaneously the best and worst place for her to be headed at that moment. On one hand, everyone was there, all her friends, colleagues, and superiors from edenbrook were at the local bar ringing in the new year. It had become somewhat of a tradition, the forever busy doctors came together and were a family for that blissful little period of time, drinking, chatting, dancing the night away. She smiled at the thought of her friends making fools of themselves and being as rowdy as can be.

It was a long way back into town, but the freezing weather and the adrenaline and numbness wearing off were a more than helpful incentive for her to hurry into the packed establishment and warm herself with the burning feeling of all sorts of alcohol sliding down the back of her throat.

By the time she walked in, her tears had dried and she managed to conjure up as convincing of a smile as a person who had just broken down at the side of the road could. Her friends welcomed her with open arms and shot glasses full of questionable liquids, minds not focused enough to wonder and ask why she had only stumbled in well after the clock had struck twelve, much like an opposite-cinderella.

It was just after 1:45 in the morning. Of the 8 that were originally there, only her and Sienna were left, the others had gone back home not too long ago but Sienna insisted on staying with her.

She had been silent for a while now, unlike the rest of the bar. Many patrons had gone but the ones that were left looked to be far from it. She sat silently as Sienna told stories about almost anything, she had been loosely paying attention. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, she really was, but her night hadn’t been the most celebratory.

It wasn’t looking like the night could get worse than it already had, but then the door opened, the bell at the top ringing and the swoosh of the door closing behind them clear. The same couldn’t be said for the countless drunk Bostonians who had come and gone throughout the night.

A few seconds passed and firm footsteps cut through the chatter of the crowd before her intoxicated mind had registered that someone walked in, and it took even longer for her to look up and realise that he had walked in.

It was barely half a second after it dawned on her that it was actually him that had just entered her line of sight and not another one of those dream scenarios she experienced in the weeks after he left.

In the haze of the moment, she wasn’t sure who looked over first but they had caught each other’s eye. She swore she saw him physically stop in his tracks and freeze up at the sight of her, and suddenly she felt more intoxicated than she had been all night, like she got high just off the sight of him, if that made any sense.

It was like the most cliche fairytale dream she had ever seen; the room seemed to fade away and a spotlight shined down on the two of them, like two lost lovers reunited at last. And if she were honest, that’s all she hoped for, to be in that situation where she could run into his arms, his only-for-her warm embrace that she couldn’t get enough of, and just melt into him after being apart for so long.

Instead, she settled for staying put and pretending like her mind wasn’t racing, with the exception of the glances she sneaked in when she thought he wasn’t looking. But as her luck would have it, he was, every single time.

Sienna got up to leave, advising her to at the very least say a friendly goodbye to him before she left, if nothing else. She reluctantly nodded her head. Thinking she had everyone fooled that she was fine after he left was a stretch, especially when it came to Sienna Trinh. It was almost like she had a sixth sense for spotting it.

She stood up and walked over to the bar, careful to steer her vision away from where he sat at the very end of the bar, a glass of his usual top-shelf whiskey in his palms. Ordering one last drink before she faced her fears, she walked over to him, looking in his direction but not quite meeting his eye.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied in his usual toneless voice.

“Let’s sit over there,” she said, “I’d like to talk.”

He nodded, following her to an empty corner booth at the very back, almost fully secluded from the rest of the room.

They walked, sat down, and stared at each other in silence, unsure of what to say to the other.

“You went away for what? A month or two?” She lied, she knew exactly how long it had been. Hell, if she really concentrated, she probably knew it down to the second.

“Something along the lines of that, I can’t really remember,” he lied too. The guilt that was constantly eating away at him made it damn near impossible for him to forget.

That voice, his goddamned voice. It felt so good to hear his voice again, like it set off delayed New Year’s fireworks inside of her, and the bastard didn’t have the slightest clue that he had that kind of effect on her.

She let out something of a cross between a laugh and a scoff. Ethan, not being able to hear her inner thoughts, furrowed his brows and his hands started fidgeting, inching closer to her glass, concerned that she had drunk a little too much.

Lost in her own thoughts about him, she almost didn’t hear him when he finally broke the silence hanging eerily in the air between them.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you too,” she replied back, almost too quickly.

Surpassing any expectations she held regarding what would happen when he walked in, he hastily leaned over the table separating them and pressed his lips against hers. Her body tensed at first, but eventually returned the kiss.

Are you kidding me? Her head practically screamed at her internally. That was all it took? For him to say that he misses her and just like that she’d forgive him and forget about everything that had happened that past year?

Finally making a logical decision, she pulled back, drawing in a breath from the loss of contact despite being the cause of it.

“Ethan,” she breathed out, all the air suddenly disappearing from her lungs, “we can’t do this.”

The look of hurt and pain that showed on his face almost made her want to take back what she had just said, but she knew better than that, “I can’t do this. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Rookie…” He trailed off in a pleading tone.

“I begged you,” she recalled that dreadful moment in time, forever branded into her memories.

“I’m sorry. Please, I-”

“Why did you leave me?” She said bluntly despite her quivering lips and watering eyes.

“They needed my help an-” he tried to make things better, soothe her conscience, and at the same time his too.

“Why did you leave me?” Never in a million years did she ever think that Ethan Ramsey, world-renowned internal medicine doctor, would have commitment fucking issues.

She had hoped. She wasn’t religious but she hoped to god that he would be different with her, that it would be different with him, that it would be different despite him. It never did happen, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it did. Maybe that’s why she had broken down that much after he left, because it meant that they weren’t good enough, that she wasn’t good enough for him to want to stay and try, maybe that’s why she couldn’t bear to risk it by being together with him again.

Maybe that’s why she stood up and cupped the now tearful Ethan’s face in her hands and placed a parting kiss on his lips, as he had done the same for her so long ago, muttering a soft apology and a soulful goodbye. Then she let go. She let her arm drop back down to her side and walked out while she was still thinking clearly enough to not go back on the promises she made to herself.

[fanfoolishness]

on the subject of rocks (SUF)

Steven and Jasper have a long-overdue conversation.  Set two years after SUF, canon-compliant. A little angst, a lot of hope. ~2500 words.

***

Steven is eighteen years old when he decides he wants to try to speak with her again.  

If she wants to, that is.

He thinks he’s ready.  He thinks the conversation might dim the feeling of her fragments cutting into his palm, the weight of his crime crushing his heart, his gut, his gem.  Therapy has helped a great deal. But there are still nights he wakes up panting, remembering what it felt like to let go, to hurt, to shatter, and he wonders.  

If Jasper has the same terrible memories, the same haunting, then maybe they should talk about it.

He talks with Dr. Boverman for hours.  He wants to be sure this is right.  Not just for him, but he wants to make sure this won’t damage her further than he already has.  They go round and round.  They’ve spoken of so many things, old wounds that pierced and bled and fractured, but most of those wounds were done to him.

The blood on his hands is less than he’d once feared it was, but it still doesn’t scrub clean.

“It will always be with you,” Dr. Boverman’s calm voice says.  “You shattered Jasper.  You didn’t intend to, but it’s what happened.”

“I know,” says Steven, and the thought no longer incapacitates him with shame.  It was terrible, violent, the worst possible action committed at nearly his lowest point.  But he accepts it, now, accepts that this will stay with him always.  That it should.

And yet -- 

He and Dr. Boverman strategize.  Roleplay.  Hours of scenarios, how to accept if she never wants to talk to him again, what to do if Jasper says she isn’t ready, what to do if she lashes out, what to do if she fights him, what to do if she bends her hands into the Diamond salute.  Each scenario frightens him at first, sends his heart racing.  The first time they talked about it he glowed pink again for the first time in months.  But the terror fades a little every time they speak, and several weeks later, he thinks he might be ready.

***

Little Homeworld is always different and always the same.  It’s a comforting flow of change, new Gems appearing each time he visits, old teachers moving on.  His family is still there, of course, and he has plans to catch up with them tomorrow.  But today -- today he wants to know if this is the right time.

If there will ever be a right time.  And if there isn’t, he thinks he can make his peace with that.

He finds Jasper sitting on a fallen log at the edge of the forest, alone as he’d expected she would be.  A sketchbook sits in front of her, colored pencils at her side.  His footsteps crunch on autumn leaves.

“Jasper?” he asks hesitantly, ten feet away.  

She turns to look at him, her form unchanged from the last time he saw her, the stripe through her eye disrupted, her horn broken.  So she hadn’t gone to Yellow, then.  A thread of fear mixed with guilt begins unspooling within him.  Maybe he wasn’t ready after all.

Jasper snorts, a gruff smile spreading over her face.  “I wondered if you’d stop by, one of these days.  I heard some of the others say you were coming into town.”

“Hi,” says Steven hesitantly.  He takes a deep breath, remembering his strategies.  “I -- I’d like to ask you something, Jasper.”

“Shoot,” she says in disinterest, picking up a pencil.  She makes scratchy marks against the sketchbook paper, scribbles he can’t quite make out.

He edges closer.  “I was wondering… I’ve done a lot of thinking.”

“Sounds like you.”

Despite himself, he chuckles slightly.  “All right, fair.”  

“Thinking about what?” she asks.

“About you,” says Steven honestly.  “And me.  What I did to you.  What we did to each other.”  He lets out a long, tremulous sigh, returning mentally to his gemstone, taking deep breaths with his diamond as his anchor.  “And I wanted to see if you wanted to talk about it.  It’s okay if you don’t, or if you want me to leave you alone.”  Breath.  Another.  “I’m so sorry, Jasper.”

She glances up at him, giving him an odd look, then gestures beside her with a powerful shoulder.  “Go on.  Sit down, already.”

No ‘my Diamond.’  He’s more relieved than he’d expected to be.  He sets down his bag and sits down on the ground, resting against the log instead of sitting on top of it with her.  He sinks into the soft loam, leans against the fallen trunk.  It’s more comfortable than it looks.  A few feet between them seem like miles, or inches, he isn’t sure.

Jasper regards him coolly, tilting her head slightly to one side.  “Why’d you really come here?”

“To talk to you,” says Steven, his hands folded and calm in his lap, his breathing slowing.  “You told me once that I was the one who needed help.  I’ve been getting it.”

“Told you,” she says, but there’s no gloating in her voice.  She purses her lips, face tensed in concentration.  At last she says, “So have I.”

He blinks, hands coming apart, fingers falling open.  He raises his head and gazes up at her, wondering if he’s heard her right.  “You have?”

“You told me to do something better with my life,” says Jasper, picking up her sketchbook.  At this angle he can see what she’s drawn.  It’s a rock -- what was it with her and rocks -- but a tenderly realized rock, craggy edges shaded in carefully, mosses and lichens rendered in textured shades of green and brown.  

“Jasper, that’s -- that’s really beautiful,” says Steven.  He’s been working on his art, too, but he’s no good at the type of delicate detail work laced into her sketch.  “Who taught you?”

“Ruby,” she says.  She sets the pencil down beside her, hands tensing on the sketchbook.  “I don’t go to Lapis’ classes.”

“Right.”  Part of him is saddened to hear it.  Another part of him is grateful for Lapis’ sake. He wonders which of them he’s most like.  “It seems like you’ve really taken to Little Homeschool.  I’m glad for you.”

A small scoff of a laugh, but it softens at the end into something more like a real smile.  Jasper shakes her hair, its white strands catching in the dappled sunlight beneath the trees.  She looks… calm, like this, and it’s not a state he ever remembers seeing her in before.

“What about you?” she asks suddenly.

“I’m doing well,” he replies, still shocked that they’re talking at all.  It’s going far better than most of the scenarios he’d practiced with Dr. Boverman.   “I visit with my family every couple of weeks.  I’ve been spending a lot of time in cities lately.  All the noise and hustle and bustle… it’s different, sometimes it’s overwhelming, but I like the energy.  It’s… good.  It’s really good.  Connie and I meet up every week.  And I talk to my therapist.”

“What’s that?”

“A therapist?  Um… it’s like a healer for human minds.  But it’s not instant, like with Diamond powers.  It takes time.  A long time.”  He gives her a small smile.  “Sometimes it’s two steps forward, one step back, but overall, I’m feeling a lot better than… before.”

Jasper considers his words.  She leans down, and he realizes a shiny blue beetle is crawling over the tip of her boot.  He tenses, waiting.

Jasper watches the beetle go, making no further move toward it.  It ambles away peacefully.

“You are not my Diamond,” she says into the silence.

“No,” he agrees, and something inside of him unclenches.  “I -- I’m a Diamond.  But mostly I’m just Steven.”

“I hated you for so long.”

He fights an urge to be sarcastic, to bite back at her.  This doesn’t sound… angry.  He keeps quiet, and lets her speak.

Her hand clenches into a fist, heavy against her thigh.  “I thought that if you could stop being weak, if I could make you stronger, I would have my Diamond again.  My purpose.  Someone to protect, someone to serve.”  

She stares into the woods, and he remembers his hands and legs awash in pink, the glow as he tore through the trees beneath a starry sky.  He remembers jagged laughter, his gem humming, a power crueler than he’d ever felt before --  

“I know.”

“Don’t ‘I know’ me when I’m talking to you,” she snaps.  “I’m trying to -- arrgh.  I thought this would be easier.”

“You thought what would be easier --” he starts to ask.

“You know.  Talking.  Ugh.  It’s nothing like a good fight.  The target keeps changing.”  She crosses her arms, still staring off into the trees.  The sun shifts overhead, casting her face in shadow.

“That’s called a conversation,” he says gently.  “Battles are battles, but a hard conversation… it can hurt.”

“Now you tell me,” says Jasper, and it takes him a solid minute before he realizes it’s a joke.  He laughs, but it’s too late, and Jasper shakes her head.  “Look.  Steven.  I -- I’m sorry.”  The words are hasty and fumbled and fast, but he catches them, barely.

“You’re sorry?” Steven yelps.  “But I’m the one who shattered you.”  It still comes out like a dirty word, almost two years later.  He wonders if he’ll ever be able to fully say it, if he’ll ever be able to act like it hasn’t scarred him.  He hopes not.  “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

“You have.  Just now, and before,” she says, shrugging.  “But I only said I’d teach you to get you to fight me.  And you did.  And I lost.”

“Because I lost myself, I lost who I was, you didn’t make me --”

“But you were off-color,” growls Jasper.  “You were -- what do you humans call it again --?”

“Sick,” he says softly.  Such a small word.  It barely begins to cover everything that went wrong two years ago, but he knows CPTSD won’t mean a thing to her, and that’s okay, that’s not what he’s here for.

“Sick,” she repeats.  “And I --”  She digs her hands into the tree bark, small flakes of it crumbling beneath her shaking hands.  “I made you worse.  So that I could get something I wanted.  I failed to protect my Diamond from myself.”

“Jasper --” he gasps.  “You’ve been blaming yourself? For me shattering you?”

“Someone’s got to do it,” she huffs.

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, tries to take another deep breath, reminds himself to return to the thought of his gem as a centering point.  He can do this.  He can do this.  It’s just, this isn’t how he thought it would go at all.  

He closes his eyes.  Remembers the way she screamed at him, punches in the gut, the face, the sides.  Remembers the way she goaded, the way she pressed, how proud she looked of how frightening he’d become.  He doesn’t know what to say.  “I -- I was sick,” he manages finally.  “I -- you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He shakes his head at that.  “But I’m still the one who did it.  I still have to take responsibility for hurting you,” he demands.

Jasper gives him an appraising look.  “Hmph,” she says, and he doesn’t know if it’s a hmph of agreement or a hmph of disdain.  It’s hard to tell with Jasper.  She holds the silence an uncomfortably long time before she says, “Maybe.”

“This isn’t how -- I wanted you to be mad at me,” Steven admits.  “I wanted you to be pissed off! To tell me to get away from you!”

“I can still do that,” says Jasper, apparently turning the thought around in her mind.  She chuckles, very slightly.  “But if that’s an order, I’m ignoring it.”

He laughs.  “You’re full of surprises, Jasper.”

“Am not.”

“You kind of are.”

“Don’t be so surprised then.”  She picks up her pencil, returning to her sketch.  Grass starts to grow beneath her rock, verdant blades springing up from dark soil.

“I thought you hated the local ecosystem.”

“It has its functions,” says Jasper begrudgingly.  “If I leave the grass it provides better contrast for the rocks.”  She picks up a different shade of green, adding highlights.  “It’s still puny.  But it has a purpose of its own.”

“What’s yours?” he asks, then kicks himself for getting so personal.

“Only if you tell me what yours is.”

Two years ago, the request would have paralyzed him.  Two years ago, he’d have panicked, spun out with a lie, tried his best not to think about who he was and what he was supposed to do.

He just smiles.  Breathes in the fresh green air, so different from the machine-smell of the big city.  Beneath the green there’s a hint of salt, the promise of the sea.  It smells like home.

“My purpose is to be Steven,” he says simply.  “To be myself.  To grow and change.  To love myself, regrets and all.”

“Sounds all right,” says Jasper begrudgingly.  “Sort of like mine these days.”  She turns to him, frowning.  “You got something to write on?”

“Uh, let me see.”  He rummages in his bag.  “Oh hey!  I have my sketchbook, too.”

“Well?” Jasper says, pointing to the boulder before her.  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He flips through his sketchbook, passing pages of silly Connie faces, a self-portrait in pink and white, Lion poses, CPH classic fanart.  He settles on a blank page and Jasper shoves a green pencil into his hand.  He feels smooth wood, the lightness of the organic drawing implement rounded and gentle in his palm.  No sharp edges, no jagged fragments, no terrible weight dragging his clenched hand into the hot water.  He blinks back tears.

The sunlight shifts, the golden hour arriving, brilliant light shafting through the leaves above and lining the forest floor in spun-gold glory.  His hands don’t quite have this kind of magic in them, but he tries his best, his drawing including sketches of the rock, the grass, the trees beyond them. He adds a gleaming line of yellow at the edges.  He’ll show it to Dr. Boverman at their next appointment.

“Not bad,” says Jasper, peering over his sketchbook.  “You added the trees.”

“It just felt more complete that way,” he says.  He glances at her drawing.  The rock is resplendent, resting on gold-touched grass, light captured in patches against the mosses and lichens.  “You can see all of this?  It’s incredible, Jasper.”

“It’s just what it looks like,” she says stubbornly.  “It’s a good challenge.”

“Like a conversation,” he says, half to himself.  

“Something like that.”  The breeze flutters past them, carrying faint birdsong, the far-off scent of the sea.

“Thanks for talking with me, Jasper.  I know you didn’t have to.”

“Of course.  I do what I want,” she replies, and her voice is gentler than he’s ever heard it.