#but when it's PILOT SUCKED OUT OF COCKPIT WINDOW you do know exactly which one it is

[emphasisonthehomo]

Me on the Mayday: Air Disaster! youtube channel, squinting at the thumbnail to try and remember if its an episode they've already posted, or a new one-

[spvce-cowboy]

reunion

ch. 3 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 2: “gentle things”

next-ch. 4: “songbird”

rating: mature 

8k words

warnings: alcohol, drug use mentioned, jealous/protective mando, animal cruelty, descriptions of gore

summary: the luxurious rot of Canto Bight is enough to put anyone on edge. Mando is forced to ask for your help in finding a high profile quarry.

**

Mando leaves the fighting ring before the caterwauling nexu is able to deal the killing blow.

 He can still hear the sound of the gore spraying against the floor as he climbs the stairs towards the exit, the roaring jeer of the crowd obliterating the speakers inside his helmet. The inevitable outcome of the fight was clear from its onset given the state of the nexu’s opponent, some kind of sand-bear, who was already injured upon entering the cage-like structure.

This wasn’t the Outer-Rim fighting rings he was used to. This place has carpets and a fucking chandelier suspended right above the blood clotted, dirt floor of the pit. It has pipe smoke and dark liquor, the low rumble of voices that only rise in tandem with the progression of the fight. There’s a strange reserve among this crowd that Mando has never seen before, not in this context at least.

 The patrons still had that starved look in their eyes though—bloodlust, pure and simple. Somehow, all the tuxedos and hair gel makes it far more sinister than it normally would be.

Karga sent him here to gather information about the quarry, but after an entire day spent searching along with the past hour he’d spent floating around the fight hall where the informant was rumored to be, he knew to give it up before he wasted any more time.

Mando exits the underground arena, stepping into the late afternoon heat just as it begins its gradual descent towards an oncoming chill. Upon arriving at Canto Bight, he had learned very quickly to avoid the main streets. There were too many eyes and whispers for a bounty as high profile as this one for him to be spotted on his own like this, obviously searching for something. 

There’s something about this city that makes him absolutely revolted. It’s not the strongest testament to his resolve or his character, but, at the same time, it’s not something he can necessarily help.

Mando still has absolutely no clue what Karga was thinking, but here he is, regardless if it made any sense or not.

He returns to the Crest, deflated after a second unsuccessful day of trying to gather information about the quarry’s whereabouts. He is desperate for a lead, two of three informants proving to be completely useless and his patience growing thinner every second he has to stay on this forsaken planet.

Closing the ramp behind him, Mando heads straight for the cockpit, needing a moment to regather his thoughts. To brainstorm a better plan of action before it becomes too late to rendezvous with Karga’s third, and last, possible informant.

The problem was that there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to get into the racetracks on his own. Getting into the fighting pit—which was considered “seedy” by Canto standards--was already a total hassle, costing him far too many credits and straining what limited negotiation skills he had.

The second problem was that he’d rather take a blaster to the leg than involve you in one of his missions. But now that was kind of his only option.

Mando rubs a hand over the forehead of his helm as he paces. When that doesn’t work, he settles himself in his pilot’s seat, hunching over slightly against the weight of the beskar against his bones. Maker, he is fucking tired.

Swiveling his head to the side, he notices a pile of something on the console that he can’t exactly make out until he leans over it.

Resting on the command board is a leather string, a few palm-sized pieces of stained glass already fashioned to hang from it by smaller loops of the same material in varied lengths. It looks like you were in the middle of working on it when something else distracted you, several more discs of glass piled onto one another to the right of the unfinished project, and a few loose scraps of leather in a pile on the copilot’s chair.

Mando allows himself to admire it for a moment, rubbing his gloved thumb over the glass’s surface. By the time he glances up through the windows of the cockpit, looking at all the people milling about outside, his breathing has somewhat evened. It’s easier to think straight, at least.

He stands and climbs back into the hull, rounding the corner to peer into the space you’ve made for yourself.

It takes him a moment to see you over the pile of blankets you’ve kicked off your mattress. You’re asleep. Under the table. The kid taking a nap with you. Of course that’s where he expected you to be if you weren’t in the cockpit but—but.

You’re on your belly, head buried in your folded arms. You have one, bare leg hitched up over pillow. The length of your calf spills over onto the floor, socked foot delicately pointed. That’s not really what stops him in his tracks. Well, it is in part.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts.

It must have just been a mistake, he knows that. He’s seen you in one of your own that’s the same general color and cut, but he knows this one is his because of the hole in the elbow where it had caught on an exposed screw and torn a few days previous. He’d been too busy to mend it.

Mando tries to wake you before his thoughts could go anywhere else. He says your name quietly, then a little louder. It wakes the kid, who yawns and blinks up at Mando, making happy sounds up at him from where he’s snuggled into your side.

When that doesn’t work, Mando nudges your calf with the tip of his boot. You startle awake, a protective hand shooting out to automatically bring the child against your chest, blinking rapidly up at him.

“Oh,” you wince slightly at the light coming into the cabin but otherwise doesn’t visibly react when you realize it’s him. Your arm loosens from where it had wrapped around the kid. “You’re back. I thought you’d be gone a while longer.”

“I need your help with something,” Mando crosses his arms in front of his chest. It gives him something to do with his hands and how awkward they feel just hanging at his sides as you prop yourself up into a sitting position to listen to him, the loose material of his shirt pulling up to reveal little glimpses of your lower back and belly as you do. “I have to have a companion with me, to go into the racetrack. They won’t let me in if they think I’m looking for a quarry.” 

You nod, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm, voice croaking and still hazy with sleep. “Yeah, yeah sure. I wanted to check it out anyway. Just lemme get changed and we can head out.”

You pick the kid up and place him back on the floor of the hull. He toddles over to Mando, nearly falling—your hands automatically reach out to hover over his sides--but he manages to catch himself on Mando’s pantleg, tugging the fabric in a determined up, now.

Your brow furrows. “What’re we gonna—”

“There’s a nursery. Karga cleared it,” Mando reaches down and scoops up the kid. 

“Gotcha,” your voice already sounds clearer. You reach out a hand for Mando to pull you up, he obliges. The blankets fall from where they’ve pooled around your lap as you do.

You pad down the length of the hull towards the fresher, your hips sway with the movement as you lift an arm to continue rubbing the sleep from your face. The shorts you’re wearing are a few sizes too big, you have them rolled twice at the waistband to keep them up. Mando looks away sharply once he notices. 

“Alright womp rat, how does some dinner sound?” Mando smiles to himself when the kid gives an impatient squeak. “Yeah, yeah okay alright. I’m the worst caregiver in the galaxy, I know.” The child keeps giggling as Mando makes his way into the cockpit.

Mando is running through some of the Crest’s vitals on the command board when he hears you climbing up the ladder.

“Do you think this would be okay, for the racetrack?” There’s a certain timid quality to your voice he doesn’t think he’s heard before. You have also literally never asked him for approval on something, so he’s already a bit surprised before he turns to look at you. 

The clothes you chose were simple, a fitted long sleeve and a pair of loose-fitting pants long enough to at least partially conceal your work boots. It shouldn’t have felt like much of a departure from your usual roster of outfits because it really wasn’t, but for some reason there’s something different about it that he can’t put his finger on.

You have your hair piled on top of your head in a bun. With it pulled back like that, all attention is drawn to the canvas of your neck, your delicate throat that gently eases into the soft planes of your face. There’s a nonchalant beauty to you that sucks all previous thoughts straight from his head.

“You might want to bring something warmer, a jacket or something.” He turns back to the command board, desperate to look busy and hide how long he looked for. “Temperatures drop on Cantonica as soon as the sun starts setting.”

“Oops—yep. Desert planet. I forgot,” you sigh. He hears the sound of your boots scaling the ladder back down.

He purposefully doesn’t look up when you enter the cockpit again, when you announce you’re ready he nods curtly, making brief but direct eye contact with you before setting a quick pace out of the Crest and into the streets of Canto Bight.

The nursery is tucked away, out of reach and notice, protection guaranteed. He leads you through a series back-street passages to get there, too nervous about the attention the three of you would get with the kid and the main roads. You carry him against your hip most of the way, occasionally adjusting the little hood you’ve fashioned to cover his most distinguishable features with every person you pass. 

The door is nondescript, positioned in the alleyway behind a semi-busy restaurant. Mando can sense your apprehension the second he steps up to press the buzzer. Within seconds, there’s the sound of a series of bolts unlocking.

A warm faced woman opened the door, wearing the clean white uniform of a nurse. “When Karga called in I hardly believed it,” her voice is light, but there’s a grating, nervous squeak to it that makes Mando scowl. Maybe it was just the day he was having, but just about anything was able to set him off.

Mando and the nurse exchange a few blunt words about pricing and care. He winces, slightly, at the cost, but it’s not anything either of you could notice. Right as Mando is about to turn to take the kid from your arms, you speak up.

“Is this… safe?” You ask again, holding the kid a little tighter to your chest. He realizes that it’s the first time since you’ve joined them that you’re separating from the kid, Mando thinks his anxiety is partially feeding off of yours. 

“Karga gave me his word. It’ll only be for a few hours.” Mando glances at the nurse, who was giving the two of you her very best customer service smile. “C’mon pal,” Mando nods towards the nurse. The child’s big eyes stare apprehensively up at you, then at Mando. One of his small hands unfixes itself from your shirt to reach out towards the bounty hunter. The nurse clucks her tongue, her hands on her hips.

“Someone seems like he’s already gonna miss his daddy.”

His stomach drops without warning. “I’m not his father.” The correction is biting in a way he doesn’t intend it to be. He’s vividly aware of your sharp inhale at his words. The nurse looks startled for a half second before blinking her eyes and retaining composure.

“Yes, yes of course,” she stretches out a hand as an offering of assurance towards the child, who has resumed clinging to the fabric of your shirt. “Hey little guy, c’mon. I’ve got a lot of friends for you to play with, and some snacks. You like the sound of that?” 

Mando catches your smile at the child’s ears flicking with interest, despite the fact that his hands are still firmly attached to you. Mando mutters something under his breath before taking the child from you, handing him off to the nurse and trying to push down the terrible feeling it gives him hearing the kid give a small whimper as the two of you walk away.

The racetrack is down a major boulevard, towering sandstone buildings line either side, their circular doors illuminated by bands of glowing yellow neon. The streets are a different kind of polished stone that makes Mando’s skin absolutely crawl for not discernible reason.

He thinks you’ve caught on to his worsening mood because you try to keep the conversation warm and light in a way he’s never seen you do before. Your eyes are fixed to a constant arcing movement, taking in as much of it as you can, but your mouth keeps moving about anything but Canto Bight. You avoidance just draws more focus towards the situation at hand, but he appreciates the effort.

When the two of you reach the racetrack, you stop talking completely as you scale the stands. You and Mando settle on two chairs pulled up to a tiny table, overlooking the standing room crowd below. Mando faces the crowds more than the track itself, however you angle your chair so that you can look at the racing fathiers with ease. Eventually you turn away, grimacing.

“What is it?” He asks, out of curiosity as well as a desire to fill the silence.

“They’re so beautiful,” you cast one more glance over the track as the group rumbles past to the sharp roar of the crowd. “But they look so sad.” You keep looking at the beasts for a beat longer before fixing your gaze to your hands clasped in your lap.

Mando finds his words slowly. “This planet… this amount of abundance. There is always a cost. They always make someone else pay.”

You wince, shifting your body so you’re only facing Mando and the expanse of the crowd that’s over his shoulder. You don’t look at the track for a while after that, purposefully keeping your body turned to keep your gaze away.

Mando finds fleeting solace in the fact that he was at least able to keep you away from the fighting ring, which is quickly replaced by guilt in exposing you to a similar cruelty in a less bloody form. He does his best to remind himself that you mentioned wanting to see the races previously, that the indecipherable emotion on your face was not entirely his fault.

 The wait spans an hour. The tension in Mando’s shoulders grows with each passing minute.

 “He isn’t coming,” Mando eventually grits out. “It’s… Maker I—”

 Jobs have started off way worse than this, he’s not sure why he’s allowing all of it to get under his skin. It’s this damn city, something about it makes him feel like there is a knifepoint digging between his ribs.

 You tap his hand lightly. Twice, with your index and middle fingers. It happens so quickly he’s almost able to believe he’s imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still adjusting your hands in your lap after your hand had retreated. As if you didn’t know what possessed you to do that, either.

 “Hey. It’s fine. It’ll work itself out, yeah?” You maneuver your head to stare directly into his visor. For some reason that alone is infinitely more intimate than your brief touch. “We can just stay here for a bit longer in case the informant shows up, then pick up the kid, grab something to eat and hunker down in the Crest. Tomorrow’s a new day, or whatever.”

Mando looks you over, then nods.

 The sun is setting on the horizon, the tracks illuminated by the last vestiges of its light. This is the beginning of most everyone’s day, yet the drinks are already flowing, and have been for quite some time.

 There are far too many extravagant outfits, ridiculous little hats barely teetering on large skulls. The roar of the crowd grows with their drunkenness, the races becoming crueler the more the stands fill. Mando will never understand the value in any of this and he’s genuinely not sure what’s worse—the icy coolness of the fighting rink or whatever all this is.

 “Who’s the quarry?” You blink up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

 “Tyreus Cavill. Some filthy rich kid who doesn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s taunting the Gild to the point of insult,” Mando rubs his hand over the brow of his helm. “It’s been confirmed that he’s supposed to be at some kind of party tonight. That was just about the only information I could get.”

 “Was that why Karga mentioned deep cover?”

 Mando nods. “He said it would be my most viable option, which doesn’t make any kind of sense. Especially with no pre-existing contacts that could get me any intel on where he’s hiding.”

 You speak up after a while. Mando isn’t sure how long, too comfortable in the silence as is.

“You know my mother worked for the Alderaanian court?” You say it softly, quickly looking at the racetrack to avoid drawing attention to your words. You’re kneading the hem of your sweater, a nervous tick of yours he couldn’t help but notice. “I still remember all the things she had to teach me when we went to dinners at the homes of the survivors, the etiquette and everything. I’m positive it’s much of the same, here. All this,” you twirl your index finger in the air, gesturing to the whole of the track and presumably what lay beyond. “Seems very familiar. I could help, if you need it.” 

“Your mother?”

“She was the court singer--or, well, one of them,” your voice is tense. “My father was a professor. I don’t remember a lot, just that they loved me very much.” Your eyes are searching the crowd in some desperate search for something, he’s not sure what. Probably for any kind of distraction, or any reason to keep your eyes away from his. He waits in silence, patiently. “They moved to a different planet to have me, a few years before the annihilation, there were a few other survivors who were off planet when it happened. I remember my parents hosting them, and they us, on a few occasions. It was always a multi-day affair of trying to remind me what proper manners were.” You wrinkle your nose. “It’s all very stupid, if you ask me. But,” you turn your head finally and look at him evenly. “I can—”

Mando watches as your gaze floats to a space just above his left shoulder. Your entire body visibly tenses, lips parted in what he can only think is total shock. Your hands drop the edge of your shirt and hover in your lap, as if you don’t know what to do with them.

Before Mando can ask what is wrong, you’re getting up from the table and pushing through the crowd. It takes him a beat to register what has just happened before he is up and following after you, making considerably better time in catching up given the fact that the crowd seems to naturally part for him. He almost reaches out to touch you, but instead settles for aiding your pursuit by keeping pace and staying at your side, clearing a path for you with his body and an outstretched arm to motion people to the side.

“What is it?” He tries to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard, his head in a constant survey of the crowds before you. You shake your head and keep pushing forward, higher into the stands, swerving around servers with platters stacked high with strange looking drinks. “Hey—if we go any further we’d need clearance—" the higher in the stands, the richer the patrons get. They wouldn’t let either of you in without identification after the eighth flight, which you’d just swiftly pushed past. Mando checks over his shoulder and, sure enough, a server is murmuring something to a guard droid, pointing up at you.

You’re so far up by that time that you have at least a minute until the droid catches up with the two of you. You climb onto one of the raised platforms dotted with various aristocratic parties, dining over bright white table cloths, centerpieces of bizarre orange flowers bursting through the tables. You make a beeline for the centermost table, where a Twi’lek woman is dining with an Abednedo and a human male.

You approach the Twi’lek in three swift strides, grabbing her shoulder. “Febhana.”

When the woman turns, standing, there’s a kind of wide-eyed shock of absolute wonder that immediately turns into pure joy. The two of you leap into one another’s arms in a cacophony of ecstatic, indistinguishable sounds. One of some long awaited reunion.

The Twi’lek woman, Febhana, holds your face in her hands, yours slide over hers. There are tears in her eyes as the two of your chatter over one another in breathless delight. 

“I thought you—”

“I had no idea that—”

“I’ve tried to find—”

 You both cut each other off, staring into one another’s eyes before laughing again and embracing tightly.

 From over your shoulder, Febhana gives Mando one of the quickest, scathing once-overs he’s ever received. He can’t help but automatically have a little bit of respect for it, especially compared to the terrified, diverted eyes of her companions.

 “Who is this?” She asks, pulling away from your embrace slightly. You open your mouth to respond but she’s already babbling over your warmly. “Oh! No. Don’t tell me. Not yet. Let’s do this over drinks at mine—please. Please indulge me. Maker, look at you.”

 You let loose a laugh Mando doesn’t think he’s heard before. A certain tonal quality of complete release, familiarity. You nod as Febhana clasps your face between her hands again, in marvel. Mando doesn’t blame her, with that look of utter joy on your face he’d—

Well.

“Do excuse us,” Febhana swiftly addresses her dinner mates, they nod and mutter forgiveness, eyes still fixed to the ground. Mando knows for a fact that at least one of them has a fob on them by the tight anxiety exchanged in their brief glances towards one another. He ignores it for the sake of maintaining the moment between you and your friend.

 Mando trails behind the two of you by a few paces. As Febhana guides you through the crowds, she waves off the guard droid with an elegantly manicured hand.

**

Febhana’s apartment could be considered a house twice over by Mando’s book. She leads you and him through so many tall-ceilinged hallways and rooms to get to the… lounge, he guesses would be a proper term for it… that he genuinely can’t remember where the entrance is.

The room contains a bar stocked better than any cantina on Nevarro, a few odd pieces of furniture, and a large fireplace. Heavy, dark blue curtains hang from windows so tall he has to crane his head upwards to see the top. He guesses the luxury is communicated through the refusal to occupy the space with much else, despite the fact that it could be considered a small banquet hall.

Febhana makes you and her drinks while you settle on one of the sloping, white couches, scanning the room in the same way Mando has been, with a little more plain wonder in your eyes.

Mando hovers on the periphery, unsure of where to place himself until you motion him over to sit on one of the opposing chairs, equally abstract as the rest of the furniture. Febhana settles across from you on the couch, handing you your drink before leaning back and kicking off her heels.

The two of you are in a constant chatter that has so many names and dates and overlapping speech that Mando has a difficult time keeping up. What he does catch is limited and mostly inferred: the two of you escaped from the same warlord at different times, Febhana was able to scale the social ranks of Canto Bight with ease and an inherited wallet--most importantly, the two of your missed each other very much.

It’s been at least an hour since the three of you sat down when Febhana directly addresses Mando for the first time.

“And what are you doing here, Mandalorian?” 

Mando feels your eyes on him, burning, as you take a sip of your cocktail. 

“She saved my life,” he manages as a straightforward reply. “I’ve hired her as a medic.”

“Febhana,” you say. When you’re slightly tipsy like this, you have a breathless wonder in the way you go about describing things. “It’s… it’s been so good. I’ve been practicing all these languages and… Maker, all the places I’ve been. It’s just like you described, when we would tell each other stories to go to sleep. Everything’s so big and there are so many people.”

Febhana throws back her head in a laugh, nodding. “Well I know that, darling. Oh, stars, it’s so good to look at you again.”

You and Febhana go back and forth a while longer still, Mando happily settles into the rhythm of it. There’s the warm, familiar way women get so engrossed in one another that he finds completely novel, if not enviable. It softens something in him to see you so relaxed as you prompt Febhana to detail her exploits, the excited yip you make when she flashes you the wedding band strung on a series of thin gold chains looped around her neck.

Then again, the way the two of you seem so physically intimate occasionally makes something in his chest constrict uncomfortably. He isn’t sure where it comes from, all the little touches you give each other seem to come from a place of purely platonic joy in reunion. But there’s a little jolt in his stomach whenever he sees it happen. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it as jealousy, but… she gets to feel you. So unabashedly.

At some point there’s a lull in the conversation. You take this moment to stretch your arm across the couch, clasping Febhana’s hands in your own. “We’re actually here for a specific reason,” you say. “And I’m only asking you out of genuine, pure desperation—Mando… has a job, here. That’s gotten a little tricky. The bounty is on the head of Tyreus Cavill.” Febhana’s eyes widen considerably, but other than that she maintains composure. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He needs to find him, Febhana—there’s intel that he’s supposed to be at some kind of event. Possibly tonight.” You glance up at Mando to check if you’re getting the details right, he gives you brief nod of assurance when you do. “Do you know anything about it?”

Febhana scoffs, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from yours to grab her drink resting on the low glass table in front of you. “If you’re referring to what I think you are, it would be the Gathering of Rams, one of the most exclusive events hosted on Canto. I’d imagine that’s why he’d dare show his face, even with the price on his head. Unless you already have an in, you’re fucked, Mandalorian. That place is more fortified than a warship.”

You visibly deflate. “What do you mean?”

“It’s an old, and I mean old, money tradition. A dinner for just about every despicable person in the galaxy. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on, definitely some serious cult-y type shit, oaths, rituals, the like.” She chews on a nail as she thinks. Something in her eyes lights up. “Wait. I think I… yes! Yes, I got the announcement a few weeks ago. Stars I think—” she looks down at the device on the inside of her wrist, tapping on it until—“Christ you two are the luckiest couple of bounty hunters in the galaxy, you know that? The Tagges are hosting the afterparty, tonight. The most eligible of all of Canto Bight will be there, and then some. I was invited a few weeks ago, I’d completely forgotten. With any luck he’ll be dumb and drunk enough after the Gathering to go.”

“The Tagges?” Your voice is filled with apprehension. You glance to Mando, then quickly back to your friend. “Febhana, there’s no way he can get in.”

“Hm, I’d think so too but there could be a chance…” Her eyes narrow, her face breaking into a toothy grin. “No, I’m a complete idiot. Maker, this is gonna be perfect--most of the ladies in waiting here dress their guard droids as glorified curtains. It’s a new thing if you get what I’m saying. If we go in together and disguise the Mandalorian as even more of a hunk of metal than he already is—” Mando grunts at the slight jab—“all one of us would have to do is get the target by himself with a little eye-batting and it would be a done deal.” 

You and Mando speak in unison.

“I am not going to be a honeypot.”

“She will not.”

 Febhana raises a brow, one side of her mouth pulling up in poorly concealed amusement.

“Oh I suggested no such thing, I’d happily volunteer. But I do need a wing-woman, for appearance’s sake. I am taken, you know,” she flashes the wedding band again, pulling the collar of her dress down a fraction to do so. “Would be unbecoming to go on the prowl in public like that without pretending like I was just assisting.”

Mando glances over at you, trying to gauge your reaction to her proposal before he came off as to overbearing. He didn’t have the right to, he knows that. But there’s some raw part of him that winces at the very thought of you and your safety getting involved in one of his jobs. Maker if you got hurt in any way—

Febhana’s voice breaks his thought before it can be fully formed. “Oh, this is going to be excellent.” She practically purrs, jumping off the couch and extending her hand towards you to help you up. You comply, giving Mando a raised-brow glance of well, let’s see where this goes.

As Febhana begins leading you across the room, Mando stands.

“Should I contact the nursery to let them know to keep the child overnight?”

“The child?” Febhana’s eyes flick between you and Mando quickly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You curse under your breath, pressing your hand against your forehead. “A kid we’re looking after,” you clarify for Febhana. “I’m so sorry Mando, I got excited so it completely slipped my mind. I…” you bite your lip. “If you feel like it would be safe doing that I… guess that should be fine.”

“My wife could also look after it,” Febhana regards Mando evenly for a moment. “If you’re worried about safety. Would that be sufficient?”

Your eyes brighten slightly, glancing at Mando, tilting your head in question.

Mando nods, addressing Febhana directly. “If she trusts you, I do. I can travel back and get him while the two of you get ready.”

“I’ll send a car for you,” Febhana throws the remark over her shoulder, already busying herself by flinging the double doors that lead into the hallway back open.

You inhale sharply as if remembering something, tapping your friend on the shoulder before she begins to walk down the hall. “Wait, Febhana—the car, is there maybe a taxi service you could call? With an actual driver? He… we don’t really ‘do’ droids, if possible.” 

“I have an ‘actual’ driver, darling,” Febhana playfully chides. Her eyes flick towards Mando. “I’ll ring him, he’ll be downstairs in a moment. You remember where the entrance is, right?” 

Your delicate rephrasing, that “we,” rings in Mando’s ears for the entire trip back to the nursery. 

Mando quickly returns with the child, slightly weirded out by the enclosed landspeeder Febhana sent for him. It’s unlike anything he’d seen before, more like a carriage than any hover-craft he’d ever set foot in. There’s a dividing curtain between the passenger cabin and the driver’s seat, which he has pushed away to make sure the silent man at the wheel doesn’t try anything. 

The driver has a stony demeanor that seems very similar to Febhana’s—she clearly wasn’t one to suffer fools, and the people she surrounded herself with seemed to reflect that. Thinking back to the way you initially interacted with Mando, he could potentially see how your shared history with Febhana could have informed that. The characteristic briskness, the unflinching resolve. 

The child spends most of the returning trip chattering in relief, little hands reaching out to touch Mando’s beskar in a continuous greeting.

“Right here, kid. Always right here,” he affectionately rubs the corner of the child’s ear. There’s a heavy guilt that had settled itself in the bottom of Mando’s stomach since dropping him off.

He wants to apologize in some way, to blame it on his mood or the mounting anxiety surrounding the job, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete jackass. So he settles for bowing his helm to bump foreheads with the kid in a small display of reassurance. It seems to settle something in both him and the child almost immediately.

Mando glances up sharply, nearly forgetting the parted dividing curtain. The man, a wiry looking human male, glances back at the two of them through the thin pane of the rearview mirror, then returns to chain smoking while wildly maneuvering his way through traffic. 

The hover-car’s abrupt stop breaks him from his thoughts. He glances out the window, recognizing Febhana’s apartment building. The entire block is in a similar style as the boulevard you both had walked down earlier, circular doors outlined by bands of glowing yellow light. The only difference were the towering, wrought iron gates in front of each building and a set of tall stairs made of the same sandstone leading up to each house. The driver gets out and opens the landspeeder’s door for Mando and the kid, then steps forward and unlocks the gate, holding it open for the two of them.

“Sir.” The driver’s voice is more of a growl. If it weren’t for the enhanced settings of Mando’s visor, it would be too dark to see the mass of scar tissue that formed a jagged line across the man’s throat. The old wound is only partially concealed by the lapel of his coat pulled up against the drizzling rain. He’s abnormally tall, so thin that it looks as if his skull is actively attempting to escape his face. “Febhana’s apartment is the third buzzer. The service droid will let you in. She told me you should follow it.” The cigarette balancing against his lip bobs as he speaks, his heavy drawl disrupted only in part by his eviscerated voice box.

Mando’s lip curls slightly but he nods, thanking the driver, ducking out of the hover-car and climbing the steps leading to the apartment’s door.

Just as the driver said, the front door of Febhana’s apartment is opened by a droid. Mando stiffens despite the fact that the thing just barely reaches his knee. It gives off a series of little sounds before turning away and maneuvering down the front hall. Muttering something unsavory about Canto Bight under his breath, Mando follows it inside.

When he arrives at the threshold of Febhana’s dressing room, she’s only just started pulling out dresses for you to try on. He deflates slightly, really hoping that the two of you would have gotten this part over with so he could begin scoping out the Tagge mansion as soon as possible.

Mando accepts his fate and seats himself for the time being, placing the kid on the ground to let him toddle over to you. You lean down immediately and scoop him up, lifting him in the air with a happy: “Hey, stinky!” The child giggles as you snuggle him to your chest, pressing kisses all over his face in reunion. 

You keep gently playing with the kid as you and Febhana resume your conversation: wiggling your fingers over his face for him to grab, tickling his tummy, gently pinching his socked feet. It’s something you sink into so naturally Mando can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It calms something in him, to see both of you like that. He pushes the implications of that feeling away for the time being, as he always does.

Febhana gives the kid a bit of a once-over but looks overall disinterested, turning her attention back to rummage through her closet. “So it’s supposed to be a formal dance, but if it’s anything like the similar things I’ve gone to, that shit quickly disintegrates. But it’s still weirdly important for them to keep up the illusion of appearances, even though most rooms with closeable doors are occupied by people railing lines or fucking. Or both. Usually both.” The Twi’lek woman plucks out some kind of red, silken shift, holding it in the air then shaking her head and returning to her hunt. “I’ve been to enough Tagge parties to be a familiar face, we can play you off as an old friend of mine, some kind of lady-in-waiting thing or whatever. Crowds like these don’t tend to prod too deeply into personal histories, and with tits like yours I don’t think they’ll be interested in asking too many questions.”

Mando clenches his jaw so hard something starts hurting. You give a bit of an embarrassed laugh, quickly diverting the conversation. “So how do we get introduced to Cavill?”

 “Honestly? The easiest thing to do would be getting you to snuggled up with one of his friends. He runs around with a group of bachelors who are not… pleasant company by any standards. Snotty rich kids,” she makes a face. “But if that’s not an option I could try to push some of my contacts there to get us into their circle. Seriously, darling, with men like this involved it is probably going to be one of the easiest bounties he’s ever going to collect.”

The strain being placed on every cell in Mando’s body in response to this conversation alone says the exact opposite.

Febhana continues pulling out dresses, layering some over a bench and discarding others all together.

“Febhana, will they know?” You ask it suddenly, your tone—not tense, necessarily, but definitely controlled, as if you were expecting an answer you didn’t want to hear but were willing to take regardless.

“It’s the Tagge family, so of course they know what happened to that fucker, but I don’t think they would care,” she waves off your fearful tone with a shake of her head. “Just as long as we make a bit of an effort to conceal your identity, for formality’s sake, it’ll be fine.”

“What happened to who?” Mando asks. Once he does, all the air is immediately sucked out of the room.

After an extended moment. “You didn’t tell him?” Febhana’s head cocks, you visibly swallow.

“I um…” your nostrils flare with the sharp inhale you take as you search for the right words. “When I escaped…”

Febhana interrupts. “She stabbed the shit out of the warlord who owned us. All his wife found was pulp. Didn’t take it well, the cunt. Nearly catatonic. The rest of us were able to practically waltz out of there because of this one. Owe this gorgeous bitch my life. All of us do.”

You smile at Febhana, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She winks at you, covering it with her own before turning to go rifle back through her closet. You keep your gaze to your hands when she does, lips pressed together. Mando doesn’t remove his eyes from you as Febhana continues. 

“So it might be a little difficult getting her in there, but to be honest the Tagges hated him anyway. Rival business type stuff, though, not the whole holding women captive or worker’s rights violations and debt bondage thing,” her voice drips with a kind of contempt that Mando prays he’ll never have directed his way. He notices your hands tighten slightly from where they lay in your lap, your arms loosely looped around the kid who now sits upright in your lap. “I know someone who can forge some papers well enough to present to the guards, he owes me some favors anyway,” Febhana continues. “They’ll be ready by the time we have to leave. Doll you up enough and I’m sure it’ll be fine—ah!” It is only then that Mando looks back over to the Twi’lek woman. Her eyes are lit up, fanged mouth pulled upwards in a triumphant smile. The dress in her hand is a deep plum color, fabric so thin he cannot make out what it actually looks like without a form to fill it. You reach out to it, rubbing the dress between your thumb and index finger.

“Perfect.” You and Febhana say it in unison, your widest smile of the night parted up at her. There’s a delighted, mischievous tilt to your mouth he’s never seen before.

Mando swallows, despite the sudden tightness in his throat. 

He waits outside while the two of you change, sitting on a strange tufted seat pushed against the hallway’s bay window. It’s piled with an obnoxious amount of silken pillows—it seems the longer you’ve been with him, the more surfaces his beskar encounters that it never would have otherwise. A part of him is able to find the humor of that, despite the discomfort of feeling wildly out of place in your friend’s luxurious home. He settles with his legs slightly spread, back hunched to brace his elbows against the tops of his beskar-clad thighs.

After about thirty minutes, a woman comes down the hall, absentmindedly cleaning a pair of large-framed glasses with the corner of her sweater, a thick, leather-bound book tucked under one arm. She looks as out of place in this hallway as he does—more like a Galactic librarian than a resident of an apartment like this. She puts her glasses back on and stops in her tracks once she sees him.

“Who are you?”

Mando clears his throat. “A friend of Febhana’s.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Yes, I am--well. A friend of a friend.”

Her eyes narrow quizzically. “I’ve been married to that woman for five years now. I think I would know if she had a Mandalorian as a ‘friend of a friend.’”

As if on cue, Febhana emerges from the beaded curtain suspended over the entrance of her dressing room, barefoot and wearing a blue gown. She pads over to the woman, something bulky tucked under one arm, the other carrying the child in a sleeping bundle. Febhana places him in her wife’s arms delicately. “Lovely, we’re just getting ready for the party. Don’t mind her play-thing,” she tilts her head towards Mando without directly looking at him. “He’s just here for decoration.” 

Mando physically bites his tongue.

Febhana’s wife glances at Mando, before leaning up to gently kiss Febhana. “Alright, I’ll be in the study. Wake me when you get back.”

Febhana cups her wife’s face gently. It’s such an intimate gesture that Mando looks away, feeling as though his presence alone is an interruption. The couple talks quietly for a moment, then her wife exits through the same door she came in from.

“Here is the guard’s uniform. The measurements should be right,” Febhana stands in front of Mando, handing him folded pieces of dark fabric, and then a helm. It’s two halves of a black metal shell meant to fit and tighten over the face of a droid. There’s a thick pane of darkened glass cutting through the middle of the mask, presumably to not disrupt a droid’s sensors but it will render Mando’s absolutely useless. This night just keeps getting better and better.

The whole thing is not something Mando has ever seen before, though he was never one to frequent circles like Febhana’s. The only distinguishable features are symmetrical dips cutting severe cheekbones into the object’s silhouette. Two fixed pieces of gilded metal form a swooping triangle that hovers just over where his nose will be under the helmet’s featureless surface. Looping, thin chains dripping from the decorative structure to partially conceal the mask’s lower half. When he holds it up in the low light of the hallway, their movement creates glinting waves of light.  

All of it is purely flare, for the most part. At least the tailor made plenty room for armor beneath the--as Febhana put it--glorified curtains usually meant to conceal a droid. He heaves a sigh, taking the uniform from her. “This is the only option?”

Febhana shrugs. “Unless you want me and your girl going in by ourselves and trying to lure him out to you--which is certainly an option--yes.”

“She isn’t ‘my girl.’”

“Oh, trust me,” her smile is biting. “I know that.” She tilts her head towards the dressing room. “C’mon, the pretty one is almost done. You can use my room to change.”

When he enters, you’re seated at Febhana’s vanity. All the air is sucked out of his lungs.

The dress is really nothing more than a series of gauze-like drapes that spill from your body and pool onto the floor. The expanse of your back is completely exposed, the dress only resuming to cover you right above the base of your spine. One long piece of fabric serves as the illusion of sleeves, cinched at the swooping neckline by delicate, medallion-like embellishments that rest at the dip of both shoulders. The sleeves’ near-transparent fabric are fixed to ovular gold rings you have on the middle fingers of both hands.

Mando watches the fabric shift over the bend of your arm as you use said finger to swipe a little pigment on your lips. It glistens in the mirror he looks at you through. In that initial moment of deep focus, you have the severe look of a high official’s wife. Utterly untouchable. The most beautiful creature he’s ever witnessed.

His entrance breaks your concentration, you smile up at him, warmly, through the mirror.

“I’m almost done,” your voice breaks him from his stupor. Your other hand dips a small brush into a pot of powder. You dab it under your eyes and then stand, going to a crystalline bar cart and spraying some kind of perfume on your neck.   

Febhana steps into the room behind him. After a moment Mando finds his voice.

“And you said she isn’t supposed to be the honeypot?” It’s hard to keep the pain out of his voice as he says it. At this point it’s like the two of you are actively trying to kill him.

Febhana laughs, and the smile you give him is expansive yet strangely private at the same time. As if you and him were in on some secret, some inside joke. You cross the room and pat him lightly on the shoulder twice, before moving him aside in order to link arms with Febhana.

The two of you leave the room, picking up whatever conversation you were having before Febhana left to give Mando his things. He stands there until his heartbeat steadies, then moves behind the wooden room partition to put the uniform on.

It’s going to be a long night.

**

a/n: mando, babes, u don’t even know the half of it

jokes aside i am so excited for the next chapter you guys have no idea how much fun this is to write !! love a good ol’ fancy party w a bunch of degenerates. 

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar​

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed!

[hobblywobbly]

i thought we'd fight side by side forever (thor & loki)

in which thor encounters his brother on a service station in space and comes to a decision

No, this cannot be right. It is impossible.

He saw Thanos kill him and the ship that had exploded leaving not even a single strand of hair behind. There had been no illusion, no trick. He remembers the way he broke down when Tony had told him they could only bring back those who had been snapped and not those before, begging, pleading for another way, anything so that he could hug his brother one final time. Five years Thor spent his days wallowing away, and yet the wound is still fresh.

He remembers how as the dust settled amongst the rubble he waited. Waited for a miracle Thor knew was never happening. Thor doesn’t know how long he stood waiting with bated breath, hoping that the wizard’s portals had simply been late, that any second now Loki and Heimdall will appear before him breathing, hearts beating. It’s only when Bruce had clutched his shoulder gently, eyes shimmering with understanding, that Thor accepted the truth.

“I get it, you know,” Quill had said as the two sat in the cockpit. After a rather grueling battle of rock-paper-lasers, Thor allowed Quill to pilot the ship as captain. At least for the day. The rest of the Guardians were asleep in their respective seats, Rocket cuddling with one of his many guns, Mantis’s head leaning against Drax’s thigh as he snores loudly, Groot’s gameboy beeping loudly while he dozes, leaving only them two awake. “For me, it feels like yesterday that Gamora-” he cuts off shortly. “But there’s gotta be a way for us to bring them back. I just know it.”

And if this had been five years ago, Thor would have agreed without a doubt in his mind. There were powers in this universe not even Thanos knew of, and if he sought hard enough then he’d eventually find the answer. But he is not the young, hopeful fool he had been then. He has time to mourn, to grieve, to accept what was.

Perhaps it is just one of this universe’s many coincidences. It was not the first time Thor has seen someone with his brother’s likeness. He also knows that Loki would never visit some dingy service station. Standards and all that. There is also the possibility that the eye Rocket gave him is malfunctioning again. Yes, that would be the logical conclusion. If they were not in such a crowded space he would’ve removed the eye then to avoid further headaches.

He watches as this Loki look-alike grins at something his silver-haired companion says, mismatched eyes curling at the corners mirroring his smile, and tips back his head.

And Thor hears a sound he hasn’t heard in centuries.

He hears Loki’s laugh.

Not one of his mischievous laughs or out of malice, no, a real, genuine laugh. One born of joy and mirth. One that has not been heard ever since the divide between them as brothers had been placed. Even though the raucous chatter and mediocre music, Thor’s ears catch the rare sound.

(“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Loki wheezes. The boy leans his back against the tree for balance as his skinny arms wrap around his stomach. Thor grunts from where he sits in the fountain, glaring past drenched blonde locks toward his cackling brother. Yet despite his annoyance, he can’t help the fond smile that stretches across his face. Loki’s laughter has always been his one weakness. For someone so good at concealing their emotions, his laugh was the window to his soul, vulnerable and honest. He wipes a tear from his eye.)

The laugh is in his eyes, in the way his face changes into that of relaxed joy and unrestrained mirth. Loki looks so alive at that moment under the neon fluorescent lights. A glimpse into a far-forgotten past when he had been blind to the cruelties of the universe. Before he had been burdened with a glorious purpose that would only lead to his own suffering and death all so that Thor could live. In a time when he had simply just been Loki, free and untethered.

The smile he offers his partner is much softer than his usual performative ones, close-lipped, dimples showing. His features relax a bit and he looks down and away from whomever he’s talking to, almost as if he’s feeling a bit timid as if he were still adjusting to expressing such emotions. It’s such a rare sight that Thor only recalls ever seeing once. A time where everything has settled down around them, the battle is behind them, and they were to see what laid in the future for them together. A time in which Loki had let his guard down around Thor and let his emotions shine.

Maybe that is what has Thor realizing something about Loki is different.

They may have had their differences, but if anyone knew Loki then it was Thor. It’s the small things that tip him off such as the way Loki holds himself, relaxed against the bar rather than trying to look superior to the ones around him, how the lines of stress that have developed over the years are no longer there, and most importantly, the missing scar from when Thor pushed Loki out of the alien spaceship on their escape from Asgard.

For some reason, he is reminded of Bruce’s briefing before they time traveled.

(“And remember that the ones we see in this timeline aren’t the same ones we know. We may be visiting somewhere familiar, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be the same.”)

Time travel. Out of everything Thor has witnessed, that was one of the few he still could not wrap his head around entirety. He’s glad Tony and Bruce had been there to figure it out for him. He recalls his mother and the way she smiled at him, the golden light pouring over her shoulders, small hands holding his just as she did when he was a child.

Thor knows, then, that this is not his Loki. It is Loki, yes, but not the same one he fought side by side against their sister in an attempt to save their home. Vaguely, he recalls Scott explaining how they botched their grab on the space stone and allowed the Loki of that timeline to escape. Yes, if anyone were to break the rules of the universe and prevail, it would be his brother.

His hands twitch at his sides.

It is taking every ounce of self-restraint not to rush over there and pull his brother into a crushing hug. He could vividly imagine Loki’s reaction of pure bafflement as Thor lifts him off the ground in the tightest hug possible and spins. He’d be grinning and laughing and crying all the same whilst twirling them around because; “you’re alive, brother! You’re alive!”

How he would commit this all to memory because the last time he held his brother had been when he was painfully dying, unable to utter a single word or move, succumbing to the confines of space because death would be mercy rather than living after witnessing his entire world crash and burn around him. Thor would introduce Loki to his new friends, and in exchange be introduced to his, feeling that flutter of warmth in his chest that had died so, so long ago.

(“But at the end of the day you’re you, and I’m me. And, I don’t know, maybe there is still good in you. But let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago.”)

Loki may have changed his mind about staying on Sakaar, but Thor fears if this Loki follows him once more his fate will end the same. Perhaps it is better this way. Two strangers on different paths that may never converge.

They will always be brothers, yet no matter how much they try there will always be animosity between them, a feud, lingering anger or grudge from the past. Thor watches how Loki interacts with the man wondering if this could have been his Loki’s outcome if not for him.

An elbow jabs into his back.

“Hey, we’re just about finished here,” Quill says and Thor wonders just how long he’s been spacing out for. “Come on, let's get back to the ship before people realize who we are. We’re not exactly...welcomed in this region.”

“This time it wasn’t my fault.” Rocket chimes, passing by the two flanked by Groot.

Thor looks past the sea of heads toward the bar. Just a few steps is all it would take to close the distance. It was never heard to garner Loki’s attention. He’d willingly accept a knife in the back if it just meant hearing Loki say his name again. He’s sure the Guardians would understand after having lost each other time and time again. Quill is watching him and Thor wonders what he’d do in his place.

He feels Mantis grab his hand in both her petite ones as she would when he’d awake screaming, the phantom pain of drifting in space sucking the air straight out of his lungs, the tears that stung in his eyes. Her eyes are full of understanding, antennas glowing gently, and Thor is glad to have a friend by his side in a time like this. He’s glad to have all of them.

Maybe it’s time he moves on.

“I’m ready.”

[hellowkatey]

angstpril day 16: silence

Only a Moment Later

"Status, Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice crackles through the commlink with a pointed pitch Anakin knows well. High-speed pursuits are probably his master's least favorite activities, even though on Coruscant it's difficult to classify this as "high speed". Medium-speed at best.

"He's keeping his distance, master. Not exactly trying to lose us."

"Not everyone knows those fancy maneuvers you like to do so much,"

"I hate to break it to you, but turning is not considered a fancy maneuver."

"I didn't mean-- you know what I meant."

Anakin smiles at the quiet sigh beneath his tone. Jabs at Obi-Wan have gotten so much more satisfying now that he's a knight and can't get lectured about "respecting your master". Maybe if they ever put him on the council he will get to recite the classic speech, but for now, he can get away with a few snide remarks before suspiciously getting assigned to babysit the younglings.

"Yeah, yeah, but this is different. He's just... staying in his lane. Just far enough ahead these kriffing temple speeders can't--"

"Language, Anakin,"

"Are you really concerned about--" he sighs, shaking his head. "These lousy temple speeders can't keep up with that new model City Runner 5000."

"Ah yes, the new model City Runner," Obi-Wan's voice is dripping with sarcasm. "So much stealthier than the 4000."

It is actually, Anakin thinks to himself. Superpowered thrusters they usually put in ships fit for hyperspace. "Point is, it's like he wants us to follow him."

"Perhaps he does."

Anakin glances over his shoulder where Obi-Wan's fighter glides on the outskirts of the Coruscanti traffic lane. He hopes he can see the look he's aiming in his direction, even though he knows that is physically impossible.

"I hate that tone."

"Tone? What tone?"

"You know the one."

"I don't think I have any--"

"The let's-spring-a-trap tone."

He hears Obi-Wan click his tongue, but through the commlink, it just sounds like a burst of static. "I don't think that's a real type of tone, Anakin."

Smug bastard. "And you say I'm reckless."

"You are. Now instead of putting your energy into being cheeky, how about you work on catching up with this spy before he gets away a drive full of battle strategies."

Right, the mission. Anakin grits his teeth and reroutes the backward shields into the thrusters. Obi-Wan will cover him. His ship surges forward, pressing his back into the seat. He weaves through the traffic, doing a few barrel rolls in the process. His former master's sighs are picked up through the commlink, which only makes him push harder.

They reach a six-way junction, and to his dismay, he has to slam on the brakes to avoid colliding with a school transport. Moments later, Obi-Wan's ship comes cruising by his, and he can actually see his smug look across the few meters between them as he passes.

"So much for fancy flying," Obi-Wan says dryly, and Anakin jets out from his momentary backtrack with a new determination. He won't lose this guy.

It doesn't take long to catch up to Obi-Wan. The spy has led them into the shipyard district, and the landscape free of the usual barriers of skyscrapers gives him a whole new playing field to utilize. He presses past Obi-Wan's fighter, leaving him in his exhaust. Anakin accelerates close alongside a shuttle, the spy only a few speeds ahead. If he reroutes the rest of his power from the forward shields-

He only has time to gasp between the moment the Force prickles along his spine, and the moment a fiery explosion erupts from the warehouse located on the other side of the shuttle. His ship dips and is thrown away from the blast, the belly slamming into the side of the shuttle with a force that makes his entire body fold in half and then feel as though it's been torn apart.

And he's rolling, or so it feels like. The shield of his ship has become so cracked it's hard to tell what is outside of the cockpit-- if anything. When he finally comes to a skating stop, he runs his hands down his body, shocked that besides a ringing in his ears and an aggravated welt where his seatbelt held him from flying out of the ship altogether, he seems unscathed.

Then comes the shuttle. Somehow he managed to slide across one of the ship runways ahead of it, but now the massive ship barrels at him with unbridled momentum. It's last-ditch, but he reaches out with every ounce of the Force he can, concentrating on the massive ball of energy surrounding the shuttle. He can slow it but not stop it.

His windows, previously only cracked, now blow out completely, and he grips the handholds of his pilot chair for dear life as he's slammed another few meters.

And then, all is still. Anakin finally senses things have come to a standstill, and he unbuckles from his seat. Standing is iffy at first-- he has to grasp onto the wall of the ship, which he comes to discover is covered in broken glass. As he stands on the dashboard so he can see over the entire area, he wipes the newly shed blood on his robes.

A large fire blazes in the place of the warehouse, and the entire area is filled with the smell of ship fuel. The building itself has been completely decimated. He stares in awe at the various ships that were thrown out of the road, their passengers stumbling out of the wrecks with the same bewilderment as he has, but also mixed with some appropriate hysteria.

And then his heart drops.

Obi-Wan.

Anakin jumps out of his ruined ship, the spy completely forgotten. He starts running, not entirely sure where he's running... where he supposes Obi-Wan's ship would have landed. He was right behind me.

"Obi-Wan!" his voice is hoarse and his voice cracks from the smoke filling the open air.

He was right behind me.

Behind him seems to have caught the brunt of the blast, and Anakin kicks up piles of ash still hot from the explosion as he jogs desperately through the carnage. It's here he stops, turning around in circles continuously in case his former master will suddenly appear in the next rotation.

He's here, he's alive. He has to be here.

Anakin can feel their bond, prominent and frequently used within his mind. Though it's obviously the most logical way to find Obi-Wan, he is hesitant to reach through it.

"Obi-Wan!" he screams again. His voice is accompanied by the sirens quickly approaching, and the screams of the other people mirroring his confused stance. It's too loud. Too busy. I need... I have to--

He shuts his eyes, opens the bond as wide as he can. 'Obi-Wan?'

Silence. Anakin feels like he's choking.

'Obi-Wan, answer me. Tell me where you are, where your ship landed. I know you're okay, I can feel... you have to be okay, Master.'

There is still no reply. No gentle strum along the bond, their usual quiet indication that yes, I'm here and I hear you. Nothing.

So he runs again. It's the only thing he can think to do. He runs, his head on a constant swivel as he takes in the faces of those who survived the crash. He runs through his legs are aching and his body is sore and stiff and his lungs are screaming for him to stop and rest, but he can't because Obi-Wan is here somewhere and he can't say anything but he's here--

He's back near his own ship, which has since erupted in its own flames. How he did a loop, he doesn't know, but for the first time, he notices a darkness a few meters from where he skidded to a halt.

As he walks closer, everything in him tells him to turn around. To walk away.

He doesn't listen.

When Anakin peers over the edge, he peers straight into an aeration vent-- a seemingly bottomless pit that goes all the way to the first level of Coruscant. The ringing in his ears amplifies, feeling as though the air around him is being sucked out by a vacuum.

"Obi-Wan?" he says aloud, barely a whisper as he drops to his knees at the edge of the vent.

There is no response. Only silence.

[clonecaptains]

DELIVER ME - a mandalorian fic 

word count | 5.7k

rating: m for smut; mentions of forced arranged marriage

summary: mandalorian x reader; The Mandalorian is a bounty hunter - and you’re the bounty. You’re set to marry a man you’ve never even met. The Mandalorian is set to deliver you to him, and he will deliver you - but not the way you expect. 

a/n: there’s a handful of planets and places mentioned - none of these are in the star wars universe - i just made them up! also this is my first sw fic - feedback is appreciated~! 

Deliver Me

The wealthy king of Alloral'la has brokered a deal with the Zenkoth system’s dignitary. A trading system will be enacted between the two systems after the king’s daughter marries the dignitary. It’s old-fashioned, but since the Empire has fallen - anything goes.

Only no one bothered to ask you if you wanted to marry this dignitary on another world. And this man is truly despicable.

Where you come from - love, the sacredness of marriage, and virginity is part of your DNA. It’s quite easy for others to taint the way of life. This dignitary being one of them, and your father doesn’t seem to mind if he gets his end of the deal. Your life, your love, is being traded for metals to build better cities. “It’s a sacrifice for the greater good,” he told you.

But what good will it do you? You haven’t had a chance to fall in love or see your planet for that matter. There’s an entire galaxy out there, but you’ve been trapped in the walls of this palace for your entire life. All attempts to escape or sabotage your father’s plan have failed.

On Alloral’la, everyone has purple eyes. If you have fallen in love or given your body to another in sexual pleasures, a bright pink circle surrounds your purple iris. Therefore, you’ve never been allowed to leave; your eyes are purple. Pure dark purple. If you’d fallen in love or had sex, that pink would appear - rendering you useless in a trade such as this.

You’d planned for years to sleep with a guard, sex would do the trick to give you the pink coloring in your eye, even if the sex was meaningless. It bothered you for years how readily you were willing to trade such an intimate act to be free. But the older you’ve become, the less you care. Your heart has turned cold to love, you’ve given it up.

So when the deal is made, and you’re to be traded like fine jewels to this dignitary, you decide that if your deliverer won’t turn your eyes, maybe you can find someone else who will.

The Mandalorian is your deliverer. This job isn’t exactly his first choice, but your father is good for the money, and so is the dignitary.

You watch Mando fuel up his ship from the fuel banks nearby in the shipyard. It’s almost time to leave. You’ve said your goodbyes, and when the Mandalorian nods his head, you know it’s time.

You follow behind him in the palace courtyard to his ship. Several guards follow behind with crates of your things, mostly clothes and old books. You observe your quiet deliverer. His armor is shiny but has seen battle. His cape is tattered on the bottom. Weapons are strapped to him in multiple places. It’s a sharp contrast to your flowing gown and delicate hairdo.

A variety of emotions have passed through your mind, but a numb feeling is the most prominent. Saying goodbye to your father was rather emotionless. You’ve not seen much of your own planet, so saying goodbye to your home was a freeing feeling truth be told. But the moment the hatch doors of the ship closed, and your guards were gone, tears rolled down your cheeks. You’re alone now with this silent bounty hunter.

It’s silly you think for him to comfort you in this time of pain, but he does. In his own way.

“Follow me,” he tells you, and he leads you to the cockpit. He motions for you to sit down, and when you do, he sits in the pilot seat. He pushes a button on his gauntlet, and the small hissing sound of a door being opened sounds behind you. Only it’s not a door, it’s a large ball - the doors open revealing a tiny green baby, with grey hair and big ears and bright eyes. It coos at you, and it brings the first genuine smile to your face in weeks.

“May I hold it?” you whisper, and he nods once. Reaching inside the ball, you lift the baby and it coos happily. It grabs your finger and begins to suckle, making you laugh. Holding this small child brings more tears to your eyes. You’re scared. At first you felt nothing, but now you’re feeling everything.

You don’t know what the Mandalorian’s thinking, but you can tell from his body language, he’s uncomfortable. He’s accustomed to capturing bounties that aren’t happy. But this, this is different. You’ve not done anything wrong, you owe no one a debt, you’ve committed no crime.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, trying to suck it up. “I’ve just never seen the stars like this,” you tell him looking out the window. “And I never knew my planet was so blue! I’ve read about this one planet that has blue sands. I’d love to visit.”

“You’ve never left that place, have you?” his voice is quiet, gentle.

“Not ever.”

For reasons unknown to you, you tell him your life story. That you’ve been trapped, that your eyes are still purple. That you’re being traded away. That the galaxy to you means freedom.

You have absolutely no idea if he even cares, or why you’re telling him. But you have an inkling he does care because you know about the Mandalore culture. Your life has been spent reading and learning about a galaxy you’ve never seen. He carries a child with him, which a surprise on its own. You suspect he has heart underneath that cold armor. It might be harder than you thought to get him to take you to bed, he’s not scum. Scum wouldn’t be so concerned about this child.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your own yawn. It’s been a long day.

“Get some rest,” he tells you. “You can take my quarters.”

“What about you?” you ask through another yawn. Your eyelids feel so heavy. You feel like you haven’t slept in weeks. Truth be told you don’t remember when you slept well. Fear of this trade has kept you awake.

Mando answers your question, but you don’t understand him. His voice sounds far away, you’re already drifting to sleep. You vaguely remember slumping over in your chair and feeling him lift you up into his arms to carry you to his bed. It feels like a dream.

When you stir, it’s dark. You begin to panic, for a moment you’d forgotten where you were. For years, it’s been the same bed. Same room. Never anything different. Alloral'la has three moons in the sky at night, you’d grown accustomed to them illuminating your window. Now to wake in complete darkness frightens you. The fear passes when you remember where you are, then your other fear of your destination comes to the light.

You don’t know what you’re going to do, but you cannot, will not marry this dignitary. Thoughts drifting back to the Mandalorian, you think of how his gloves felt on your skin, the cool metal pressing against you of his armor. His voice is gentle, his build is strong. If you were to pick anyone to ‘change your color’, you wouldn’t mind if it’s him.

Adrenaline from fear sets a light in you and you climb out of the bed. Again, you think of him, this is his bed. It’s cozy, soft. Smells clean but there’s a lingering musky smell. It’s masculine. Your bedroom at home is always clean, always perfumed. Never touched by a man. Just like yourself.

Getting up, you turn on the light and find your way to the cockpit. He’s awake, he’s watching the child sleep.

“Everything alright?” he questions, hearing that you’re slightly out of breath.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say louder than you meant. You’re not used to swearing, ‘it’s not ladylike.’

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” You feel anxious, you need a concrete answer.

“I don’t make it a habit of interfering with clients.”

You clear your throat and turn your head towards the sleeping baby in the cradle. “What about this one?”

“That was different.” He knows you’re right.

“How am I different? I’ve been locked away and am being sold against my will to a disgusting dignitary. Please. I’ll pay you since you need the money.”

“No.”

“Please, you don’t even have to do anything,” you kneel in front of him. “It’ll be enough.”

“Absolutely not,” he grabs your arm to pull you off the ground. You start to yank yourself free from his grasp when a rapid beeping sounds from the console in front of the two of you.

He releases his grip from your wrist to switch off the sounding alert.

“Low fuel.”

“Are we in danger?”

“No,” he speaks calmly. “There’s a planet nearby, we’ll stop and refuel and get something to eat. That alright with you?”

You nod. Your curiosity is piqued, a new place to see and new foods to try.

“Is that-?” you gasp seeing the planet as you approach to land. It’s a rich blue. Even brighter than your planet.

“It is.” His answer is curt, but kind.

“I’ve studied maps of the galaxy. This system is nowhere near my home. Did you bring us here?” You turn to look at him with a gasp.

He shrugs simply. “I might’ve. You said you wanted to see more of the galaxy. I figure we have some time.”

It dawns on you further that he didn’t need fuel. Your heart aches from the kind gesture. It’s more than anyone has done for you in a long time.

Walking down the hatch door, you hesitate right before you should step off onto the blue sands. Mando is ahead of you, the child following behind leaving a little trail in the sand.

When Mando doesn’t hear you behind him, he turns seeing you still haven’t stepped onto the sands. Without a word, he walks towards you and offers his hand. You don’t need help getting down, but he offers it to you all the same. You take his hand, and your heart jumps feeling the sand under your feet.

“It’s gorgeous,” you gasp.

“It certainly is,” he says. You could have sworn he was looking at you, but you can’t tell. The child is giggling in the sand, and you along with him. Looking up at you, the child reaches for you with a gentle coo. You kneel to pick him up and hold him close.

“He likes you,” Mando says walking beside you. You fight a blush wondering if ‘he’ means the child or himself

With a nod of his head, Mando directs you to a restaurant in the small town you’re walking into. Once inside, he flicks a coin to the bartender, and he points the three of you to a table.

When you’re seated you notice a man at the bar who is staring at you.

“Maybe I could try my luck with him,” you say aloud half joking. You lean up to sit more comfortably, but Mando takes it as you’re getting up to approach the man.

“No,” he touches your arm to stop you, “not like this.”

“Not like what?” you’re confused. His hand feels warm on your arm. You don’t realize how touched starved you’d been until you feel his gentle protective hold on you.

“I thought-”

“Thought what? I was going to let that man take me in the back alley?”

“You were ready to ‘take me’ in the Razor Crest not a few hours ago. There’s a whole galaxy out there, don’t waste it.”

“On him or you?”

“I don’t like how he’s looking at you,” Mando grumbles.

“I’m about to be given over to a dignitary who already has 8 wives. He just wants the pleasure of watching my eyes turn pink while he takes me to bed. I will not let that happen. I need to fix it.”

“Not like this,” Mando tells you again.

Your food is brought, and at first it embarrasses you to eat in front of him while he is not eating. But then you remember all the meals you’ve eaten alone with a guard watching over you.

This ‘guard’ is different. He seems to care about you. And a fondness grows in your chest.

When the meal has been eaten, Mando gives another coin to the bartender. You’re making your exit behind Mando when the man at the bar grabs your arm.

“Hey!” you gasp. His grip is tight on your arm, it hurts.

“Let her go,” you hear, and in the blink of an eye there’s a blaster pointed in the man’s face. His grip weakens, and you yank yourself free.

Mando gently touches a hand to your arm, “are you alright?”

You nod. There’s that blooming feeling in your chest again. This time it accompanies a slight ache, a headache. One like you’ve never had before, but it passes quicker than it arrived.

As you walk away you notice a crest on the man’s sleeve.

“I know that crest,” you tell Mando. “It’s from the system you’re taking me to.”

“You’re of high importance if they are keeping tabs on you,” he replies, his pace quickening. He doesn’t like that his every move is being tracked, that’s usually his job.

Once you’re safe on the Razor Crest, Mando does a once over of the perimeter and interior of the ship, just to be sure you’re not being followed again. You take your place back in the cockpit with him, feeling safer by his side.

“Why do you never say the names of the systems?” Mando asks punching in the course in his navigation system. “You know plenty about them, but you never say their names.” He turns to face you awaiting your reply. He means no harm, it’s a conversational question. He’s trying to put you at ease, the guilt of taking you is weighing on his mind.

“I don’t know how to pronounce them,” you blush, sheepish. “All my old-fashioned books, and learning pads never speak them. I usually must guess. I don’t want to be wrong, so I don’t say.”

“The planet we were just on? That’s B’eul. The planet I’m taking you to? Zenkoth.”

“You know so much, I envy your life, your freedom.”

“Others don’t see it that way.”

“So, you never take off your helmet? You can still see out of it. See the universe. I’ve been stuck in the same room, same palace. And I’m about to be stuck in another. I’ve seen more of the galaxy with you in these few days than I ever saw from my old books.”

“When I took this job, I didn’t know.”

There is such gentleness in his voice you get a swell in your chest again. And that strange headache hits hard. It takes longer to pass this time, but it eventually does.

It’s not long before Zenkoth is beeping on the radar. If you could see his face, you know that he’s looking on you with sympathy.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, trying to ignore the sick feeling bubbling up in your stomach. You’re looking out the window over this planet, your new home. And it feels cold. The surface is grey. Dark grey snow is swirling in the air.

“Din. Din Djarin.” His voice comes out raspy, like a whisper.

“I wanted to hate you, for taking me here. But you’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I’ll forever be grateful Din Djarin.”

You sniffle once, then clear your throat. There’s not much to be done now but accept your fate. You say goodbye to the little Child. Leaving him hurts just as much as Din. You’ve grown attached to the little thing.

“Wait,” Din gently reaches for your arm. “I have a plan.”

“To what?”

“To get you out. I could use someone like you to watch the kid. In return, you could see all these new systems.”

“How would it work?”  

The less you know the better. Din doesn’t tell you much of the plan, only what you need to know. This place is new to him, so he must do recon to get the lay of the land. He’ll do his best observing while he’s delivering you and when he gets paid. Lucky for him, there is a celebration going on, a wedding celebration. Parties mean organized chaos, which will give him more opportunity to sneak around. And he very well could be invited to the party, that’s happened on more than one occasion.

Din is by your side when you’re introduced to your intended. The room is gaudy and there’s all 8 of his other wives with him. Each one is from a different system, ranging in colors and sizes. Your stomach churns to be among them, and you find yourself walking as close to Din as possible. He touches a gloved finger to your thigh, letting you know it’s alright.

It all happens so fast. The dignitary brings you close and touches his hand to your face. He’s examining your eyes, checking they are still purple.

“Send her to my quarters,” he gives a command with a flick of his wrist, and you’re pulled away. Din is still standing in the center of the room watching you disappear down the hallway.

Cold. That’s how you feel. Cold. You’re not dressed for this cold planet. Your box of clothes had been carelessly left on the Razor Crest. Din was more concerned with your safety, and he can’t carry the boxes on his own. So, they were left behind because no one else bothered to.

You shiver in the bed chamber. You’ve never felt such emptiness in your life. You have hope Din will come, but for now you’re alone. You look out the window and see the dark snow fall. Clouds cover the sky, it’s dreary. You’d do anything to see the three moons outside your window of your old room.

Cringing that the only place to sit in this room is on the floor or on the bed, you choose the corner of the bed. Every sound of footsteps by the door has your heart pounding in fear. When you hear it creak open, you feel all the color leave your face.

Then you hear your name in a familiar voice.

Din turns the corner and into your sight. The very sight of him has your heart bursting, he’s come for you. Your heart is pounding, you feel your head pound - that headache is back. This time it’s blinding white hot pain.

He’s surveying the room, looking out the window for any and all escape routes. He turns abruptly when he hears you wince in pain. Din kneels in front of you and tilts your face upwards towards his masked one.

“I’m too late,” he sighs.

“You aren’t!” you tell him, the headache is gone again. You’re too overwhelmed with fear and emotion to think much of it.

“Then why are your eyes pink?” Din’s voice cracks.

The word ‘pink’ hits you hard, your breath is stuck in your throat. You’re paralyzed, you know what this means.

As if on cue, you hear a booming voice enter the bedchamber. It’s the dignitary. Din is quick and rolls under the bed - it’s the biggest space he can fit in.

You’re panicking now. In about two seconds he’s going to see that your eyes are not pure purple anymore. You fear for your life.

Thinking up a lie, you nod you head when he speaks to you. Expecting him to take you down to the courts for the actual wedding, you’re surprised when he pushes you backwards onto the bed. He’s about to climb on top of you, when he trips and falls. You stifle a giggle knowing a certain someone under the bed might have had something to do with that.

Collecting himself, the dignitary stands up and towers over the bed. You try and hide your face from him, but the pink is unmistakable.

“What’s this?”

“I- I’m so overwhelmed with love for you sire,” you lie.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t recoil from my touch,” he pouts like a child.

With a harsh backhand slap against your face, he spits, and barks out an order to his bodyguards to have you taken to the prison quarters to be dealt with later.

Somehow in the prison cell you feel safer. Four walls you’re not allowed to leave. You’re used to it. And you know Din is coming. All you must do is wait.

The cell they put you in has a pretty low-tech lock. You’ve read about these types before. You watch for the guards to walk past, but this cell area is abandoned, so done walk past - giving you time to unlock this door. You almost have it when it sparks, burning your fingertip.

You’re about to try again when you hear clanging, thumping, and blasters firing. Then quiet footsteps sound down the hall towards your cell.

“I’m here to retrieve a heinous criminal,” Din teases rounding the corner. You can’t stop smiling when you see him. “She’s committed the worst crime of all.”

He pushes one button and the cell block door hisses and opens. He cocks his head in confusion at how quickly it opened.

“I tampered with it,” you smile and jump into his arms to hug him. He’s stiff at first, but then relaxes and holds you tight to his Beskar plated chest. Looking up at his covered face, you touch the cool metal of his helmet, “thank you.”

You know he’s looking in your eyes, and you want him to see. That pink is from him alone. The first person to show you kindness in ages, he truly does care.

“We need to move,” he speaks gently, his hand is resting on your back protectively. He moves to stand in front of you as you quickly exit the prison area. There’s a window nearby that he smashes. Knowing the sound will draw unwanted ears, he grabs you quickly in his arms and using his jet pack- he flies the two of you out the window.

You cling to him tight and don’t let go until you’re inside the Razor Crest and the hatch doors are closed.

He gets the ship off Zenkoth as fast as possible, and when the course is set - he joins you in main area of the ship. You’re sitting with your head in your hands trying to catch your breath.

“You alright?” he asks sitting down next to you. You hear a wince in his voice.

“Are you alright?” you ask looking at him. You side red on his side, and you touch it gently. “You’re bleeding! When did this happen?”

He winces again and stands to remove his Beskar. You get the feeling you shouldn’t be seeing this, but he touches your face gently with his gloved hand, “I need your help.”

He tells you where the aid pack is, you leave him to collect it. It dawns on you as you make your way around this ship that it’s your home now.

You fetch the pack quickly. As you return to him, his back is to you. You see him putting his helmet back on. Your heart jumps, that means he’d taken it off when you were gone. It was already covering his head, so you miss any glimpse of what his hair color looked like.

Coming around to face him, he’s sitting now on the floor. Armor completely off and around him on the floor. He’s shirtless completely, the only thing on him are his pants and helmet.

The first sight of his chest hair makes your knees weak. A dark line of hair disappears into the waistband of his pants and you tremble.

When you hand him the pack, his fingers touch yours and it sends a jolt to your core. First skin to skin contact with him. His hands are soft, but work roughened. Fingers are slender, knuckles cracked. Scars and burns are all over his body. Old and fresh bruises paint his skin. His newest wound isn’t horrible, the bleeding spot just needs to be bandaged.

He lets you ‘help’ him, and he’s silent watching you attend his wound.

“You didn’t really need my help did you?” you ask not looking up at him. You can’t even see his eyes, but you know his gaze is on you. You’re feeling a lot shyer around him now that he knows you’re in love with him.

“Not for this no,” there’s humor in his tone. “I told you I need help with the kid.”

“That’s all?” you smile knowing he’s toying with you. “Alright, all finished,” you tell him and smooth your fingers over the bandage, smoothing out all the edges. His skin is tan and warm, you love how it feels. His body is reacting to your touch as well, his abs tighten and skin quivers to feel your light touch.

You’re two touch starved people dancing around something more intimate, but for now it’s gentle grazes of fingers on skin.

“Can I try something?” he asks getting to his feet. “I’m going to turn off the lights in here.”

“I don’t like the dark,” you sound panicked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures. He waits patiently until you nod. Then he hits the power switch leaving you in complete darkness. Your heart is ramming against your ribcage, then you hear his gentle voice. It sounds different, unaltered.

His helmet is off.

You hear him sit down next to you and hear the slight thunk of him set the helmet down on the floor. Warm hands find your hands, and he guides them up towards his face. He lets go of your hands, and lets you explore his features.

“You have a mustache,” you laugh feeling the bristles on his upper lip. His mouth twitches up in a smile. You want to feel it all, and he lets you. From his cheeks, to his strong jaw. His chin is lightly dusted with facial hair. You scratch his chin, and he purrs in the back of his throat. When you touch his lips, he lightly kisses your fingertips. He even lets you feel across his eyebrows. His forehead has sweaty hair stuck to it, and with both hand you rake your fingers through his hair. He moans to be touched so, and you’re beside yourself.

“Can I try something?” you ask him, repeating his question.

His ‘yes’ comes out soft. He knows what you’re asking because his face is close to yours. The gap is closed, and he presses his lips to yours. Your first real kiss.

It starts sweet, gentle pecks. Then his hand finds his way into your hair and he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you sigh to be held like this. Such sure hands hold you, so deliberate.

A beeping from the cockpit interrupts the moment. Din pulls away and blindly reaches for his helmet.

“I’m turning on the light, watch your eyes,” he tells you and hits the switch. You squint at the sudden change. He disappears into the cockpit and you follow behind.

A deep red system is in your view from the window.

“Welcome to Rosania.”

You gasp, you know of this place. The entire planet is covered in beautiful red flowers of all kinds. It’s known for its romance and beauty.

“Why did you bring me here?” you turn looking at him. Again, you wish to see his face, but his silence is enough to tell you - and you know why you’re here.

Next thing you know, you’re barefoot walking next to Din in a peaceful field of flowers. The Child is in his ball, his eyes are bright and excited looking at the flowers around him.

The three of you find a good place in the shade to eat. Again, Din doesn’t eat, he’s content to sit with the two of you. He’ll eat later.

“So, are you going to stay?”

“Stay?” you reply unsure of his question.

“With me. Help me take care of the kid.”

“I owe you my life. And I’d love to stay.” You don’t have to say you love him. He knows.

“Good,” he nods.

Standing, he pushes a button on his gauntlet and closes the doors of the ball the Child is in.

“Can I try something else?” Din’s voice is raspy again. Eagerly you nod, though a bit unsure of what he’s up to. Using the blanket, you’re sitting on, he tears a off a long strip of it. “It’ll be dark again,” he tells you, showing you the strip of fabric. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod and let him tie the strip of fabric around your face, covering your eyes. He moves quick despite his injury to remove his Beskar. Then his hands are on you.

“Do you want this?” he asks reaching around behind you, fingers toying with the fastenings of your dress.

“Please, I love you,” you sigh and find his lips with yours. Your dress is complicated, and you need his help getting it off. Experienced fingers unfasten your undergarments and soon you’re naked in front of him. Your arms twitch to cover yourself, you’ve never been so exposed in front of someone like this before - but he stops you. He cradles your head in his hands and lays you down on the blanket.

“It’s alright,” he whispers above you.

Now it’s his turn to explore you. He kisses all over your face. The slight tickle of his facial hair has you wriggling. Your neck is his next target, you shudder to be touched like this. A laugh bubbles up and you can’t help but let it escape.

“All my years of reading, I’ve read so much of pleasure. I wasn’t prepared for-”

“For what?” he murmurs into your skin.

“The way my heart would feel in my chest.” Then you feel his warm calloused hand press over your pounding heart. He takes your hand and puts it over his heart. Your smile is so big it hurts your cheeks, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.

When his hands touch your breasts, you gasp arching your back into his touch. Calloused thumbs brush gently over your nipples and you squirm. The sparks of pleasure are too much you think, but he only adds to it but closing his lips around one of your nipples. He sucks and teases with his tongue. You ache to see him, but something about not seeing him adds to the feeling. You have no choice but to focus on how he feels. And he feels divine.

When he’s done with each breast, he moves down lower. There are a few moments where he’s not touching you and you call out to him.

“I’m here,” he answers. You felt his breath against your lower stomach, and by the time you realize where he is - he’s placed his lips on your center. He licks and sucks on your sex and it’s all you can do to not scream.

In your years of wondering what sex was like, you’d pleasured yourself. But nothing could have prepared you for his warm mouth. His facial hair tickles only adding to the sensation. Then he slips a finger in your sex, and it’s not long before you find your release, you’re at the mercy of the Mandalorian.

There’s a slight chuckle in his voice when he comes back up to kiss your cheek. Your essence is on his chin and you feel it when he kisses you.

“You told me ‘not like this’ when I was thinking about that man in the Cantina. Is ‘this’ what you had in mind?” you’re still catching your breath when you ask.

“Something like that,” he muses and kisses you once more.

It’s then you feel the weight of him on top of you, his body is so warm. Immediately, you cling to him wrapping your arms around his back, and your legs around his waist.

He kisses your jaw and ear a couple times before he whispers a question, “are you ready?”

“I think you know,” you whine. With another kiss, he pushes himself into your heat. Like everything else he does, it’s deliberate and controlled. He’s patient. He kisses all over your face and strokes your skin. When he’s fully situated inside of you, you let out a soft cry. Tears soak into your blindfold, and he sees some fall on your cheeks.

“Am I hurting you?” his voice is soft in your ear.

“No, it’s just. My entire life, my culture, your eyes turn pink in a moment like this, and I’m blindfolded.”

“Yes, but your eyes were already pink with love for me,” he tells you kissing your temple.

He’s right, but still the action of it isn’t lost on you. You were about to be traded away for the joy of seeing your eyes change in bed. You never anticipated they would change from love. Then to have your lover take you to bed only to have you blindfold, your heart is aching in the best way.

“Din?”

“Mmm?”

“Move.”

He obliges and begins to thrust his hips forward into you. Feeling his warm skin, hearing his soft grunts, the pressure of him between your legs, it’s not long before he brings you to your second release.

With a few more thrusts, he finds his release. You cling to his shoulders, and his hand is holding you to him tight.

“You know, you’re a really terrible bounty hunter,” you laugh when he moves off of you. Your joke sets off laughter in him and he falls next to you laughing on the blanket. It’s absolute music to your ears. You wish you could see his smile.

His confession of love is a gentle rasp in your ear. He’s gently running his fingertips over your face.

“I didn’t think this would be the outcome when you set out to deliver me,” you think aloud.

“I think you’re the one that delivered me,” Din answers with another kiss. “What system do you want me to take you to next?”

[comingtothetree23]

Homecoming (Peter Parker X Reader)

A Sequel to ‘A Film By Peter Parker’

You laid in your bed staring at the ceiling, silently wishing to stay home instead of going to homecoming. 

You and Peter haven’t exactly been talking lately. Ever since Tony took both of yours suits. You tried, Oh boy did you try! But you both decided to maybe just avoid each other for a bit, which is gonna be hard since you both have the same friend group. You groaned as you felt your phone buzz.

MJ: You coming?

MJ: I know for a fact you don’t have anything else to do

MJ: If I’m going your coming with!

You sighed as you dropped your phone, Michelle is the only one who knows about (H/C) well except Peter of course.You would call her your ‘Guy In The Chair’ but that’s Ned for peter. 

Peter told you once Ned found out about Peter but Ned didn’t know about you same with MJ. MJ knew about you but not Peter but your sure she would find out soon. You sigh and texts her beck

You: Yea, Yea, yea! I’ll be there!

MJ: Good. See you there, Loser.

You let out a small chuckle as you stood up to get dressed. You put on your (F/C) dress and did a little spin in front of the mirror. You smiled at you styled hair and cute dress that matched your shoes. 

“Now or never.” You sighed before smiling and walking out of your room to go to the Homecoming dance. You made sure to avoid all the people moving your home away

~~

“Can’t believe you got to to actually come.” Mj states as you two stood in front of the school, watching the people walk in or talk to their friends 

“honestly me too, But hey you look nice!” You smile as you pointed to her Homecoming dress. It wasn’t anything too big but it was still nice. 

“And that matters?” Mj raises an eyebrow at you

“You know what I mean, man!” You smiled and crossed your arms in front of you and looked away from her. You looked back at her as you felt her nudge you

“Hey look, It’s Parker.” You followed where she was pointing and saw Peter in a car with Liz. You looked away for a second before looking back. You knew Peter asked Liz to the dance and you didn’t mind it at all...at the time.

You looked over at who was driving and your stomach dropped. You looked over at Mj and held a tight smile which she noticed

“What’s wrong?” She asks with a sigh, she already got use to either your excuses or something happening. She can always tell by that look.

“Okayokayokay!” You started putting an arm around MJ and pointing to the car, “You know who is driving that car!?”

“Liz’s dad?”

“Yes! A.K.A. The guy with the wings! Me and Spider-man saw his face and that ” You pointed to the dad, “Is HIM!” 

“good job you figured it out, more importantly, “ she put both of her hands on your shoulders, “What are you going to do about it?” 

“I- I don’t know.” You put in heel of your hand on your forehead in thought, “I mean he’s right there! With Peter and I don’t know! I mean I could probably track him down but then I’ll have to put my phone in there, unless I’ll just fly over there using my air but then...” You started to ramble making Michelle roll her eyes more

“Okay, I shouldn’t have asked. look (Y/n),” you looked at her, “You’ve been so stressed lately and you deserve a break. Whats a better break then making fun of people at Homecoming?” She smirked at you as you let out a soft chuckle

“Okay, okay, I’ll do but I need to do something first.” Mj have you a look, “a non-Vulture thing.” 

“Fine. See you in there, Nerd.” She nudged your shoulder before walking in the dance, leaving you alone.

“Now what’s this guys deal?” You mutter as you hide behind a bush with your purse to watch. You pull out some binoculars and watches the two from the car.

Your eyes widen as you noticed the gun, you were about to read their lips when suddenly you heard

“(Y/N) (M/N) (L/N)!”

You let out a small screeched and looked behind you to see MJ standing there with her hands on her hips

“What did I say!?”

“I needed a break.” You sighed and put the binoculars back into your purse. MJ grabbed your arm and you both went into the dance.

A little bit later, You and MJ were just eating the food and joking around. You saw Peter only once and that was like two minutes ago. The same time you saw Liz sniffling.

You frown and look over at MJ, who just shrugged at you. You sighed and pushed down your jealousy of her and walked over to her.

“Hey Liz, Are you okay?” You put a hand on her shoulder as you looked at her.

“Peter just d-ditched me.” Liz mumbled as she tried to control her tears that threatened to fall. 

“Of course it did.” you muttered to yourself with a eye roll, “Well who needs him? C’mon your a beautiful and smart girl who needs a guy to have fun. You can hang out with us if you want.” You motioned to yourself and Mj who just kinda stood there.

“Y-yea that sounds fun.” Liz smiled at you which you returned.

And for the next couple of minutes you spent with Liz and MJ and you all had fun. You were now dancing when you Noticed Ned coming out of the computer room with one of your teachers.

“Guy in the chair...” you muttered to yourself as you finally realized where Peter went, “H-hey I gotta go!” you yelled to the two females. Mj gave a nod while Liz gave you a look

“Where are you going?” she asked 

“I have a phone call. Don’t worry about me! Enjoy your night, Have fun!” You smiled as she gently pushed her to the dance floor. She gave you a smile before going back to dancing.

You stood there with a smile for a moment before running off. As you ran through the halls you took off your heals and through them at the wall. You ran until you reached the doors and you ran out quickly.

You frown as you noticed the busted bus, ‘This isn’t working!’ you thought to yourself before jumping and using your air magic-thingy to start flying toward the now noticeable flying plane.  

As you flew you noticed a bunch of debris, You frown as it started to move. Your eyes widen as you saw who was there

“Spidey!” You dropped down as you heard Peter’s voice 

“Come on, Spider-Man!“ You slowly walk over to the voice, not knowing what to expect

Peter finally frees himself from the debris and gets up amongst rubbles.

“(Y/n)!” Peter finally noticed you and ran over to you tackling you in a hug, “I’m so sorry I’ve been to distant lately! It’s just seeing you reminded me of all the time we had as Spider-man and (H/n) and-oh god!” Peter seemed to remember something as he grabbed your shoulders and shook you gently, “(Y/n), It’s moving day! Toomes is planing to-”

“Rod the plane!” You both say in sync. You both spots Vulture perching on top of a stripped billboard. You both looks at each other and nods.

You both hid as you see the Vulture prepare to go while talking to someone. Vulture checks behind him but misses Spider-Man, who is hanging from a web attached to his back. Peter held you closer to him as the Vulture finally looks away. 

“Woah!”

As Vulture goes higher and higher up, the night view of New York City gets smaller and smaller under yours and Peter’s feet. You frown as you hold onto Peter tighter. 

Vulture flies to the bottom of the plane and holds on. Peter bumps into the plane a few times, but manages to grab onto it

“be careful!” You hiss and you grab into the plane

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god!“ Peter holds onto the plane tighter

Vulture puts the matter phase shifter on the plane, creating a small rectangular window, and moves inside. Peter tries to follow Vulture, but loses his grip and almost falls off the plane.

“Spidey!” You yelp as you reach and grabs a hold of his hand and pulls him back onto the plane. Peter let’s out a sigh of relief as he got his grip again, “Wish we knew what they were saying.” you muttered to Peter. Who just shrugged, Super hearing.

Vulture walks to the front and rips out the door. The cockpit is empty. Outside,  Spider-Man is crawling down the plane. He must have been caught the cloaking cameras. He approaches the wing suit and tries to open it. Vulture connects a device to the plane

A small drone is launched out from the wing suit, startling Peter. You just froze as you watched what it was doing. Vulture manipulates the cockpit dashboard, piloting the plane off track

Peter is still struggling to open the wing suit. He groans as he looks over at you

“Have any ideas, (H/n)?” 

“Air maybe?” You frown as you tried blowing air on it right as  Peter kicks Vulture’s wing suit and pushes it aside a bit. The air pressure inside the cabin drops, activating the alarm. Vulture checks an external monitor and realizes that you and Peter has followed him. He growls in anger

Vulture comes out and puts on his wing suit. Peter tries to hang onto the airplane, you groan and hit your head against the plane. You should have stayed at Homecoming

“Just a typical homecoming on the outside of an invisible jet... Fighting my girlfriend’s dad.“ Peter groaned as he holds on

“Oh you wish!” you let out a small chuckle as Peter looks at you, “Shes pissed! You just ditched her at Homecoming, Your lucky if that counted as a date!”

“Okay, okay I get it.” Peter rolled his eyes, at least you assumed he did. He was still wearing a mask

Vulture comes at him and takes out panels right above his head. Peter shoots his web at Vulture. Peter is now suspended in air, one hand holding onto the web sticking to the plane, another hand holding onto the web glued to Vulture. The webs snap off and Peter is sucked in towards the engines.

“Oh, god!“ You heard Peter yell from where you were.

He shoots his web to stop the propellers. Vulture, who was also dragged to the engines, escapes death, but his wing suit is a bit damaged. Hanging onto propeller blades laced with spiderweb, Peter sighs in relief

“that worked!?” You yell at Peter, he is so lucky right now

“I know right!?”

Suddenly, the propeller falls off. Peter avoids the crisis by holding onto the plane and kicking the propeller off his body. Vulture flies back and attacks Peter. Peter avoids them, but Vulture keeps coming at him. The impact sets one of the engines on fire. Peter clings onto the side of the engine with a thin strand of web

Vulture suddenly hisses as he felt his arm being burned. He looks over to see You, one hand holding onto the plane the other has a ball made out of fire in your hand

“Weather-Girl.” He mutters angrily to himself, now knowing what his other problem looks like.

“Wow, That’s my name for you? That sucked!” You let out a small chuckle at him. 

Now, instead of aiming for Peter he’s aiming for you, which you didn’t mind. Peter needed to find a better way to hold onto the Plane. You hiss as you felt blood going down your shoulder.

Vulture sets to break open the ceiling of the plane. Still hanging from the engine, Peter sees the plane flying straight at the city

“Oh, my god.“ You and Peter muttered in sync

Peter shoots his web at the right wing of the plane and pulls on it to change the plane’s direction. On the streets, passersby watch the plane flying overhead. Vulture tears open the ceiling and holds a box in his claws. You frown as you watch him before throwing more fire at him.

“Please turn! Please turn! (Y/n) Help!” Peter continues to struggle with the plane.

“yea, yes.” You say as you try using air to blow the plane in the right direction.

The plane narrowly misses crashing into the city and heads toward Coney Island. Instead of escaping, Vulture tries to hold onto a box. You gasps before letting go of the plane and jumps onto the beach.

“Please no one be here! Please say no one’s here.” You mutters to yourself as you look around the beach for anyone. When you saw no one you turned toward the plane and realized it’s too close.

The plane hits a ride and crash-lands on the beach of Coney Island. Peter loses hold of the plane and rolls down the beach. Everything is consumed in smoke and flames. Peter slowly gets up and takes off his mask. His ears are ringing. He has just staggered up to his feet when, suddenly, Vulture flies toward him and attacks him. Sparks fly from Vulture’s wings; it is clear that he has suffered some serious damage, too

“Hey! Leave him alone!” You suddenly run over to Peter and takes a hold of his arm, helping him stand.

“Hey, Pedro.“ The Vulture smirks at Peter, You look over at Peter with a confused look making Peter shake his head, “Already moved on from my daughter? That’s quick and with Weather-Girl of all people?” 

“I have a name!” 

Vulture continues to attack Peter. Peter shoots his web, but misses and gets pinned to the ground like a bird of prey. Vulture slaps you away and puts a foot on your back and puts pressure on it, making you yelp.

 Peter screams as Vulture grabs him tightly with his claws and rains down punches at him. When Peter grabs Vulture’s fist to prevent another blow, Vulture flies up and lets go of him.

 Peter avoids serious injury by shooting a strand of web and holding on to Vulture, but Vulture cuts it off and throws him to the ground. 

He then slams Peter into the ground a few times. Peter flips onto his back in a sluggish way, then looks up at Vulture, who picks him up by the hood of his Spider-Man costume. Vulture is holding Peter there, studying his limp body, when he spots a crate

“Bingo.“ 

Vulture lets go of Peter, takes his goggles off, and grabs the crateful of arc reactors. Sparks rain down from his wing suit when he tries to lift the crate, but Vulture does not stop. He hisses again as hes hit with another fireball

“Do you have any other tricks!?” He yells as he turns to look at you, who held a smirk

“Yea, I do actually.” You stomp on the ground and a good chuck of earth flies up as you kick it toward Vulture. He groans as the rock hit’s him, he growls as he looks at you.

You have seen hurt during this fight too, just not as bad as Peter. Your hair was a big mess it’s dirty, in knots, and a tiny bit burnt. Your dress is now ripped and disgusting and your shoes and long gone by now. your face is dirty and covered in soot while your arms and legs are covered in small cuts while your shoulder is bleeding. 

“Your wing suit. Your wing suit’s gonna explode!“ Peter’s voice rang out making both you and the vulture look at him. You look back at the vulture to see that the suit is indeed about to explode.

Lifting his weary arm, Peter shoots a strand of web at the crate and pulls with all his might. You quickly run behind Peter to help, You hold into his waist as you help him pull. A tug of war ensues

“Time to go home, Kids.“ Toomes smirks at the two teens.

“We’re trying to save you!“ 

“Listen to us!”

Vulture cuts the web with his wing and tries to fly off. Peter presses the button on his web shooter, but it doesn’t work. He looks up to see the wing suit failing and covers his head. Vulture drops to the ground along with his wing suit. An explosion consumes him. You gasps and covers both you and Peter with a wall of rocks, hopefully covering you two from the explosion.

After a moment of silence, you lower the rocks back into the earth were they belong.

“No.“ 

You stand up and looks around at the flames Peter struggles up and runs into the flames.

“Peter, let me help!” You ran after him and lowering the flames around you two.

 Peter spots Toomes and tries to lift the wing suit off him, but screams as he makes contact with hot metal. However, he doesn’t give up. He picks the wing suit up, finds Toomes, and carries him away from the flames. You quickly following, helping stop the flames...or most of them. 

 Peter lays Toomes down on the beach. Wheezing and coughing from the smoke, Toomes looks up at Peter, who returns his gaze. 

“Ya’ll we look awful.” You wheeze a little as you look over at Peter. You both nod and give each other a hug. 

a tiny bit later, The flames have died out a little. A search party is scouring the beach. Happy finds Vulture tied to a pile of crates with spiderweb. Happy raises a brow as he noticed and burn marks and a red mark. A note is attached beside him: “FOUND FLYING VULTURE GUY. SPIDER-MAN AND (H/N). P.S. SORRY ABOUT YOUR PLANE.” Happy raises his head and looks around as if searching for someone

Fire engines pass by the Cyclone, Peter is sitting on top of it. You are leaning against his stomach, between his legs. Your eyes are closed but Peter knows your awake. Peter sighs as he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on top of your head, He closes his eyes, wounded and weary. 

~~

Midtown High. Students are taking down a homecoming banner. Below it, You, Ned and Peter walk down the corridor

“It looked so insane. That whole... Like, it was just crazy. He, he was just like, ‘Zzzz,’ and you were like, ‘Ah!’“ Ned exclaims, Ned thinks you just know that Peter is Spider-man. He says you two are FOS which was good, You didn’t need anymore people knowing who you are.

“Shh.“ Peter tries to shush him but knows it won’t work by this point.

“And then I just hit him with the “pew.” It was so, oh, my god.“ Ned finishes with a smile

“You saved me. It was awesome.“ Peter smiles at his best friend

“Good to know you can handle this kind of things.” When Peter gives you a confused look you laugh a little, “You know things for the little guy. That the avengers don’t do.” Peter looks at you for a second before smiling at you softly. 

“Yea...”

Suddenly you run ahead of them, Peter spots Liz at the end of the corridor. . Her mom is walking beside her with a box full of her belongings. Betty runs to Liz and hugs her. You stop to a slow walk as you neared her, Liz gives you a smile as you two hug tightly. Peter runs toward them

“Thank you for a good Homecoming, (Y/n).” Peter hears Liz say to you

“Of course Liz.” you two let go of the hug and smiles, “You deserve a good Homecoming.”  

“Hey, Liz!“ Liz waits for Peter, wiping tears off her face, they both turn toward you for a second asking you something with their eyes

“I’ll let you two talk.” You snap in a direction before walking in the direction. You smile as you hear Peter’s small giggle.

~~

 In the library, Mr. Harrington brings the Decathlon trophy to a table of students

“Congratulations, Decathlon national champions.“ you all start to clap, “I’m gonna have to put this back in the trophy case soon, but just for motivation right now at this practice. I’m a little ahead of the game, but we will need a new team captain next year. So I’m appointing Michelle.“

The students turn to Michelle and clap, You smile and shakes her a little by her shoulder

“Uh, thank you. My friends call me M.J.“ You give a smirk as you look at her, which she rolls her eyes

“I thought you didn’t have any friends.“ You look toward Ned and gives him a offended look with a smol offended noise.

“Well, I have one before. But now I have more.” MJ looks over to you with a small smile before looking over to the class

Peter’s cell phone vibrates. He picks the broken phone up and reads a message from an unknown number: “Go to the bathroom.” After a moment another message appears: “Bring your girlfriend.” 

“(Y/n), W-we gotta go.” you gives him a confused look but then he nods and you immediately sits up.

“Oh yea. Let’s go!” You took his arm and went to leave

“Hey, where you going?“ You turn to look at MJ who asked the question. You give her a confused look before realizing she was talking to Peter. 

You cross your arm with a smirk as Peter freezes as he thinks of an excuse. Michelle stares at him, eyes filled with suspicion

“ What are you hiding, Peter?“ Peter’s lips open, but no sound comes out. Suddenly, a grin breaks out on Michelle’s face, “ I’m just kidding. I don’t care. Bye.” she gives you a wave before she says to Decathlon team, “All right, so we should run some drills.” 

You let out a soft giggle as Peter puts a hand on his hear, trying to calm himself down.

“Calm down, Pete.” You nudge his arm as you two walk to the bathroom.

“I can’t! I thought she figured us out! She’s a smart girl!” 

“I know that! She’s my best friend. Or my ‘Guy in the chair’!” You close your eyes and put a hand on your chest with a proud smile

“What!?”

“What!? You told Ned and I needed to a friend to tell. and Who’s a better friend then Michelle Jones!” You defended as you raises your arms, Peter just rolls his eyes as he holds the bathroom door open for you

you both open the door to see Happy waiting for you two.

“Hey, Happy. What, uh... What are you doing here?“ Peter asks as you two walked closer to him. Happy gives you two a smile

“I really owe you two one. I don’t know what I would do without this job. I mean, before I met Tony-”

A toilet flushes and cuts him off. They awkwardly stand there as Tiny McKeever comes out, washes his hands, wipes them, and leaves the bathroom, throwing a long, confused glance at them mostly you. Finally:

“So, uh, how long you been here?“ Peter asks the question you both have been wondering. 

“Long enough to be awkward.” Happy answered, making you nod your nod at him, “Boss wants to see you two.”

“Is he here?” Peter whispers while pointing to a stall.

“God I hope not.” You muttered as you look at the stalls, “This is already awkward enough.”

“In the toilet? No, he’s upstate.“ 

“Upstate? Like, upstate-upstate?“ Peter asks, you nodded knowing that’s where you guys moved.

“Yeah, let’s go.“ Happy started leaving the bathroom.

You and Peter walked next to each other and you two smiled at each other, not realizing you two were holding hands.

Inside Happy's car. Dashboard display says: “You may take your hands off the steering wheel.”

“Take a look. It’s pretty impressive, huh?“

Outside the window, we see the New Avengers Facility, your new home. 

“They just finished remodeling the whole thing.“ Happy explains to you two, like you didn’t know it was finished.

Peter studies the facility with an awed expression. We see the reflection of a Quinjet taking off.

Inside the compound, Peter watches a Quinjet fly off with a huge grin. You were looking around the whole place, it wasn’t that bad actually.

“You don’t see that every day.“ Happy says while looking at you two

“Unless you live here.” You stated watching as Tony walks over to you guys.

“ Oh, there they are. How was the ride up?“ Tony asks as he looks at all of you

“good.”

“give me a minutes with the kids.” Tony says to Happy, making you and Peter look at each other

“Serously?” Happy asks

“Yeah. I gotta talk to the kids.” Tony shrugged at his friend

 “I’ll be close behind.” Happy nodded

“How about a loose follow? All right? Boundaries are good.” You give a awkward look before you look away from them

Tony playfully punches Peter in the shoulder, and ruffles your hair before  an arm around both of your shoulders

“Sorry I took your suits. I mean, you had it coming. Actually, it turns out it was the perfect sort of tough-love moment that you needed, right? To urge you on, right? Wouldn’t you think? Don’t you think?” Tony asks you two while you all walk forward

“Yeah, yeah, I guess.” Peter gives a small shrug not knowing what to say

“I hate it say it but yes.” You groan not wanting to say that he was right

“Let’s just say it was.”

Tony sighs and continues leading you two towards a door.

“Mr. Stark, I really-” Peter started but got cut off

“You screwed the pooch hard. Big time. But then you did the right thing. Took the dog to the free clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies... All right, not my best analogy.”

“Knowing you it could have been better, Mr. Stark.” there was a moment where you all just stood there

“I was wrong about you two. I think, with a little more mentoring, you could be a real asset to the team. Both of you.” Tony smiled at you and Peter. You gives him a big smile

“To the... To the team?” Peter realized and that made you look at Him before slowly turning to tony

“I-is that true?”

 “Yeah. Anyway... “ he points at a door, “There’s about fifty reporters behind that door. Real ones, not bloggers.” You both nodded and you had to cover your mouth not to giggle at that last part

He presses some buttons on his watch and a secret compartment in the wall opens, revealing a brand new Spider-Man suit, the Iron Spider Armor. Next to it was a shiny brand new suit for you two. You gasp and cover your eyes as you see it

 “When you’re ready... Why don’t you try that on?” Tony started looking at the suit, “And I’ll introduce the world to the two newest official members of the Avengers: Spider-Man and (H/n).”

 “I...” Peter chuckles, amazed.

“You...You really....” You started following Peter and moving closer to the suits

 “Yeah. Give that a look.”

Peter continues to admire the Iron Spider Armor while you looked at your suits

“So, after the press conference, Happy will show you to your room, your new quarters. (Y/n) you’ll just keep the same room you have” he then says to Happy, “Where’s he between? He’s next to Vision?”

“Yeah, Vision’s not big on doors.” Happy warned looking in Peter’s direction

 “It’s fun.”

“Or walls.” Happy added

“No matter how much you tell him” You added too, finally looking away from the suit.

“You’ll fit right in.” Tony smiles at you two

Peter looks at you and hesitates for a moment, You give a smile and nod before Peter turns to Tony.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. But we’re good.” You look at him shocked before giving him a soft smile

“You’re good? Good? How are you good?”

 “Well, I mean, I’m... I’d rather just stay on the ground for a little while. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Somebody’s got to look out for the little guy, right?” When eh said that lats part he looked over at you, meeting your eyes

Tony takes off his sunglasses and stares into Peter’s eyes.

“You turning me down? You better think about this.” pointing at the new Spider-Man suit, “Look at that. Look at me. Last chance, yes or no?”

“No.”

“What about you, (Y/n)?” Tony looks over at you, “Are you good too?”

“Well, if my partner good when we’re good.” You look at him with a smile as you add, “Simple as that.”

“Okay. It’s kind of a Springsteen-y, working class hero vibe that I dig. Uh, Happy will take you home. Yeah?”

“Yeah. “ he says to Peter, “Mind waiting in the car? I need a minute.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter smiles as he looks at Tony 

“Yes, Mr. Parker. Very well.” Tony and Peter shake hands.

 “See you around.”

 “Okay.”

Peter starts to leave with a spring in his step, but then slows to a stop and turns to Tony, who is putting the Iron Spider Armor and yours new suit away with a tap on his watch.

 “That was a test, right? There’s, uh, nobody back there?” Peter asks making you all look at him

 “Yes, you passed. All right, skedaddle there, young buck.” You look over at tony with a smirk

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you.” Peter walks away.

 “Told you he’s a good kid.” Happy smiles as he says to Tony.

“Can I talk to Peter for a moment?” You ask the two adults, making them smirk to each other.

“Yea, go talk to your ‘partner’.“ Tony says making you give him a look before running after Peter

“You know, They would be adorable together.” Happy says looking over at Tony as they watch you off

“yea....They would.” he started before they both hear a door open.

~~

“Hey, Pete! Wait up!” You raise an hand as you run over to the boy.

“hey (Y/n), Whats up?” Peter looks over at you with a smile.

“Wow, You got balls, Peter. turning down Tony Stark! Whoo!” You let out a breathe with a smile before looking at Peter with a smile

“You turned him down too, you know.” Peter watches you with a smile while you gain your breathe

“yea, but that’s only because of you.” You gave a small jab at his chest, “But you know, its for the best.” You smile at the floor.

“Yea.” was all that peter said. You look up to see that Peter was staring at you intensely.

“Pete? You alright?” You asks as you swore you saw him look at your lips.

“Yea, yea. Is it alright if I do something?” That made you confused but you didn’t think much of it.

“Uh, Sure?”

He suddenly cups your cheeks making you look at him, you start to blush as you look in his brown eyes. God you loved his eyes, well you loved all of him. You felt his lips on yours and you stood there for a moment, before smiling and kissing back. You put your arms around his neck and pulls him closer.

“W-was that alright?” Peter asks once you two stopped kissing but you kept your forehead on his.

“It was amazing, Pete.” you look at him to see him smiling.

“I know this may be too soon to ask but will you be my-”

“yes. Yes I would.” You finished, you didn’t need to hear him finish, you knew a while ago you wanted to date the adorable boy.

“Good, That’s... Good.” He started before kissing you on the lips again. 

[angryangryaces]

Poison

The air smells of rain, burning fuel, and the countless small poisons that circulate in the city, and my scars ache in the cold, a filigree of pain tracing out the lines of my skeleton. My damned, addicted brain is hissing for me to press the button. I don’t listen to it. I throw my bag into the transport and pick a seat.

“Caller” walks us through the job on the way in. It’s straightforward: get in, grab a prototype from the testing labs, get out again. Minimal casualties, which is why he told us to bring hammerblow rounds. Ideal for a pack that doesn’t want to make the news.

One of the others looks at the chain holding my gun to my wrist. Must be a rook. They’ll learn. You can always tell a seasoned wolf; they stop looking at your little tricks and secrets and just let you get on with your job.

As we come in for a landing, I pull my hat down and make sure my kerchief is going to hide my rebreather. Combined with the goggles and the coat, it should be almost impossible for the watching gargs and other cameras to tell who I am. I’ve already checked my gear: submachine gun, machete, grapnels, a few kinds of blasting charge, a couple of different poisons.

***

The windows break the neon light from outside into rainbow fragments, which play over my coat. The stylised illustration of a winged figure giving gifts from heaven isn’t spiritual; it’s marketing. The gifts being dispensed have brand logos on them for the corp’s subsidiaries.

One of them has the stylised atom of Nucleus Energy on it, and my scars flare into pain for a split second. I know it’s psychological. I grit my teeth behind my collar and carry on.

Phase one is a cakewalk. “Caller” had some inside intel that this part of the building was going to be low-security, and that seems to be working fine: the rook, who I’ve learned is called “Mooch”, is keeping the cameras under control, looping some footage so none of them pick us up. It’s not going to last forever, but it doesn’t have to; we’re not under any given eye for too long, and most of the gargs are outside.

The next corridor is wrong. The walls are riddled with bullet holes and carved with a filigree of blade marks.  The mutilated bodies of corpsec guards are everywhere, limbs wrenched from their sockets and throats ripped out. Even through my rebreather, I can smell blood and gunfire, mingled with another smell: a thick, animal musk.

I’ve heard the rumours – everyone has, everyone knows this is happening, no matter how hard corpsec try to suppress it – but I hadn’t expected to see it here. You never do, right? It’s always a friend of a friend that runs into this shit.

This is going to suck.

***

“Mooch” is the first to pull the trigger. Not wise, exactly, but I can’t blame them; the dead guards are mute testimony to how deadly these things are, and it’s not like a full pack in tac gear is exactly subtle. Within seconds, everyone else has joined in. Hammerblow rounds patter off its hairy, gore-spattered skin like rain. A couple of them provoke flinches, leave a mark, but don’t slow it much.

It looks like someone took a very large, feral wolf and mashed it up with a man. Its head is mostly canine, although its teeth are larger than any reasonable animal’s, but the rest of it is chimeric: its apelike stance and powerful arms are human, or at least close to it, but its tail and hair are lupine, and its clawed hands aren’t really either. It’s also covered in blood and shreds of what might, once, have been a corpsec uniform.

It howls in fury and leaps at us.

***

According to “Mirai”, it’s all the fault of the veins and the other rich bastards. Says some conspiracy site put her onto it. Supposedly, the reason corpsec guards are so loyal to the veins, so weird and bootlicky, is that the labs figured out some kind of gene treatment, isolated the stuff from dogs that makes them so loyal, and the suits give it to the  When it goes too far, they change, when the scum at the top finish draining their humanity.

“Sigismund” says she’s full of shit. Genetics don’t work like that, and even if there was some secret tampering going on, it’d be more likely to lead to cancers than monsters. Mind you, he thinks it’s magic, so I’m not sure how reliable he is on the science. (He’s got a wild set of ideas about that, too. According to him, the beasts are nature unfettered, lashing out at the corp-choked world in a violent frenzy. Says he’s trying to figure out how to use that power constructively. Hasn’t gotten anywhere yet.)

Right now, though, the cause isn’t particularly critical. It doesn’t matter if it was made by mad science or black magic or if creatures like this are just a thing now. It’s bearing down on me, and there isn’t much I can do to stop it.

I hit the button.

***

Not a literal button, of course; jek doesn’t use physical controls. Instead, I mutter the activation phrase, and a pain like cold fire stabs into my veins as the injectors pump poison into my bloodstream. My whole body convulses, and the cold fire begins to heat up. The part of me that’s given in, the addict in my mind, it tinges the whole process with an edge of lust that shames me. Even so, I’m not stupid enough to pick this fight without it.

The effect is almost immediate. My gear feels like it’s made from cotton candy. My original bones would have already shattered from the convulsion, but the substitutes are doing their job. My vision fogs around the edges, but it’s almost supernaturally clear at the centre – I can make out the beast’s individual hairs, and the shattered remnants of a corpsec radio headset dangling from its neck like a collar.

I give it a burst in the face before it hits me. I can tell it felt the impacts, but it barely slows before tackling me to the ground and knocking my gun out of my hands. Fine by me; the bullets aren’t helping much anyway. The others will have to go on, take care of the mission while I fight. It’s probably best; jek isn’t just physical, and it’s poison for a pack. Nobody on jek is a team player.

The force of the tackle rolls us into the last corridor, but my armour protects me from the impacts. Coat’s not going to be salvageable, though; it has claw marks in it now. Without the jek, I’d have been knocked a lot sillier than I am.

As the beast lunges for me, I bring up my machete. It doesn’t dig deep, but jek-fuelled muscles drive it through the skin. The beast’s blood is surprisingly bright – what little of it comes out, anyway.

It seems to have decided I need to be tenderised before I’m eaten. It scoops me up and slams me into the wall. My goggles dim; the beast has its back to a window, and the neon light from outside would be streaming into my eyes, so they’ve compensated.

Then it all comes to me at once: the window could be my solution here. The beast is recovering quickly; it’s already stopped bleeding. I’m not going to win this one-on-one, and if the pack know what they’re doing, they’ve already headed for the objective. I have to do something unexpected.

I fire one of my wrist grapnels. It hits the window, and the motors whirr. It’s designed for heavy loads, and after a frozen moment while it calculates the weight, it retracts, dragging both of us into the window.

The beast is surprised, but not enough to disorient it. It thrashes around, its rage twisting metal and driving tinted duraglass out of its sockets.

The window gives way, and we both go over the edge.

***

On impact with the wall, one of my charges goes off unexpectedly. My spine doesn’t enjoy it, even through the pain-deadening haze of jek, but it doesn’t do serious harm; it just blasts a chunk out of the wall and flings us into traffic. The beast sinks its jaws into my left arm, and I let go of my machete; it disappears, never to be seen again.

As we tumble, I try and find some weakness. I can’t go for its eyes with any kind of accuracy, its bones are nearly as tough as mine, and even striking at the stomach only seems to make it angrier.

Our descent is bluntly interrupted by a corpsec lighter. Our impact with the cockpit shatters the duraglass canopy, so we must have been going down pretty hard – but, fortunately, the beast hits it first. The impact solves two of my problems at once. First, while landing still hurts like a bastard, even with jek, the beast takes the brunt of the impact. Second, the beast’s breath is laden with pink froth. After a moment, the rage flees its body, and it goes limp. Probably had some of the canopy driven into its lungs; not a pleasant death, but a final one.

The lighter skews wildly off-course, and I realise after a second that the pilot is either unconscious or dead. Corpsec lighters do have autopilots, but some people prefer the personal touch or are worried about reprogramming (a valid concern; “Mirai” once sent a half-dozen corpsec troopers on a routine patrol out of state as a prank), so not everyone uses them.

I don’t have a chance to get to the controls, but luckily, we’re headed towards a window. The pain in my entire body worsens a step as I see a giant Nucleus Energy logo, and then we hit.

***

I stagger to my feet, somehow still conscious. It’s almost impossible to break my bones now, but my right leg is definitely not as straight as I remember it being.

The window in question was right next to a meeting room, apparently. A stunned silence hangs in the air, but in a few seconds – even ones drawn out by jek – people are going to start yelling and running.

The big logo on the wall confirms it. This is a Nucleus Energy office. The bastards whose strontium leak cost me everything. Their poison had seeped into my bones, forced me to get them replaced. Left me with a debt I could only pay off by taking wolf jobs here and there. All my scars, all my wounds, this growing addiction to jek – all their fault. I can’t tell if I’m hurting worse because I know it’s them, or if my body is already redlining my pain receptors.

My jek-focused perceptions show me that one of them has a refrigerator briefcase here. A vein, then, carrying his supply of transfusions around with him. I can’t tell which of the others are veins, but they all might as well be: even if they haven’t had the treatment, they have the same kind of mind. The suits in this city are all the same: cold, bloodsucking bastards, they only care about themselves. The veins took a treatment that would strip their empathy and didn’t even notice. Even before that was developed, they gutted the land, poisoned the water, pumped fumes into the air. We’d be better off without them.

The weight of my gun dangling from my wrist is still there, and with jek reflexes, I could do a lot of damage here. Start at the door, work my way across. Even a vein’s boosted body can’t take a good hit to centre mass, and none of them look to be wearing much armour.

It won’t solve much, but it’ll be a little less poison in the city’s bloodstream.

[thatfanficstuff]

Shooting Stars - Peter Quill

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Warnings: not really?

A/N: I wrote this for @marvelous-avengers 1K celebration. My prompt was tattoo. I’m not gonna lie. I’m kind of in love with this. Hope you are too!

***

“I don’t know, Gamora.” You propped your feet up on the table and leaned back in your chair as you studied your old friend.

“Come on, Y/N. It will be fun. Just like old times,” she practically begged. She never begged.

You arched a brow. “Old times? You mean when we ran around causing trouble while evading Thanos’s minions. Those old times?”

“Exactly.” Her smile did nothing to ease your worries.

You dropped your feet to the floor and leaned toward her. “What’s really going on here, Gamora? Be honest with me and I might just say yes.”

She pursed her lips as she considered her words. Finally, she nodded. “Have you heard of the Guardians of the Galaxy?”

“Pretty sure everyone has at this point. Ronan was bad news. Don’t know anyone that’s sad to see him go.”

“That was me. Us. I’m part of the Guardians.”

You ran your eyes over her, searching for any deception. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

She nodded once. “Look, we get along well enough but honestly I’m going a little insane. Drax is loud and takes everything literally. And I mean everything. Rocket is an angry ball of fur. Groot is a twig. And Peter is…difficult.”

“Difficult how?”

She gave a little shrug. “He’s flirtatious. With everyone. He usually does really stupid things but for really good reasons. He owns the ship so I suppose he is our leader. Don’t tell him I said that.”

You blinked at her. “And for some reason you think I should join this ragtag group?”

She grasped your arm. “Yes! Please save my sanity, Y/N.”

You chuckled. “I guess I do owe you.”

***

The truth was you had nothing better to do at the moment. If nothing else, tagging along would at least get you off this rock. You could always part ways at the next station. Gamora told you more about the crew as she led you through the streets to the Milano.

By the time you arrived, you felt as though you already knew them. You froze as you really took in the ship in front of you. No. It couldn’t be possible. “Hold this,” you said as you thrust your bag toward your friend. A quick look around and you easily found something you could climb. Ignoring Gamora shouting after you, you climbed up a scaffold. When you reached the top, you turned around to look over the ship as a whole.

Your forearm began to itch and you pushed up your sleeve to scowl at the half-finished tattoo that sat there. A faded, sketch of this ship with a wrench behind it. A ship you had never seen before this moment. Your soul mark. Maybe travelling with Gamora wasn’t such a great idea.

Your eyes found her in the crowd below. She was staring up at you while a man stood beside her. You couldn’t get a good view of him from this height, but you were willing to bet this was Peter. And you were also willing to bet he was your soulmate. As long as you kept your mark covered and didn’t touch him, it would be fine. The tattoos wouldn’t complete if the two of you didn’t touch and he never had to know who you were to him.

Yeah, that would work, you thought and rolled your eyes. You took a breath and jumped, waiting until you had almost reached the ground before using the boosters on your boots to keep you from crashing.

Gamora smirked and shook her head at your antics which she was well used to by now.

“Holy shit. Don’t do that,” the man beside her exclaimed and you turned your attention to him.

You couldn’t help but suck in a breath at the sight of him. He was just your type with dark hair and the scruff of a beard. Damn it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He frowned. “You didn’t scare me. I was just slightly concerned is all.”

You made a sound of agreement and took your bag from Gamora. “Whatever you say, Starlord.” You walked around the two of them to head into the ship.

“Oh. I like her,” you heard him say behind you and couldn’t stop the smile that came to your lips.

***

You’d been traveling with the Guardians for almost two months now. It hadn’t taken you long to become part of their rhythm and routines. The fact you were an excellent mechanic had made that easy. It had also eased the way for you to form a quick friendship with Rocket.

At first you had attempted to keep your distance from Quill, but honestly, the ship wasn’t that big and despite your best intentions, you found yourself falling for him as the two of you spent more time together. The two of you had actually developed a sort of routine. When he was piloting the ship by himself while everyone else slept, you would often join him in the cockpit.

You would bring him a coffee and take the seat beside him while you drank your own. The two of you would talk about everything or nothing, depending on the night. It was another one of those times and you sipped at your coffee as you stared out at the stars.

“You ever find your soulmate?” he asked suddenly and you almost choked on your drink.

“That’s an odd question to ask out of the blue,” you replied instead of answering him.

He shrugged. “I was just curious. I’ve been thinking about it lately.”

“You find yours?”

He darted a glance at you before looking back out the window. “No.” His hand rubbed absently at his chest and you figured that must be where his own mark was.

It was on the tip of your tongue to confess everything, but you resisted the urge. Barely. You ran your finger around the edge of your mug before deciding to make a confession of a different sort. “My father Cyril was a playboy. Always had a different girl on his arm. Sometimes he couldn’t even remember their names. When he met my mom, he tried one of his typical moves and she smacked him across the face. You can imagine her displeasure when her soul mark completed at that moment.”

Peter chuckled a little. “Yeah, I bet. What about your old man?”

Your gaze darted up to find him watching you with curiosity so you gave him a soft smile. “He was in shock, actually. He’d started to think the whole soulmate thing a myth. After all he’d been with a lot of women, surely he should have found her by then, right?”

His brow furrowed and he looked troubled so you cleared your throat and continued the story. “Mom obviously decided to give him a chance despite their rocky first meeting and she fell hard. She thought he had too. Then I came along. The day she found out she was pregnant, she rushed home to tell him and found him in bed with the neighbor.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. As it would turn out, he’d been in bed with several of the neighbors. She was heartbroken. He was indifferent. She never recovered from that.” You let the silence linger as you thought of your mother and the misery that had plagued her your entire life. “Growing up I was convinced soulmates were for suckers. The universe’s cosmic joke on the lovelorn.”

“And now?”

You turned your attention back to him. “What?”

“The way you said that made it sound like your opinion has changed. Has it?” His gaze never left yours, as if the answer were important to him.

“I think we have soulmates, but we have to find them. I don’t trust fate to know who will make me happy.” You shrugged. “Sometimes it gets it right, sometimes not. But you can’t change who you are just because you find your other half.”

He cleared his throat and turned his head back to the front. “I’m glad you said that, ‘cause I have a theory. See, I think that we can spend our whole lives looking for our soulmate, dismissing the other people we come across. But what if the point is the journey? What if we’re supposed to look for our other half as you put it so we can find the actual love of our lives?”

You smiled into your mug before taking another sip. “That seems pretty deep for you, Quill. You doing okay?”

“No, I’m not, damn it.”

You arched your brows as you waited for him to continue.

He raked his hands through his hair then turned his chair toward you and pulled up his shirt. This time you did choke on your coffee. “I’ve had this mark since I was twelve years old. Everywhere I went I would find myself looking for its match. Everywhere. Every day.”

It was, of course, a perfect match for yours. Just as you’d thought. The reminder had you rubbing at your forearm again where the mark was hidden under the wide bracers you wore.  

“I realized at the last port that I’m not looking anymore, Y/N.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

“I found you. That’s why. You’re my soulmate. I don’t need some stupid tattoo to confirm it. I’m in love with you. Have been pretty much since you gave me a heart attack the day I met you.” By this point he was almost yelling in his agitation.

Then you did the thing he least expected. You laughed. It started low in your belly and rolled through you, taking all your hesitation and worry with it. You’d spent your life worried you’d end up like your mother—heartbroken and mourning a soulmate that didn’t deserve you. Instead, the two of you fell in love despite the mark, not because of it. You couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

“If you don’t feel the same way, I get it,” Peter said, “but I’d appreciate it if you stopped laughing at me.”

You shook your head and struggled to get your laughter under control. “It’s not that, Peter. I love you, too.”

He straightened in his seat and gaped at you. “You do?”

You nodded as your laughter began to fade away. You grinned at him.

“Then why are you laughing?”

You loosened your bracer and slid it off before turning your arm so Peter could see your mark. His eyes went wide as he looked between it and your face.

“Is this a joke?” he finally asked. “Did Gamora put you up to this?”

You arched a brow. “Has she had many occasions to see your soul mark?”

His face went red. “No! I mean, she might have seen it once or twice but not like that.”

You stood and closed the small distance between you. Placing your hands on his armrests you leaned into him. Your gaze ran over his face and you smiled when he swallowed hard. “It’s not a joke, Starlord.”

Closing the remaining distance, you pressed your lips to his. He returned the kiss with no hesitation. His hands settled on either side of your head and his fingers threaded into your hair. You noticed a slight burning on your forearm but chose to ignore it. Finally, you pulled away needing to breathe.

Peter grasped your arm in his hands and turned it so he had a better view of the mark. The color was now vibrant. The lines solid and no longer sketchy. It was just how you imagined it would look.

What surprised you was the addition of two shooting stars arching over the ship, their tails tangling together into one. Yeah, that felt right. Leaning forward, you kissed your soulmate again.

Marvel: @evyiione @gabriellewritermua @reblogger-not-a-blogger 

All the Things:  @swanky-batman @rissyrapp20 @startrekkingaroundasgard @spooookyscary @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep

[willardswritindump]

Untiled Halo Fic

Chapter 1

The year is 2525. Humanity has just discovered that we are not alone in this universe. An alien alliance known simply as "The Covenant" has begun to seek out human worlds and outer colonies, kickstarting what would be the darkest, bloodiest conflict in human history. Luckily, the UNSC, or United Nations Space Command, have been preparing humanities galactic military strength due to the rise or the Insurrectionists, or Rebels, in the outer colonies who disagree with the treatment the colonies receive, and political and financial influences.

 The UNSC, now needing bodies to man the massive space railguns they call ships, have constructed several dozen training academies and military schools for humanities brightest and bravest souls. One such facility would be the Corbulo Academy of Military Science, or CAMS. Corbulo is specifically an officer training Academy, housing only the most promising and talented future Officers of the UNSC

The shuttles' thrusters burn as it enters orbit, Lowering itself from the sky to the clouds. Heavy rain bashes against the reinforced hull of the Heron, as new recruits are mentally preparing to be rushed out of the bay upon landing. Some of the finest are among these rookies, such as Viper Mcfairle, the son of a high-ranking Navy Admiral and Julia Lebrette, a somewhat distant relative of a Catherine Halsey, (with a skill in advanced technologies to show-).  The only noise being drawn from the turbulence of the D20 lowering altitude. There's a sense of nervous anticipation that all of the rookies feel, but don't mention. It's crowded and underlit, save for a small piece of space in the back-left corner of the Heron, who's only resident was a seemingly unimpressive, slightly short girl with brunette lengthy hair, and piercing brown eyes. She seemed to emit a sense of hatred for everything around her, which was probably why she was alone, scribbling in a paper journal. Which, to more preppy individuals, is seen as a poor, dirty thing. Dressed unlike the rest, in grey and crimson maroon, with a light brown bandoleer crossing her torso.

 "February 23, 2525. The recent attack on Harvest is still shocking everyone across the galaxy. Not like I've been saying aliens are fucking real all my life. Still, it's scary. News feed of Civilian Evacuation and Military engagements on Harvest are on every media platform. It's all most can talk about, and all anyone thinks about. I still can't stand how the UNS--"

A sudden bang of turbulence disrupts her thought and sends the lead-tipped writing utensil leaping across the floor, gathering the attention of few.

"Fucking hell."

She thought to herself in pissed, but she eventually stops giving a shit, puts the tatty stained notebook away, and continues to project an aura of misery.

As the shuttle lands, someone who looks something like a sergeant stands up in the center or the rows of seats, and begins speaking aloud

"Alright, all of you, listen up! I want all of your electronics and biotics off and away, if I see it at all, that's it, you're done..."

He went on for about a minute on basic instructions, what to do, all that yadda yadda. Everyone did what they were supposed to, anyways.

Everyone knew what to do, though. It wasn't any of their first rodeos, (as most had either transferred from other academies, or were from well-known military families. Something odd happens about this time, though. The entire power grid goes dark, now the only lights being the dark red overheads from the shuttle. The Sergeant stops, orders everyone to siddown and shut up, and goes to have a chat with the pilot, probably for the radio communicator in the cockpit. The recruits, if you can call them that, do well on their end to shut the hell up, save for maybe one nosy individual...

The blonde cadet that sat across from the girl and who had been asleep for the vast majority of the transport ride was suddenly jolted awake as the turbulence rattled the shuttle, his pale blue eyes alert as he waited for the inevitable.                                                    

“Son of a bitch.”

He quietly muttered to himself as they descended onto the planet. As soon as the Sergeant began his speech, he could help but zone out, he was already far used to the icy military treatment from his family, at least this sergeant didn’t give birth to him.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much of the tirade was practiced beforehand by the sergeant. As he stared dead ahead of him the cadet couldn’t help but take survey of the girl in front of him. Not that he found her particularly interesting, although the found her a little cute it wasn’t enough to truly distract him, just enough to occupy his mind for the few minutes they would be stuck staring through each other. He knew something was off by the strange uniform she wore; it wasn’t the same white and grey dress uniform the rest wore but he couldn’t put a finger on why it was notable. Still it was enough to occupy his “recon mind” as his brothers put it and he made a mental note to keep an eye on her. Something about the air of rage that she gave off made him think that was probably a good idea. It made her seem dangerous, something that both fascinated and somewhat, well scared was probably to strong a word, he knew to approach with caution.

The brunette girl takes notice of the other cadet, who to her, almost can't take his eyes off her. She gives a quick half-assed glance and continues to stare out of the shuttle’s porthole-shaped window. A few brief moments pass, and the girl gives off a slight sigh of remorse, and with something of an agitated, intimidating, slightly monotone voice, basically demands the question,

"The hell do you want, pretty boy."

Her deep brown eyes now focus directly on the blonde, unflinching, unnerving. Whoever she was, whatever planet she called home, it was clear now that the most she had in common with any of the other cadets is height. She didn't give off any sort of formal military sense, but something about her told the boy that she had experience, and she knew what she was doing.

“Shut the fuck up back there!” The Sergeant yelled, how he even managed to hear the girl was beyond the boy. Soon enough the entire group was being rushed through a haze of noise and chaos. The only relief being the mean that they had 30 minutes to eat. Through coincidence the boy wound up at the same table as the strange girl.

The mess hall was brightly lit, thanks to the overhead fluorescent lights illuminating the tables and benches. The giant room seemed to particularly favor the color white, as everything from the counters, to the ceiling and shiny marble-like floor, was coated in whites and light grays. Cadets grabbed their grub, sat down wherever, and tried to keep the volume to a minimum as to not piss off the already annoying Sergeants and Officers around.

 In the third isle, on the end next to a window overlooking the courtyard, sat the very same girl from earlier on the shuttle. Now in her titanium white cadet fatigues, "Oliver" sat only a few seats away from anybody else, as if she'd rather observe them than interact. She notices pretty boy approach with who appears to be a friend of his. From the sound of it, they were in a conversation about Harvest

"... And contact was lost right before it got hit! See the resemblance, man? The Aliens are helping the god damned Innies!... Uh, who's this?"

Hoffman, the slightly taller cadet with short, frizzy black hair, gestured to Oliver. Her full attention was now on them whether she liked it or not

The “pretty boy” took a seat across from Oliver, the neutral look on his face from the transport in hadn’t faltered despite Hoffman’s topic of conversation not exactly being one that he was fond of. “I don’t know, try reading. Not like our names are on the uniform.” The “pretty boy” said as before taking a bite of his food. “Also, I’m thinking our problems just got a little bit bigger than the insurrectionists, and that’s all I’m saying on the subject.” Pretty Boy said, a slight sense of sadness in his voice as he talked about Harvest, like something about it affected him more than just the loss of a colony. His eyes were distant as he continued to eat across from Oliver. Upon closer inspection the “pretty boys” name was Daniels.

"I dunno, man. All I know is when we get out of here, I'm getting payback on those gas-sucking freaks, right after those dirty fuckin' Rebels."

Hoffman sat next to Daniels, diagonally across from Oliver. She gave him something of a suspicious look, and turned back to the other cadet

"So what's your deal."

She directs towards Daniels, curious as to why he chose to sit there out of anywhere else in the Hall with much more bright, optimistic rookies. Well, in comparison to her, anyways.

The seat was open.” Daniel said calmly as he continued to eat his food. Truth be told he chose in an attempt to shut Hoffman up and to gather more information on Oliver. He couldn’t explain it but something about her interested him. “What’s your deal?” He asked her before going back to the synthetic vegetables on one side of his plate

"I'm not a fan of company, and three's a crowd."

Although she was being more honest and less rude, there was still some harshness in her words.  Her accent seemed to differ from most of the other cadets as well, who talked either as if they were from fast, bustling cities, or rather slow, more laid back colonies. Oliver, however, had a much more foreign drawl. Daniels had a hard time putting his hand on it, it was almost a cross between Ancient Russian and some European country. Maybe she's from Eposz? She took a swig of bottled water, and then continued what one would guess to be meatloaf. It didn't kill her, so she didn't care.

"Oh, great, another extremely extroverted ray of sunshine! Don't worry, Oliver, we don't bite. Unless you get on Daniels fun side here... rrwwwrrrr~"

Hoffman tiger purred at his fellow cadet, messing with him and trying to lighten the somewhat dim mood

A moment quickly passed before Daniels turned to Hoffman and raised an eyebrow in a “what the fuck” look. “Okay first, don’t you ever that again, and second, don’t you ever do that again.” He said in a calm monotone, raising one finger on first and a second on “second”, pointing both at Hoffman. Truth be told as much as he liked the guy he kind of hoped the icy girl would scare him off, that clearly wasn’t the case. “As much as I appreciate your suave attempt at being a wingman I don’t think you’re helping..... that means fuck off Dustin.” Daniels said before going back to his so-called meatloaf.

"Alright, alright Odie, you win. Besides, you know I'm just fucking with you. Not so sure about that one from Eridnus II, though-"

Oliver almost smirked. She didn't really give a damn for what either of them had to say, but Daniels' response was somewhat humorous to her.

"You two are idiots."

She went back to her almost real meatloaf, acting uninterested and observing the outside courtyard below.

“What part of fuck off didn’t you understand.” Daniels said before taking another bite of the meatloaf and a swig of water. “Honestly, that’s a fair point.” He said in response to Oliver’s verbal jab at both him and Hoffman, truth be told he knew Hoffman wasn’t exactly the brightest and didn’t exactly know how to shut up but Daniels knew that without a doubt Hoffman would have his back in a fight. He couldn’t count the amount of they’d bailed each other out back on Reach.

"Ah, don't worry about him. He's just been grumpy lately. Guess we all have since... Uh, yeah.."

A moment or two flies by, before Oliver piped up and asked

"... So where are you two from."

If you could call it asking. She had something of a demanding tone, as if she didn't show empathy towards being courteous. Still, her, asking this, is friendly, for Oliver.

“Reach.” Daniels calmly replied, interested at getting anything more than an insult out of the curious fellow cadet. “And I thought we both agreed NOT, to bring that up.” He said to Hoffman, an agitated tone in his voice. The topic of harvest still seeming to be a bad one with him.

Hey, I didn't say anything, just throwing vauge...ness out there."

 "Oh. I see."

Not much had been said, but things never had to be too obvious for her to pick up the pieces. From her guess, at least one of them lost something important on Harvest.

"Tough shit."

Oliver mumbled to herself.

"So what the hell are you doing here? In this gunkhole?"

“What does it matter?”

Daniels still seemed sore from all the talk of harvest. He soon swallowed down the last of his water and poked at what was left of the synthetic meatloaf and between pushing his few so called vegetables around his plate, his appetite clearly squashed.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

"I came here because I want to learn and get experience. I was tired of sitting around and listening to all the assholes back home, so I came here for a change."

"I came here to fight."

She had finished most of her meal by now, and pushed her tray and water aside.

"So, why are you here."

“I’m here to kill.”

Was all Daniels responded with, a dark look spreading across his face.

“I wanna see the pink or whatever the fuck color mist that those hinge heads make.”

He went on before taking an aggressive bite of the rest of his meatloaf and quickly swallowing.

"Hm."

Oliver didn't say too much after that. She didn't need to. Hatred like that resonated with her, in a way. It was probably the only emotion she would outright show empathy to. That is, if silence is empathetic.

 "Sarah."

 It had looked like Odie was going to open his mouth as if to say something (presumably an introduction), but she cut him off.

 "You're Odie, and this is Dustin."

"Tolerable to make your acquaintance.

“Oliver, my name is Oliver.”

Daniels said before gulping down the rest of his water and getting up. With that he vanished into the sea of white and grey.

 Some hours later after a long night of being yelled at, group punishments and being pushed through more supply lines than anyone thought possible the cadets were finally placed in their rooms. And who did Daniels wind up with for a roommate but the Ice Queen herself, the name Oliver, Sarah was placed right above the bed across from him. He sighed as he began to unpack his newly issued gear and few personal items.

Sarah had almost finished unpacking and organizing her gear, save for an ivory colored trinket with string wrapped around it. She unfolded what appeared to be an amulet, put it on, and stuffed it under her collar before Odie could make out the object, if he was even paying attention.

 "Guess we're stuck together, pretty boy."

Sarah fell back onto the bunk and crossed her arms behind her head, in a somewhat relaxed, "Zero fucks given" pose.

"That's alright. Maybe you'll take a stray round for me at the firing range."

Luckily, there was a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Oliver went about arranging what little he had from home. A chess board with pieces composed of standard UNSC shell casings, a few books, and a framed picture of a group of about 11 boys all varying ages and shades of blond hair, and their eyes all the same piercing shade of blue. After staring at the picture for a few moments Oliver grabbed one of the books and took a seat on his bed.

 “If only it were that easy.”

Oliver said as he flipped through the pages of his book.

“Alright, cut the bullshit. Why are you really here?”

He paused for a moment as he turned the page.

“All the others are obvious. Either their mommies and daddies are military and they have no choice in the matter or they actually want to serve but mommy and daddy don’t want to loose their precious little darling to the insurrectionist, or.... whatever the fuck those things are.” An ever so tiny sliver of pain came through Oliver’s voice as the subject of the covenant cane up but he quickly composed himself.

“So they sent them here hoping they wind up some high ranking POG just like the ones who’s asses they kissed to get them here.”

 Odie paused again.

“You’re neither.”

The girl sat up straight, and went silent for a moment. Sarah had a serious yet vacant expression on her face, as if she had been lost in a sad, dark memory.

 "Mommy and daddy are the reason I'm here."

 "And that's all I'm saying about that."

 There was impatience in her tone, for sure, but something about the way she said it made it seem... Regretful.

Without even looking up Oliver could sense that he had struck a nerve even deeper than when Harvest was mentioned around him. He slowly closed the book before just staring at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.”

"It's fine, shit happens. Lotta people don't make it through this fucking war. After a while you get used to it."

 Sarah spoke with more agitation in her voice than sadness, and was trying to give off her usual "I don't give a damn" tone. She almost got away with it.

 She cracked her neck left then right, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She paused for a moment, then looked over to Odie.

 "What do you know about the Innies."

Oliver paused for a moment before turning to face Sarah.

 “Do you want to know what I know or what I think, because that’s an important distinction to make.”

 Oliver sat in silence as he surveyed Sarah and her reactions.

"And what might that be?"

Sarah leaned to her left, using her elbow as a stand and resting her cheek on her knuckles. She was expecting something along the lines of "Well sometimes they have good intention but sometimes they're too extreme". It was the most common thing she'd heard, but in her mind, drastic times sometimes call for drastic measures.

“Well, if I’m to tell the truth...”

Oliver paused to try and find the best way to phrase what he was going to say.

 “I find the insurrectionists tactics to be somewhat sloppy, and that’s part of what makes them dangerous. Overall however I think the universe just got a little bigger than petty human squabbles over territories and politics.”

Oliver’s deadpan making it sound less like a personal opinion and more like he was reading from a briefing.

"Yeah, galactic civil war, aliens, what next? A big fucking gun that kills everything in the universe?"

Putting the "lighthearted" humor aside, she had a point.

 "You think we should join up with the Rebels against them? If only temporarily."

“I think we’re going to need everyone we can get if we want to keep....”

Oliver paused, a little pain in his voice.

“If we want to keep the rest of us from ending up like Harvest.”

Her tone dropped serious and she looked Odie dead in the eye

"Things just go south from here on out. Harvest won't be the last. You know that."

“Yeah, but we have to do fucking something. Besides, if those things really do wanna kill us all then I’d rather die fighting than on my knees.”

Odie returned the look with one of his own, one that said he was going follow through with those words.

It may just come to that, if you let that gung-ho attitude of yours get to your head."

She flipped her bangs to the left and out of her face

"We'll get 'em back. They have to have a home world or base of operations somewhere."

"We'll blow it the fuck up."

“I’m not saying I’d complain about that. Not like dying in the line of duty isn’t part of my family history.”

Upon hearing that something clicked, Oliver was one of those Daniels.

Sarah felt an immediate jolt of emotions even she found hard to describe run down her spine. Her fists clenched up, and she had to act like she didn't just hear the fifth shittiest news of her life.

 "Daniels. Son of Sergeant Major Henry Daniels, Company Commander of 106th ODST Special Forces."

 "You're his son

“Technically, yes.”

Oliver paused as he tried his best to phrase what he was going to say next.

“Bastard never did anything to exactly qualify him as a father except sticking his dick my mom.”

He paused once more.

“I didn’t know him, he ain’t got shit to do with me.”

Sarah went silent. She didn't know how to react. How the fuck does somebody react to that kind of news? She tried to hide the anger and hatred she had for one of the most prominent military families this side of Eridanus. It almost worked.

 "What. The Fuck-"

She felt her heartrate skyrocket, pounding in her chest. Almost every bone in her Venezian body wanted to break her fists on his face and vice versa. She couldn't, though. Not yet. It wasn't the time.

"Don't fucking talk to me."

Sarah moved away from the edge, and began making her bed, ignoring Odie entirely.

“Shut the fuck up in there you two or I swear you two will be running to Reach and back! Lights fucking out!” Their platoon sergeant yelled out before the main lights of the room sharply shut off and the only dim lights above the bed were able to barely illuminate Sarah’s work and gave Odie enough to read. He figured going back to his book was probably the best course of action after Sarah’s less than favorable reaction to his family heritage. Although he couldn’t completely understand, all that bastard of a man had done was beat him for being in his words a “useless runt” and make the homestead reek of alcohol until he got pulled back into some mission. “Yeah, real dad of the year material”, Oliver thought before marking his place and slipping the book under his pillow.

Sarah couldn't sleep that night. Not anything unusual for her, but this time was different. That assholes dad was responsible for her mothers death, one way or another. She'd get her revenge. In time.

 Days turned to weeks, and most of the time all Odie would get from his battle buddy was quick, harsh glances and puffs of aggravation. The only time they shared conversation was in situations when they were required to. She was intent on following through with her words.

Chapter 2

[eclecticminded]

Don’t Forget

Darling @glimmerglittergirl here is your request for winning the giveaway! Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy!

It’s your anniversary with Nevada and he wants it to be special.

Warnings: Alcohol. Food. Sex. Knife mention. Minor injury.

Tags: @southsiderepresent @glimmerglittergirl @madpanda75  @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @esparza-army @sweetsummertime99  @obfuscateyummy @lifeisbetterwithbarba  @lyssa1385  @hux-me-up   @bowieisawizard @sleepylunarwolf @mrsrafaelbarba anyone else ask! Also I have a Kofi (link in blog description) if anyone wants to donate! 

Word Count: 2,032

“Loca,” Nevada hollered from the kitchen, you barely heard him over the shower.

 “Whaaat,” your response was muffled so he stomped across the apartment and threw the bathroom door open.

 “Nevada! What the fuck,” you pulled the shower curtain back so you could see him but kept your body hidden.

 “What’re you hiding for, I’ve seen you naked plenty,” he ripped the curtain back and eyed you up and down.

 “What do you want Vada,” you crossed your arms and shivered from the cold air.

 “Why is there a giant heart on my calendar,” he tapped on a day the following week and you rolled your eyes.

 “It’s our anniversary asshole,” you resumed showering, “Didn’t want you to forget again.”

 “I forget one time and never hear the end of it,” he grunted, frustrated at himself even years later.

 “Well if I didn’t remind you,” you sighed and calmed yourself, “you’d forget. You’re a busy man.”

 “Is that really what you think of me,” Nevada’s shoulders slumped and he let himself be soft, something he only did at home.

 “No mi amor,” you rinsed the last of the soap from your hair, “I just know you’re busy and in demand. I remind you so neither of us will be upset again.”

 “Sounds like you don’t have faith in me to remember,” he held the towel up and helped you out after you turned the water off.

 “I have faith in you,” you stood still while he toweled you dry, it was one of the things that calmed him; taking care of you.

 “But,” he looked up at you knowingly.

 “But I know you get busy and things happen,” you ran your fingers through his hair.

 “I’m not gonna forget y/n,” Nevada pecked your lips, “Just don’t write it on my work calendar, huh?”

 “Deal,” you nodded seriously and Nevada swatted your ass when you walked by to get ready for work.

 The following Thursday was your anniversary and Nevada made it his goal to prove to you he could remember on his own. You had woken up early to make him breakfast, but knowing you so well, he got up even earlier and made you pancakes and eggs. And not just any pancakes, pancakes with blueberries and chocolate chips. He thought they were disgusting, but you loved them so he made them for you.

 The two of you spent the start of the morning in bed eating breakfast and making out. While you showered Nevada cleaned up the dishes then ate you out before you headed off to work. He made you promise to come straight home, that you’d be picked up promptly at six and you had to be on time getting off. With a lingering kissed you promised and rushed off.

 At work there were black and blood red roses delivered already on your desk with a poem attached that made your heart swoon. As if he was watching, just when you decided to take lunch Nevada showed up with food. You scarfed it down and dragged him out to the SUV you knew was parked in the garage. His men were sent on a walk and you spent the majority of your lunch hour blowing him.

 At exactly six on the nose you climbed into the waiting SVU and Nevada was already there, although his appearance confused you. You assumed he’d be dressed up for a fancy date, and instead he was in jeans and a hoodie. Nevada didn’t wear jeans and hoodies.

 “What’re you dressed like that for,” you scrunched your nose up then licked your lips, “Not that I don’t appreciate it. You look damn good dressed up, and you look damn good dressed down too.”

 “It’s a surprise,” he shrugged and started kissing you. In fact you got so lost in the kiss, you didn’t notice you weren’t heading home. You didn’t notice anything was afoot until you got out of the vehicle and it wasn’t home.

 “Nevada, where the fuck are we,” you were confused and little afraid of the dark parking lot.

 “The airport loca,” Nevada rolled his eyes and took two suitcases from the men before guiding you to a private hangar.

 “Why are we at the airport,” you followed him through a brief security check point and watched as strangers walked away with the bags.  

 “A vacation for our anniversary,” he chuckled, “Are you surprised?”

 “I have work Vada,” your heart dropped, you didn’t want to miss this.

 “Talked to your boss while I was there,” he shrugged, “You’re off for a week while we go somewhere nice.

 “Really!? That grouchy old man agreed to it,” you leaped into Nevada’s arms and he spun you around while you both giggled.

 “I didn’t give him much choice,” he kissed your neck and led you onto the private plane.

 “How’d you swing this,” you jumped from seat to seat to find your favorite one.

 “Pulled in some favors,” Nevada rifled through a bag he’d kept with him and through some soft clothes at you, “Change before takeoff.”

 “Right here,” you started undoing your shirt and winking.

 “If you want to put on a show then by all means,” he motioned to the stewardesses and pilots chatting near the cockpit.

 “On second thought,” you blushed and changed in the slightly larger than normal bathroom. Upon emerging, you took the seat closest to Nevada and he buckled you in.

 “I packed your clothes and other stuff,” Nevada took your hand and kissed it, “Anything else we need I’ll buy.”

 “Where are we going,” you pouted.

 “Somewhere warm,” he quitted you while the plane took off and watched you as you stared out the window in amazement.

 “Refreshments,” the stewardess brought over two glasses of Champaign and a bowl of fresh strawberries once you were airborne.

 “Thank you,” you accepted wide eyed and sipped, “Oh! I have your present!”

 “You got me a present,” Nevada watched as you dug through your purse and triumphantly pulled a small wrapped box out.

 “I did! Open it! Open it,” you bounced in place and finished off your drink, which was quickly replaced with another.

 “Let’s see what we have,” he opened the box painfully slow knowing it aggravated you, “Oh my god. Mi reina, you shouldn’t have!”

 “But I did,” you smiled and watched him excitedly look over the spoils in the box. First he pulled on the cross necklace, it had your anniversary engraved on the back. The cigar cutter was just as fancy and also engraved.

 “The cross I get,” he tapped the one around your neck that used to be his, “But the cigar cutter? Is it because of…?”

 “It’s for two reasons. One, that one is for home. No more bloody cigar cutters in the house yeah? And two, it’s to remind you I have used one to cut a guy’s finger off,” you batted your eyes innocently.

 “Yeah well I’ve never kidnapped you have I,” Nevada teased, “Well…not like that.”

 “No not like that,” you winked and climbed into his lap, “And the necklace is a secret tiny knife!”

 “What? How,” he stared as you turned the base and pulled down, a small blade coming out.

 “It’s small but very sharp,” you poked yourself and winced.

 “Your present is two parts too,” he took the blade and sheathed it, then kissed the small wound.

 “You mean something other than this amazing trip,” you ground down onto him and he momentarily lost his train of thought.

 “The trip is part one,” he gripped your hips to slow your grinding, “Part two is this trip is for us to get married.”

 “Nevada,” you snapped but softened when you saw him playing with the ring on your finger, “I have been planning this wedding for six months! Our family and friends—“

 “And it’s stressing you out! So that’s why I think we should run away and elope. Have a small ceremony for us,” he raced his hands up and down your back, “Then still have the big ceremony. I think it will take the pressure off.”

 “Ya know,” you relaxed against him, “I think you’re right.”

 “I’m always right,” he puffed his chest out.

 “Don’t push it Vada,” you poked him dead in the center of his chest.

 “Ladies,” Nevada called to the stewardess as he stood up, you tight in his arms, “We’ll need that privacy now.”

 “Of course Mr. Ramirez,” they pulled a curtain shut and you saw them slipping headphones on.

 “I need to taste you again,” Nevada dropped you where he’d been sitting and you bounced.  He immediately fell to his knees and shimmied you out of the leggings and panties you wore.  His mouth was on your core in mere seconds, flicking and sucking the bundle of nerves. Your whole body shuddered as your hips flew upwards when his fingers plunged in. Whimpers and moans filled the cabin as he drew two long orgasms out of you.

 “Your turn,” you panted and reached for him.

 “Tsk tsk,” he shook his head, “Good girls ask.”

 “Can I suck your cock papi,” you pouted.

 “I don’t think you want it,” he undid his pants and let them drop to his ankles, pumping himself,

 “Please please let me suck your cock! Please,” your lip quivered and that satisfied him.  With a foot perched on the arm rest, he fed himself into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and braced yourself as he fucked your face. Tears streamed down your cheeks and drool fell onto your shirt as you gagged on him. It was what he liked, it was what you liked doing. When the familiar eye flutter of light headedness stared, Nevada pulled out and let you catch your breath.

 “Damn girl,” he wiped the sweat from his forehead and chugged his forgotten Champaign.

 “Fuck me Nevada,” your eyes darkened, “Fuck me one last time as your fiancée. The next time you’ll be inside me it’ll be as my husband.”

 “Fuck yes,” Nevada growled and pulled you up from the seat. You twisted and he pushed you down to bend over, bracing yourself with the cushion. The head of his cock traced from your clit to your entrance, running through your lips before he slammed into you. The first few pumps were hard and full of fire, but he slowed and a different kind of passion filled the moment. Tenderly he made love to you, peppering your back with nips and kisses.

 Nevada pulled you to standing with an arm around your waist; you braced yourself against the top of the seat now. Turning your head to the side, you kissed Nevada while he filled you up. The slow burn built in your stomach and you cried out his name in ecstasy. He soon followed, cumming deep inside of you.

 “Welcome to the mile high club,” he chuckled as you both redressed.

 “Who says I wasn’t already a member,” you cocked an eyebrow and pressed the call bottom.

 “What does that mean,” his jaw dropped.

 “Two waters please,” you smiled at the stewardess and turned back to Nevada, “What makes you think you were by first airplane fuck?”

 “I uh..well I just figured…” Nevada was cute when he was flustered.

 “Listen Vada,” you thanked the stewardess for the water and she left, “I’ve given blow jobs on airplanes, but never have I fucked or cum on a plane. So I guess I got full membership today.”

 “You are something else,” he rolled his eyes, “Why don’t we eat, take a little nap, and then fuck some more?”

 “How long is this flight,” you looked from him to the stewardess bringing over dinner plates.

 “As long as it is,” he shrugged.

 “You’re really not gonna tell me,” you huffed,

 “Nope,” he smirked, “Now eat your food.”

 “Whatever Vada,” you picked up your fork, “But it better be worth it.”

 “You’re worth it,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

 “You’re worth it,” you kissed his knuckles and pressed as close to him as you could while you ate. Within eighteen hours he would be your husband and you’d be fucking on a private beach in Hawaii.

[knaveofmogadore]

First Second Meetings

I don’t think I’m ever going to get over these nerds! It’s been YEARS since I’ve put out adive content I think! This is a rework actually of one of my older fics since lost to time, adapted to the current state of canon. This is my, what? Third first meetings fic for Adamus and Five? Frey needs to let them argue already so I can stop writing these

Five kidnaps Adamus in the middle of his third night back at civilization, and that sets off the beginning of a beautiful friendship, with a side of drama, war, and Einar.

Adam sat down on the bed with a relieved sigh. Nearly two years in the arctic, a sudden evacuation of Alaska, a surprise pick up from his friend John Smith, a non stop sting of diplomatic meetings and legal and not so legal fights, and a stress fueled sparring smackdown with Nine all added to two years of terrible sleep and seventy two hours of virtually no sleep at all. His exhaustion was evident in the heavy way he moved, the effort it took to hold his head up. It did not, however, dull the feeling of sitting on an actual bed, in an actual house, in a room that was actually sort of his. Adam fell backward with a soft laugh and sprawled. His head almost hung over the edge against the wall and his feet were planted on the floor. Uncomfortable though the position was and odd though it felt to be on a clean mattress with intact sheets, it was the safest he had felt in years. With a Mogadorian warship and a peacekeeper army near enough to wage war in the Academy’s backyard, that was a bit sad. Ironic even.

Adam sat up when he heard Malcolm Goode appear in the doorway. He smiled in that fatherly way he had. His face screamed stressed, but it seemed to fade in the face of Adam being even marginally happier than he was when he got here. Even at this level of exhaustion Adam can't help but smile back. This place was new, the HGA not something he would ever agree with, but he still felt a little bit at home. Safe. Cared about for the first time in a long time.

“Settling in ok?”

Adam nodded, “It still feels weird, but I promise I'm fine.”

Malcolm nodded back, satisfied, and rested his hand on the doorknob.

“Sam and Six are just down the hall, and I'll be asleep downstairs in my office, probably,” Malcolm looked at Adam in a way that he hopes conveyed that that was an invitation for fellow insomniacs, “so you're not alone here. Try to get some sleep, ok?”

“Yeah, I don't think that sleep is going to be an issue. I feel like I haven't slept in years.”

That didn't help the stress and exhaustion ease from Malcolm at all. He clears his throat and moves to shut the door behind him, before he stops and snaps his fingers.

“Right! I know it's going to be hard, but try and get up early tomorrow. Lexa is coming over to review the security over breakfast and she wants your input.”

Adam nods, “I'll try my best to get up before noon.”

Tomorrow was a rest day for negotiations, a chance for everyone to take a step back and think over legalities, and a chance for the garde at the academy to strategize about other threats. They also hoped it would be a good chance for the mogadorians to not only rest, but curb the tempers that were beginning to run short.

Malcolm smiled one last time and shut the door.

****

Adam shifted under the thin blanket in his sleep. He squeezes the pillow provided in his arms, opting to sleep without one. The mattress was not the most comfortable, which helped Adam get over how weird it felt to sleep on one after all this time. It helped that he was too tired to stay awake without great effort. Twenty minutes of shifting and then laying still and he was out like a light.

He was not usually a deep sleeper, a habit he could never afford growing up with his brother Ivan and his unstable father. He never had a chance to pick it up, either. Especially not since the war ended. Sleeping through being ambushed and even stabbed was a terrible idea.

Tonight Adam was beyond being roused by the soft opening of a window, the lack of footsteps, the even quieter breeze. What did wake him was the metal hand that covered the bottom half of his face. His eyes blinked open, and then he tried to scream and reach around to punch his attacker in the neck. His fingers crack against a solid metal jaw. He is fully roused then, awake enough to notice that he and his now kidnapper were floating out of the window even as he put up a fight.

After the second time Adam almost made his attacker drop him, he realized that it maybe was not the best idea to make someone let hi go while they were suspended several hundred feet above the ground. He quieted instead, and allowed the rogue garde, and they must be a rogue garde, John would never scare him like this and no one else would dare, to carry him by his armpits. It was as terrifying and death defying as the first time he rode a flying garde into the early morning, but Adam still found himself sort of enjoying the sensation. He was not going to die right away, or he would have been killed at any point so far. He allowed himself to enjoy, just for the moment, the feeling of wind in his hair, the sight of San Francisco and all of her lights below him. If he was with a garde he trusted, Adam would have smiled.

The peace didn’t last long. Just as Adam’s shoulders were starting to cramp like they would be stuck that way, a ship came into view. Not just any ship, a skimmer, and one that was in pretty poor shape at that. It hovered mid-air above the city, waiting to land. Wires trailed from the underbelly and flapped in the wind, the paint job needed a serious retouching, and the ship was more dented than would ever be allowed by an self respecting engineering officer.

Adam’s mind was already running through escape plans. It would be easy enough to pilot the thing once he could lock himself in the cockpit, he had been flying skimmers since he was a child. He had the blueprints for the ship already clear in his mind, exhausted though he was he could clearly map his way on and off even the rattiest looking model. He figures if push comes to shove he could blow half of the floor away with the smallest seismic wave. Maybe even by just stomping too hard.

The rogue approached the ship and opened the doors from the air. Adam had hoped that the ship would land, but at least this way he knows that they are probably alone, and the garde is holding him by one arm. The keypad sparks and the doors open. Adam waits, and the doors slide closed behind them. Just a few more seconds, the garde is close to, and then Adam’s feet touch the floor.

With an acrobatic twist that would make Six proud Adam shoves his hand against the garde’s chest and puts enough of his legacy into it that the wave sends the garde sailing into the opposite wall, where there were already considerable dents. Adam lands lightly on his feet and prepares for a fight, casting his eyes around for something, anything he can hit with.

In the meantime his attacker is back off his feet already. He clutches at his chest, and between his rage and the pins and needles feeling in his ribs he doesn’t notice that his hood has fallen down. Adam turns full bodied to the movement, his cockpit plan forgotten for the sake of not dying before he gets there, and then he freezes. His face pales, his expression stricken, his stance stiff and off kilter with the realization of how many garde, exactly, both have more than one legacy and can fly.

Five’s nostrils flare and he growls. For a brief moment before his metal skin takes over Adam can see black scars snaking across his cheek from his neck. He is beyond unhappy. There is murder in his eyes, barely restrained. Adam’s realization and one fact turned lie overshadows all of that.

“Five! You’re alive!”

Five charged Adam and lifted him by his shirt to slam him against the wall of the ship, then took him away just to slam him again. Adam grabbed into Five's hand. He tries his best to maintain eye contact as Five tries to crush him into the wall.

“Five,” Adam wheezes, “listen to me..”

“I'm done listening! I know you, Adamus, I know how you like to talk! I'm not gonna listen to it!”

Adam grasps Five's meaty metal wrist firmly, but not to pull at at. He just holds it. Five has murder in his eyes but Adam is unruffled, unflappable. He reminds Five of Einar and through some conditioned response this calms him enough to listen anyway. He does not ease up his grip, forcing Adam to talk softly and breathe shallowly.

“You..you're angry. You're hurt. You feel like you have been abandoned, I know how that feels..”

It was too soon for empathy, Five smacked Adam's back against the wall for a third time.

“Like hell you know how this feels! You isolated yourself and they still welcomed you back with open arms! You betrayed your entire race and you're. Still. Here!”

With every pause Five slammed Adam into the wall again. A dent is starting to form behind him, and black spots are swimming in his vision. Time for the tough truths approach, he decided.

“Do,” Adam wheezed in a breath, “do you think that you scare me? Do you think you're the first person to attack me in my own home? The first to try and kill me in the middle of the night? The first to pick me up and beat the shit out of me?”

Adam can feel Five's metal fist digging its fingernails into his skin through his nightshirt. He shook his hair out of his eyes to the best of his ability and looks down at Five's fist. He moves his hands up to cradle it and sends just a tickle of his legacy into the metal flesh. Small waves, barely as strong as the force of a splash dive into the pool. He knows the force has Five's hand ringing anyway with pins and needles, the metal of his skin amplifying the effects of Adam's legacy. Five's fingers loosen enough to give him more breath and his grip doesn't tighten again.

Adam sucks in a deep breath with a quiet gasp. He savours the feeling of being able to expand his chest and he swallows, trying to clear away the stickiness in his throat. His ribs ache with the strain but his head clears. The ringing in his ears subsides a fraction. His hair falls back into his eyes and he leaves it, better than Five not see his face. Empathy seemed to enrage him, so tears would also, Adam reasons.

“My entire life has been like this, from the day of my birth to this moment. Always afraid of screwing up, always under threat of consequences, never good enough, never strong enough, never coming from the right place.”

Adam's hands begin to shake around Five's hand and he allows them to for the first time in years.

“I was afraid, and then I was angry. I was angry that he could never see how hard I was trying, I was pissed that they just used me and tossed me back onto the trash pile once they were done, I was so, so angry that they thought they could hunt children like beasts and I never stopped being angry, Five. I'm still angry. It's what my legacy relies on.”

Five looks down, stops trying to meet Adam's eyes through his fringe to look at his shaking hands. The movement is the most anxiety he's seen come from any Mogadorian. Not anxiety. Not anger, either. Exhaustion. Distress. His eyes snap back up when Adam composes himself and continues talking.

“So I do get it. I have always gotten it. You're angry, you feel used and discarded and hated, you think that no one cares about you and that you're all alone in this world because there is one group if people in this whole wide universe that doesn't love you.”

Five's hand begins to shake and it puts Adam on edge, but there was no stopping now. He plows forward and pays it no heed. He makes a point of not looking up at Five's face in case he was wrong.

“That isn't how the universe works, Five. Just because the people you want to love you don't show you what you want, that does not mean you are not loved, cannot be loved. We make our own lives, our own destinies, our own families out of whatever and whoever we want.”

Adam looks up through his overgrown bangs and sighs tiredly at Five. His eyes are downcast, his shoulders slumped. Tears shine from the corners of his eyes and threaten to show over his cheeks. Adam taps his fingers against the metal of his skin to gain his attention. Tink, tink, tink. He looks up and searches Adam's expression for deceit.

“Put me down, Five.”

Five's fist tightens its grip instead. His flesh and bone and scarred fist.

“What if I wanted to kill you instead? That was a nice speech, but I still think you're dead wrong.”

Adam is untroubled, though his voice comes out tired.

“If you were ever going to kill me you would have done it when you took me. You don't play with your prey, we both know that. You were never going to kill me in the first place.”

Five slams Adam into the wall one last time for good measure. A petulant, last ditch effort to make Adam feel like he is wrong about Five. His own odd way of trying to enforce his own self deprecating thoughts, his own self hatred. Adam saw straight through it, even if Five did not. Maybe not yet, but he thinks that someday he will. He does not smile, no, but he suddenly looks less tired, more hopeful. Five no longer intimidates him, forget scaring him.

The change in Adam’s demeanor suddenly puts Five on edge. No one apart from Einar acted like they weren’t afraid of them, everyone hated Five, or was scared of him, but Adam seemed practically at ease in his presence. He hated that, he decided. Adam had no reason to feel anything for him but hatred. He hated that he acted like he could understand any of this. He hated that Adam could understand. Five betrayed his own people, the people Adam betrayed his people to help. There are few people who have more reasons to hate Five than he does.

Five growls and drops him.

“Stop that!”

Adam braces himself against the wall and holds his chest in both of his arms. His ribs throbbed and his back felt like Five crushed it into dust. A bruise was loudly and angrily forming over his sternum. He was a little too preoccupied in that moment to listen to anything Five said, too focused on standing up straight and not passing out from how suddenly tired he was. He looked up, not bothering to hide his confusion, when Five steadied him with hands on his shoulders. He coughed and looked to the side, revealing more scarring down the back of his neck. Adam shoved down deep an urge to trace them with his fingers.

“...Thank you.”

Five shrugged, “It’s nothing. Um.”

“Why did you take me in the first place? The only thing you could accomplish by removing me from the equation is war, and I doubt you’re helping someone experiment on garde.”

Five looked more flustered by the second. The longer Adam’s penetrating stare examined him the more he felt like he was being dissected. Adam’s eyes were a scalpel and prod, and Five was on the operating table. He was never someone anyone could successfully lie to. Five is taken back, for a moment, to when he had first met the other Loric garde. If Adam had been there he would have never gotten away with any of it. Five gives up on any secrecy right then and there. He also backs away from Adam a step, just in case.

“Einar is hoping to convert you to his cause. He figures that if anyone would back him up about the Earth’s governments not having the right to control the fate of the world and all of the garde in it, it would be you. He thinks you can get all of your people on his side.”

Adam’s sigh carries so much exhaustion that it makes Five want to lay down on the floor and sleep. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in, then releases, a long breath. He starts to say something, then takes even more seconds to calm himself and rethink. He does that two more times before he knows he won’t have a complete breakdown where he stands.

“The kid’s heart is in the right place, I think,” he begins, speaking evenly, carefully, “but his techniques, his ideas, his schemes are unrefined. They are dangerous even, especially ones where he interferes in things he has no way of understanding. Einar may come from mogpro, but he has never met a Mog, he has no idea what he thinks he’s trying to accomplish here.”

“Adamus..”

Adam talked right over Five. He is using this moment as a sort of release for all of the frustration he has been forced to shove down from the past two years. Later, he will feel guilty about taking it out on Five. Right now his careful speech gives way to his mounting irritation and diplomacy flies out the window, shrieking and trailing feathers behind her.

“It was hard enough getting the mogadorians on earth to follow my lead in renouncing Setrakus Ra, and even then the ones being evacuated from Alaska are just a fraction of my people now. Getting Vontezza to even listen to me has been a headache! The children of my people are in more danger now than they were when Setrakus Ra was in power, the mogs are no closer to not succumbing to extinction, and now you are telling me some child wants to add his hairbrained schemes to the mix?”

“Adam…”

“Tell Einar that he can eat the general’s sword scrap by scrap if he wants a Mogadorian’s help in destabilizing the situation further, and that is my final word.”

Adam finally quieted and held his hand to his side to quell the fresh pain in his ribs from shouting. Five stood there, defeated and at a total loss. He figured out halfway through Adam’s speech that he was not the target, and now all he wanted to do was fix this. Tentatively he reached out and rested his hand on Adam’s shoulder. He looked down at Five through his fringe and was hit with a small pool of guilt in his stomach at the remorse in his expression. Adam has shot the messenger.

“Let me take you home, if,” Five winced, “since, since your answer is no.”

The flight back was in silence. Five carried him bridal style this time, with extra special care given to his ribs and back. Adam enjoyed the flight more this time, in spite of the ache. With his head clear of escape plans and fear of death it was easier to appreciate the lights of the city. The wind flipped his hair into a mess and pressed a chill into his skin. Without thinking he pressed closer to Five. Five without a word dropped his metal skin. Adam pretended not to notice the scar tissue he could feel through Five’s shirt.

In spite of the ache and the chill and the circumstances, it was pleasant. Quiet. Adam thinks, possibly, that he could grow to trust Five this time around. Five thinks, maybe, that he and Adam could become friends once all of this is over. With the HGA coming into view, it did not feel like a final parting. It wouldn’t be.

[ghost-viking-blog]

10 dopey driving habits that are costing you money

It’s a strange quirk of human nature that many people treat cheaper, less valuable things they own - like clothes, or our beloved phones, or pets - far more carefully than the second most expensive item most of us will ever buy.

Now, while it’s true that 'Depreciation' rates right up there on the list of Least Interesting Words, not looking after your vehicle can end up costing you a lot of money, if you don’t keep that dullish D-word in mind.

You can multiply that depreciation cost by other often under-considered outgoings like 'Maintenance', 'Brakes', 'Fluids', 'Fuels' and 'Tyres'. Suddenly, it’s easy to see why it makes sense to cut back on doing the kind of things to your car that are costing you money.

You might think expensive driving behaviours are obvious - going too fast and racking up speeding fines, parking without paying for it, or taking your time before opening your road-toll notices.

But what we’re talking about are the dumb and disrespectful ways you treat your car, and how you should cut them out.

After all, you wouldn’t use your favourite jumper to blow your nose on, or pick up a dog turd. Not unless you’re a child, anyway. Which is exactly why children aren’t allowed to own cars.

Top 10 Ways Your Driving Behaviours Are Costing You Money

1. Not warming up your car

Not even diesels require as much of a warm-up anymore.

Yes, there was a time, back in what will come to be known as the 'Pre-Netflixean Era', or the even more ancient 'Pre-WWW Age', when you really did have to sit there on cold mornings, shivering in your 'Pre-Heated Seats Era' car as its engine slowly struggled its way to life.

Everyone knew that it was a bad idea to attempt to drive your car without warming it up, and that your dad would be well angry with you when he had to go out to the shed with his spanners to fix it himself.

Modern cars, of course, don’t need nearly as much tender care, not even diesels, which used to really require some foreplay before setting off.

This does not mean, however, that you should jump into your vehicle on a cold morning and immediately explore the redline.

Your car needs at least some warming up, to let the oil pump circulate the important black stuff to all corners of the engine. Think of it as like going skiing; you don’t jump off a cliff on your very first run.

2. Braking the limit

We've all been here before...

There are many reasons that you shouldn’t drive around riding your brakes, and yet many people, and taxi drivers in particular, seem to think the middle pedal is the footrest. It’s a miracle they ever get anywhere, frankly.

Trailing your brakes all the time is not only annoying to people behind you, and in the car with you, but it’s constantly wearing down your pads and discs.

The only thing worse is being one of those people who is constantly jumping on their brakes in a panic, often because they’ve been driving too close to the car in front of them.

Constant brake stamping is going to be really expensive for brake pads and discs. Cease and desist. Or just stop.

3. Driving with the window down

Fuel efficiency is surprisingly dependent on having the windows up.

Fresh air? Overrated. Cars weren’t designed to be their most slippery and efficient with their windows down. It plays havoc with their co-efficient of drag figures and is thus a bad idea for your fuel economy. Plus, we have air conditioning now.

4. Choosing the wrong gear

Modern cars even tell you what gear to be in.

One way to avoid over-revving your car in the morning, or at any time, is to give first gear a rest, and select second quickly. Younger drivers, in particular, seem to think first gear should be stretched to breaking point as often as possible, but you can imagine how this causes unnecessary stress and strain on mechanical points.

The other extreme is also a bad idea, however, and you’ll see older drivers doing it a lot. Unlike whipper snappers, they seem to be in a terrific hurry to get their cars into the top cog, even skipping from second to fourth or third to fifth. And then they like to stay there, as if the effort of changing gears has exhausted them.

This leads to what’s called 'lugging', or driving around at too low a speed in too high a gear. This is bad for your engine and your cylinder heads in particular, and if things go wrong there, it’s going to cost you.

So choose the appropriate gear. Many modern manual cars even have a handy dash display telling you what gear to be in. It’s not annoying at all.

5. Pretending that 'E' stands for Enough

It's tempting, but don't try seeing how far you can go on empty.

Incredibly, I’ve seen even so-called professional motoring journalists do this, so don’t feel bad if you’ve let your car run out of fuel, or close to it, before, just because you couldn’t quite get around to filling up. Well, do feel bad actually, because it’s really not good for your car.

Modern cars with fuel injectors particularly don’t enjoy running low, and an almost empty tank allows the crap sitting at the bottom of the system to get sucked into the innards of the engine, causing expensive damage.

Your fuel itself is also acting as a lubricant, so letting it get too low is just not good for anything under the bonnet.

6. Ignoring your dashboard

Don't ignore your dash, even the more complex ones.

Some people claim they run out of fuel occasionally because they just forget to check the gauge. The idea that you can drive around without ever really noticing your dash makes me very glad these people don’t work as pilots.

It’s not hard to have a glance at your car’s dashboard now and then, surely, because it’s right in front of you, and not overly complex, unless you own a new 'Virtual Cockpit' Audi (in which case you’ll stare at it because it’s so beautiful).

Checking the state of play, just as you do with your Facebook or email, constantly, can alert you to all-important warning lights about system failures, service reminders or very important warnings.

Ignoring something like the oil warning light can pretty much boil your engine, so if you see any of these lights, and you don’t understand them, don’t ignore them. They’re not just pretty baubles.

Seek help. Immediately. Before it gets more expensive.

7. Avoiding your mechanic

Avoiding the mechanic will cause problems to build up and cost a lot more.

No one likes spending money on servicing their car, and indeed, in terms of enjoyable expenditures it’s right up there with dental visits, and almost as expensive.

But if you’re putting off a scheduled service you’re just over-stressing your car's moving parts, which need lubrication and checking.

Avoiding a service is quite likely going to cost you more in the long run. It’s a lot like visiting the dentist, actually.

8. Forgetting the hand brake

Automatic parking brakes will largely solve this one.

Depending when you learned to drive, the idea of parking your car and leaving the handbrake off feels like simply an invitation to witness a comical yet expensive scene, as your vehicle slips away slowly down a hill into something solid.

Sadly, though, a surprising number of people now think it’s okay to just leave their automatic-transmission car in Park and walk away. This causes problems for your ‘pawl’, a small but vital metal pin that can eventually let go if you abuse it long enough. Creating a comical and expensive scene.

Thankfully, many modern vehicles now have automatic parking brakes.

9. Being a knob holder

There's a lot of knob-holding in movies, but that doesn't mean it's cool. (Image from: 2Fast 2Furious)

Driving instructors love to point out that you’re being a 'knob holder' if you cruise along with one hand on the gearstick all the time, but is it actually bad for your car? Sadly yes, and yet it’s a habit so many people can’t break.

Leaving your hand on the gearstick, if you do it with enough pressure, starts to engage the selector forks, which think you’re going for another gear, and this can lead to completely unnecessary, and eventually expensive, wear and tear.

10. Riding the clutch

Use that third pedal as little as possible. (Image from: 2Fast 2Furious)

It’s clear from this list that driving a manual car comes with more risks of bad driving habits leading to unforeseen costs, so it’s possibly a good thing that they’re dying out in Australia.

If you’ve still got one, try not to leave your foot on the clutch pedal while driving. It’s not a foot rest either, and if you keep it ever so slightly engaged, you’re going to heat up your clutch and eventually burn it out.

Get know more: https://itsjahlilbaby.tumblr.com/post/166467365344/how-to-break-in-a-new-car

[renaroo]

The Search (10/16)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence - Alternate S15] The Reds and Blues saved Chorus, but it has been a year and they are still missing. A motley crew has been gathered with the common goal of finding the war heroes, though the road is more troubled than anyone seems to realize.

A/N: Well, the season’s over but I’m still going! With only six chapters to go. Though, I would like to point out, in my favor, that I’m technically on time with uploading this chapter by my timezone. So. YAY!

Special thanks to @theshadowlord, @cobaltqueen, Mayhem21, @secretlystephaniebrown, and Yin for the comments and feedback!

Artifacts and Intrigue 

When Washington came back from his sleep break, he had been somewhat hoping that Kaikaina Grif would have finally returned to the helm of the pelican, but he received no such relief. The young Grif had been aloof and unreceptive to them all since she last tore away in a bit of a fit during the loud arguing everyone was having on their next move. Wash hadn’t gotten used to her reactions like that, or at least he thought he had.

As comforting as it was to have their ship navigated by an AI which wasn’t running on an unhealthy diet of porn and energy drinks, Wash made a quick mental note to talk to Kai later and see if he needed to make an apology for anything.

He hoped not. There was enough going on without him having to figure out a mystery like that. But they couldn’t go storming into any rescue missions with half the team at each other’s throats.

Especially at his throat.

But, despite the late hour and how far they were in their travels, Wash was far from alone in the cockpit.

Carolina was sitting in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard, arms crossed over her chest as she watched through the window into the vast space before them that FILSS navigated through.

Only a flicker of Carolina’s eye let Wash know she was aware of his entrance as she didn’t bother giving him an actual greeting of any kind.

“You seem upset,” Wash noted, looking around the room one more time to make sure they were alone before walking to the pilot’s chair and sitting down beside her. “Anything you need to talk about, Boss?”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Carolina said thickly.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Washington assured her, leaning against the armrest nearest her and tilting his head. “And you are leading this mission, ergo Boss.”

Her eyes rolled back and she shifted her feet to cross the other foot instead. The frustration was all but emanating from her. “Yeah. I’m doing such a fucking great job of that, too. It’s amazing we’ve gotten this far.”

Frowning, Washington rubbed his neck, trying to think of how to approach what was obviously an issue. And he knew that it could only be in the hard way — through him. So he glanced back to the large monitors surrounding them. “FILSS?” he called.

“Yes, Agent Washington?” the machine asked back almost sweetly.

“Take everything Carolina and I are about to say off any records you may be keeping,” he ordered. “It’s strictly confidential.”

“Absolutely, Agent Washington. I shall concentrate all my processors on approaching our next destination,” FILSS assured them before the all seeing eye icon on the monitor disappeared.

Once FILSS was addressed, Washington turned his full attention back on Carolina. “Are we losing you?” he asked.

Taken aback, Carolina just turned her head and looked at Washington with faint surprise. “Why would you even ask that?” she demanded.

“Because it’s something I need to know,” he answered sternly. “Are we losing you on this mission?”

“This mission is the only thing that is keeping any of us going,” Carolina replied almost venomously. “You can guarantee that more than anyone else on this ship — except maybe yourself — I am dedicated to seeing this search come to a concise ending and I won’t be stopping until I’m certain every single person who has hurt our friends — our family — gets exactly what they deserve.”

Not letting up, Washington maintained his neutral stare into Carolina’s eyes. “And then…” he intimated.

“And then what, Wash?” Carolina snapped.

“You told me earlier that you’re worried Epsilon is gone. You said to me that you could feel that he was gone,” Wash reminded her.

“You don’t have to tell me what I said, Wash,” Carolina warned.

“I’m repeating you because I’m worried by it,” Washington fought back, furrowing his brow. “Those aren’t really words that can be misinterpreted somehow, Carolina. And that and how you’ve been acting since you said them, and especially since we saw the press conference. They add up to a question I don’t want to ask. But I have to. Because I think we — I, deserve to know it.”

She glared at him. “And the question is?”

“When the mission is over, when we’ve gotten the Reds and Blues back and retribution is paid… What are you going to do if Epsilon isn’t around? What are your plans if you’re right?” he asked, hoping his expression could portray even a tenth of his seriousness toward the question. “Without Epsilon… if it’s only us, the Reds and the Blues, are you going to stay?”

Carolina’s mouth hung open for a moment as she stared back at him. Slowly, as if she was reanimating herself, her arms slipped from being crossed against her chest and she rose up in her seat, teeth grinding. “Am I going to stay?” she repeated icily.

“You’re acting like it’s a ridiculous question,” Wash half choked out.

“It is a ridiculous question!” she snapped.

“It really isn’t,” Wash continued, eyes hardening. “Or should I remind you that you’ve already left us once more. And that was with Epsilon still with us.”

“With me,” Carolina hissed. “I left because he was with me. And because we… we had to go. We had to make things better before we could come back. We—“ She tilted her chin down, eyes seemingly searching for the right words to say before she looked back at Washington almost tiredly. “I couldn’t earn my spot with all of you until I had taken some of the red off my ledger. Until I had made up for what I did before I got to that point. And Epsilon… he was a part of that, too.”

“And I wasn’t?” Wash asked critically. He could almost laugh at the notion. “We were both in Freelancer. I was making up for shit I did after Freelancer even.”

“You would have never left the Blues,” Carolina said plainly. “And you wouldn’t have let us go either. And you know it.”

Wash could so clearly see on her face that she meant her every word. But it didn’t keep his chest from tightening in knots. It didn’t take the edge off the wound he had been dealt by her leaving before. And it wasn’t doing anything to quell the concerns he had about her leaving again.

“If they’re hurt, if they’re… damaged at all like how we think they’re going to be,” Wash said slowly, taking a deep breath before shaking his head. “Carolina, I’m not going to be able to go at this alone. You have to understand that. You have to. Not everyone can go out by themselves and patch themselves up alone. And…”

He trailed off, knowing he was a step too far, but Carolina’s glare made it clear she was intently listening to every syllable.

“And what, Washington?” she demanded.

“And… I’m not so sure that you’re going to be able to do it yourself this time,” Wash replied almost whispering.

“Because Epsilon’s gone,” Carolina inferred.

“Because a lot of things are gone now, it’s just not the same,” Washington tried his best to clarify. He held his gaze with Carolina, knowing that only the strength of his convictions could get her to see eye to eye with him at that point.

Carolina stared at him for what seemed like hours in his head before finally sitting back down and crossing her arms again, taking her feet down from the dashboard. “I won’t leave,” she said simply. “I have nowhere to go.”

“But you were thinking about it,” Wash pressed despite himself.

“I was,” she admitted, resting back against her seat. “It’s… difficult to stay sometimes.”

“It is,” Wash agreed softly. “It really, really is.”

They lapsed into silence, the light years speeding by them as FILSS handled the ship.

Once the silence carried on a touch too long, however, it was interrupted by a polite cough on the speakers.

“What is it, FILSS?” Carolina asked first.

“Will what I say be on our official records?” FILSS inquired.

“Yeah, you can listen in again,” Wash replied.

“We will be entering the atmosphere of your next destination in exactly thirty-eight minutes. I would suggest that the entire crew be prepped for turbulence and full armor protocols considering that my records indicate this planet was not entirely terraformed and thus has inhabitable climates and a difficult stratosphere for entry thanks to unpredictability of the weather.”

“Great, Earth all over again,” Carolina muttered. “Thanks, FILSS, I’ll tell everyone to get ready and have L’il Grif back at the controls to help you with manual adjustments.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” the AI attempted to argue only for Wash to clear his throat to interrupt.

“Let’s let Kai feel like she has more to do here than just worry about her brother is what our leader is trying to say,” Wash said, giving a thoughtful glance to Carolina.

“I see! I shall make my piloting skills seem less useful then since your patronizing is officially on the record!” FILSS decided out loud.

“That’s not…” Wash sighed and rubbed his face. “Fine.”

“This fucking sucks,”  was the first thing Dylan Andrews heard since they landed on the icy planetoid of Terran-89 that she could wholeheartedly agree with. It was just surprising to the reporter that it had come from Kaikaina Grif, of all people.

“Well, when you’re right…” Dylan hummed mostly to herself.

“No, like seriously, what’s the deal with this shitty fucking shit-shit planet?” Kaikaina demanded, rubbing her shoulders against the winds as she followed everyone in their group’s movement forward. “Why the fuck would anyone want to come here?”

“Well, that would be why the UNSC was so quick to concede this territory back to the Covenant once the truces for the War had been drawn up,” Dylan offered, hoping the static interfering with their radios wasn’t too much so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. “According to what I could read, there was a major effort in attempting to terraform this planet beforehand, but because of its extreme conditions it was made almost impossible. Instead when the Sangheilli began listing off territories that the UNSC had been inhabiting that they wanted preserved for religious or historical relics, this was one of the easier ones to fork over.”

“And if our assumption is right about Hargrove wanting to use Tucker and the sword to unlock the monuments’ potential powers, then it would be one of the harder temples to get access to and thus one of the lower ones on the agenda,” Washington added from the front with Carolina.

“Meaning we can be the early ones for the first time on this little trip of ours and set up a trap for them,” Carolina concluded.

Andrews had to admit that even with the large leaps of logic that had gotten them to Terran-89 to begin with, if they were right, then it was certainly one of the better plans they had going for them that entire time. Still, her reporter’s intuition made her apprehensive at the very least toward the idea that they were going to just progress without fully understanding what the alien relics on the planet were for.

And, most shocking of all, Doctor Grey was gravely silent in the back of the line, seemingly preoccupied with something she wasn’t saying. That was a mystery to unravel for another time, of course. Just like the way Kaikaina had come off the ship hot and bothered in a way that Andrews hadn’t noticed from her before.

Something was up. But it had to wait.

Moderating the speed of her trek through the snow and ice, Dylan lined her stride up with Lavernius Tucker Junior’s and kept in line with him as the little alien seemed to be gazing back and forth, a blanket from the bunks wrapped around him for extra warmth that the others hadn’t been granted. He was chattering his teeth to himself still, which Dylan assumed was muttering as the others had translated it as something from time to time.

“Junior, when you… said before that you and your father were working with the Peace Corps and visiting many of these sites, were there ever any reasons as to why you were doing it given to you?” Dylan asked quietly.

There was an exasperated honk from Junior in reply.

Already, Dylan could feel herself growing frustrated with the truly ridiculous setup that was their situation. She exhaled sharply through her nose and glanced toward the others, as if to see if anyone felt like translating.

Everyone else seemed very concentrated on making it to the temple, however, and not freezing on the way.

Although it was against her investigative instincts, Dylan was ready to resign herself to the same before she felt a tug on her arm. She looked down to Junior curiously just before the alien shook his head fairly definitely.

“So you understand everything we say in English but don’t speak it yourself,” Dylan inferred. “So a Chewbacca kind of thing then.”

In response, a wide grin came across Junior’s multiple mandibles and then he opened them wide to provide a perfect impersonation of the Wookie.

“Great. You can do that and not form o’s,” Dylan sighed. “What useful evolution. Regardless. I’d like to ask you some yeas-and-no questions then, if that’s alright with you. It would really help me understand motivations and, well, to tell your father’s story and clear his name if I can paint a picture for my audience.”

The alien child hummed in response, thinking it over before releasing a large BLARGH that was followed up by a hasty nodding.

“That’s great! Just like that,” Dylan said in a voice she realized only a touch too late was a bit too pandering for what was probably a child approaching his teens. “So, was your father approached for a position in the peace corps rather than enlisted on his own volition?” she asked first.

Junior rolled his eyes back, as if searching inside his skull for an answer before looking back to Dylan and nodding.

“And that was by an official UNSC officer, not by a Project Freelancer personnel, correct?” she asked.

He looked a little befuddled before nodding.

“That would make the most sense,” she agreed. “It would explain his climb in rank to Private First Class, why your envoy had official status, and how your father got you into boarding school at the UNSC’s main headquarters back on Earth.” She stopped muttering to herself and looked back at Junior. “When you traveled with your… other parent’s people, you were declared a prodigy, correct?”

Again, a nod.

“And it’s because of your father’s sword?” she asked.

“Bow chicka honk honk,” the alien all but sang.

“I’m going to need a real answer for that,” Andrews tried to push. However, her attention was diverted when she realized they were coming to a stop, the two former Freelancers in the front marveling at the scale of the alien temple in front of them.

Of course, their awe was nothing compared to Doctor Grey as she stepped forward, her breath loud enough to come across the the radios. She reached up to her chest and whispered, “By Einstein’s ghost.” She then pushed to the front past all the other members of the group, though no one seemed to mind. “On Chorus every Temple had so much human interference and damage from the terraforming process and Earth-like conditions made unnaturally on the planet that the full size of them was never really able to be recorded by the time I was studying for my twenty-third doctoral thesis. Let alone were the carvings so crisp and intricate. I can actually see the transition in script from Early Sanghelli to post-Covenant Deco even from here! This is monumental! Quick! Let’s find an entrance! I want to dig inside and find the glorious treasures within. It’ll be like roleplaying night and I will be a British nobleman taking other people’s cultural heritage!”

“I’m usually all about role-play but that sounds way too close to home. Red card,” Kaikaina replied. “Yuk.”

“Hopefully they were kind enough to write instructions for an entrance to this thing,” Carolina said, looking to Doctor Grey. “If you don’t mind, could you start reading and see what you find?”

“Absolutely! It will take a few moments for me to find a starting place!” Doctor Grey replied cheerfully before heading to the right side of the nearest wall.

For a moment, Dylan waited to see if Junior would join her, but as he stood next to her, she grew curious and looked at Junior with her head tilted to the side. “Wouldn’t it be faster if you translated this from the other side along with Doctor Grey?” she asked curiously.

The alien looked at her for a moment before offering a large shrug.

That only caused Dylan to scowl some beneath her helmet. “Do you not read Sanghelli or speak it? The dialect you have… I don’t know. But I do know that my records show you spent some time on Sangheiios at an embassy. Did you not pick up any of the common Sangheilli while you were there?”

Junior coiled away from her, blarghing about something.

“Hey! Reporter bitch!” Kai snapped, walking up to Dylan. “¿Cuántos idiomas sabes de la tierra?” she demanded.

“I do know some Spanish,” Dylan assured her.

“Oh, do you?” Kai scoffed. “That because it’s a language on Earth so you just should know it? Pono’oe e’ike i ka’ōlelo Hawai’i. Ua ala’oe.”

“I’m… sorry?” Dylan attempted, confused.

“Yeah, you better be. Thinking a kid knows one language because he vacationed on a planet one time. Like we all aren’t guilty of sticking dicks all over lands we don’t belong in and didn’t bother to learn the language of. Like fuck off,” Kai continued, defensively getting between Dylan and Junior.

Seeing she was getting backed into a corner of sorts, Dylan raised her hands. “You’re completely right, and I apologize for making assumptions,” Dylan offered. “I should have realized there is more than one language for another species just as there is for ours. I didn’t mean to insult anyone here.”

“Yeah, you kinda suck at not insulting people in the group,” Kai responded. “So I figured it was my turn to get indignant. Plus it’s just boring standing around in the snow freezing my clit off.”

“Unfortunately offending people is the risk of being an investigative journalist,” Dylan sighed before the last comment truly caught up with her. “Wait what.”

“I found it!” Doctor Grey called. “Hilariously enough we only had to turn this corner!”

Everyone looked toward the doctor and a collective relief could not have been understated.

“Alright, everyone get moving before our armors get frozen at the joints!” Carolina ordered, pushing them all forward.

Kaikaina, however, interrupted it with a large, dramatic gasp. “Oh my effing gawd, Officer Washington! The guy with the binoculars isn’t using binoculars this time!”

Washington threw up his hands in frustration. “Kai! I’m not a cop—“

Agent Carolina looked up the temple, leading Dylan to follow her gaze, and to see the sniper only three levels above them.

“SNIPER!” Carolina screamed out to the group. “Take cover—“

Before there was even a chance of everyone doing so, the heavily armored sniper dropped down from the ledge, landing so hard in the snow between them and Doctor Grey that there was an audible crunch of the ice and permafrost beneath. He wasn’t aiming his rifle just yet, merely shouldering it as he stood in full view of them all.

His Mijolnir armor and Hunter helmet were black with a dark purple trip, his visor a menacing yellow.

“This,” a male voice said darkly over the helmet’s speaker, “has been a long time coming.”

[wandering-painter-blog]

100 Days of Development - Day 29

In time, he needed to be on his way. However much he enjoyed the frosty hills of Dun Morogh, he found himself growing restless before long. An unfortunate reality in some respects, but it was his. His desire to keep exploring was paramount to his peace of mind. Always had been. For that reason he was quite lucky to count himself among Quirkail’s friends with how empathetic she was to his wanderlust, as the instant he mentioned wanting to move on, she stood up from her tinkering to get ready. With a last minute peck Halliwick’s way and heating up of her machinery later, scarcely twenty minutes had passed by the time they were ascending into the evening’s inky sky. As they climbed, though, something in the air felt different. He couldn’t explain what it was, but as they climbed into thinning air at a gradual slant, the feeling continued to grow despite him.

He was provided his answer not two minutes off the ground. Unlike her usual silence amid her process of getting them to their appropriate height, he was surprised to find his friend speaking back to him beneath the click of switches and buttons beneath her practiced fingers. “You think we’re cute together, huh?!”

Out of context, the question was an innocent one. The tone she used was not her own however, and with paling features he knew precisely what she was getting at. A resigned breath puffed out his scarf, only to have it be pressed right back to his lips beneath the battering hands of the wind cutting around them. “... you heard us, I take it?!”

“Hard not to!” came Quirkail’s quip, whatever emotion was to be found seeded into her undertone ripped to shreds by the wind’s wailing. “You two aren’t exactly the quietest, most conspiratorial of speakers!”

Alu’sand felt himself get knocked around in his seat as a solid knock of updraft hit the flying machine, instinctual snap of hands going out to brace himself on the sides of the craft. She had started this conversation now on purpose. “How much did you hear exactly?!”

“Just about all of it! I was working next to the window, Lu!”

“Well!” he flung out, word more of a grunt than anything cleanly enunciated as the craft continued to jolt and drift as its angling changed amid snowy gales. “I meant that! You two are! You both had your problems and screwed things up, but you two seem to have figured yourselves out and honestly seem happy together! No one said relationships or choices like that were easy!”

“You’re one to talk! Tell me the last time you actually had to make a serious decision in your life?!”

His shoulder let him know he had crashed into the side of the cockpit long before his mind did, muted pain shooting through pinned nerves as his eyes finally caught up with the fact Quirkail’s machine was tipping a few too many clicks to the right. He couldn’t tell if the gnome was intentionally endangering them or if it was the wind. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know with how little he could make out of Quirkail’s speech beyond the words themselves. Depriving his friend of an answer wasn’t something he planned on in either case, so belting out a response through grit teeth didn’t take him any real time to get around to.

“When most of my family passed! Yhel’sol and I had to figure out what we were doing with ourselves after we lost them and everything else! After we buried who we could find and scavenged what family odds and ends we could, I put down everything I got from the fallout toward making sure he had the equipment to do what he wanted with himself! I’d be fine on my own, but he isn’t the sort who could survive off nothing! It would ha--”

A whir of gears shifting was all the forewarning he caught beneath his shouting as the entire machine lurched forward to finally even out. The clumsy adjustment of his hands to catch onto the pilot’s seat barely kept him from smashing headlong into it, and by the time he raised his head back up to catch sight of what the hell had happened, he came face to face with a ruefully frowning Quirkail.

“Whoa, whoa now, Lu-lu. I wasn’t actually taking a stab at you there.” With his nearness to the gnome looking back over her shoulder at him, she didn’t have to shout for him to catch her voice and she clearly knew that in just how quietly she was speaking. The aircraft gave another shudder around them, threatening to tip off to one side once more if not for Quirkail’s substantial grip on the wheel. She really hadn’t been. “I was just giving you a bit of shit with you being you, but I wasn’t... I’m sorry.

“What I was meaning to get to with all this was that I wanted to thank you. Halli and I have been working it out, but we still have some issues with us... not really knowing where to go after what happened. You were right, though. We can’t keep avoiding what happened. We just gotta... address it. Talk it out. Easier said than done when you’re the one who went through it, but... it’s still the best we can do right off.”

Quirkail shuffled back around to return her sights to the open sky around them, fiddling with a few more switches to slowly get the jittery machine stabilized a bit better. “We actually had a talk last night after you got to sleep. It actually... I think it went pretty okay. More than okay. You were right that some parts of it sucked to get to, but it was nice to get out there, you know? I feel a lot better about us after that. So... I’m sorry for pulling on you there.”

Glued to the back of the woman’s seat as he was with his deadlock grasp over it, she was fully privy to the winded chuckle that escaped him. “I thought you were trying to flip me out of the craft for a second.”

“No!” Quirkail erupted in something that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh but was too shocked to get that far. “The winds are choppy, is all. I probably should have been a bit more focused on getting us up here in the first place.”

Alu’sand was far more relieved than he had any right to be, but hundreds of feet from the ground, it was hard not to be. “Really, though, you’re fine. It’s not like I have any issues responding to that sort of question--”

“Which is a bit amazing with how heavy that is. How can you be so calm about it?”

His shoulders bowed around his ears in a shrug that didn’t see to falling away. Not that it mattered anyway when she couldn’t see him doing it in the first place. “Bad things happen, but there’s no reason to stay miserable about it. Yhel has always been responsible with money and assets anyway, so he’d make better use of them than I could. You can say I was being a realist when I made the decision.”

The gnome snorted a laugh at his words. When it seemed she came to regret doing so, her voice came out as apologetic as her face had been. “You? A realist? I can’t really say I believe that, but you’re more responsible than I think anyone gives you credit. Even yourself.”

He rolled his eyes at the back of Quirkail’s skull. She wasn’t exactly wrong, though. Detached as he knew he came off as and believed himself to be, he wasn’t ignorant of the world around him. Living life and constantly chasing the beauty of it was simply easier than reflecting on negativity. He wasn’t one to dwell. Set on not doing so in that moment either, he leaned back in his seat to shout at his doubtlessly smirking friend.

“I’m just a layabout and we both know it! Unlike you! You should probably focus on making sure we don’t crash!”

“Yeah yeah! I’ll keep your ass in one piece like always!”

Whether or not she was, he found one painted across his face in a matter of moments. He might not prefer to dwell, but it was nice to get some recognition he wasn’t as shallow as he made himself out to be.

-

Question Prompt List

Continued form here.

[prinzitravels-blog]

Hello! It’s 9pm in London. Joey is already sacked out and I am very close behind him after the insanely amazing day we had! It feels like we have already been gone for days because we managed to get so much in.

I can’t just start with London, because getting here was an experience in itself. When Joey and I booked these tickets,  we did so through using miles we bought which we thought would save us money in the end. Because it was so much cheaper than normal,  we thought it would be fun to try business class once on our way to London. I’m telling you….that is THE WAY TO GO!! We ended up having seats on the tippity top of the plane…in what felt like our own personal bubble on top of the aircraft. The seats laid down completely so we could sleep, and the lovely British flight attendants were just that: LOVELY. 

We made friends with the flight attendants Sue, Julie and Anna right away by telling them that we were on “holiday” for our anniversary. They brought over champagne right away, and we sucked down a glass each before the plane ever even left the ground. 

These personalized flight pods were the greatest thing ever. I was as comfy as a clam and all of my flying fears disappeared. Everything was fabulous from start to finish including the pre-boarding private lounge (a little too bougie for us, but still fun!), the food (these meals were like whaaaaat?!) And the incredible flight staff. 

I had to continue writing this on Tuesday because I fell asleep with the phone on my chest as I was writing this last night. The true sign of a good day!

We landed in London at 1130 am their time Monday. Heathrow is a cool airport, but as we have learned quickly, there is a LOT of walking from place to place in airports and train stations here! If you don’t plan ahead a little, I would imagine it is very easy to miss your flight. Everyone was right when they said the tube was easy to navigate: we got off the plane, got our luggage, breezed through customs and found our Piccadilly line right away. This is the first time Joey has ever been on any sort of subway, so he had a little bit of that “deer in headlights” look as we navigated the London underground…but it was easy and fun for both of us! 

We hopped off the tube at Piccadilly circus and made our way outside. Wow! What a sight. It reminded me so much of when I walked up from the train station in New York. There’s too much to take in at once. Piccadilly Circus is crazy….it reminds me of a smaller time square dropped right in the middle of old Europe. Big red double decker buses were zooming around traffic circles, big electronic billboards, people everywhere. We knew our hotel was only a 3 minute walk away, but very hard to find, so we trusted in Google maps which got us there lickity split.

We stayed at this awesome cheap boutique hotel called the Z hotel. The location was great…down some little side street called orange street…close enough to the heart of everything but not right in the middle. The outside of the hotel literally looked like a small garage, and everything about the hotel was small, but all we needed. We checked in via the small caffe in front (different!) And dropped our backpacks off in our VERY small (totally IKEA-like) room.

No time for a nap! We hit the ground running and started out on foot toward the British museum. That place was AMAZING. Entry is completely free, and it was by far the most impressive museum we have ever been in. Not only is the architecture totally stunning, but the exhibits are insanely cool, particularly the Greek and Roman section. We couldn’t believe how many original statues/sculptures and pieces of structures they had. This was a really great place to see even if you aren’t a huge fan of museums (which I am).

Next we walked from the British museum to the John Snow pub, which has been on my bucket list for a while! All through college I was obsessed with the story of Dr. John Snow and the Broad Street water pump. If you don’t know the story, it’s a science classic. John Snow (no, not from Game of thrones) was a physician in London in the 1800’s.  In the late 1800’s there was a devastating Cholera outbreak in London, and he was one of the first people to create a disease cluster map and figure out that the water pump on broad st was the likely source of contamination. He had the water handle removed from the pump so people would stop collecting water from it, and the outbreak ultimately ended. Cool right!? The pump is gone now, but there’s a pub dedicated to him right across the street. Cheers to science!

From there, we walked all the way down to Buckingham Palace, which was about 2 miles. We walked through a few beautiful parks along the way, all full of beautiful statues, flowers and surrounded by old beautiful buildings. Buckingham was beautiful…flowers are getting planted all along the palace, but sadly no blooms are out yet. There’s gold all over the place, so that’s fun…and we watched the guards change places a few times which was also totally fascinating to us. The number of things we are seeing that is totally new to us is countless, but one would include spikes all around the tops of statues or carvings that prevent the (hundreds) of pigeons from landing, pooping on and ruining these structures. Who knew?!

From Buckingham we walked allllll the way down to Big Ben ( MORE super beautiful parks along the way). We didn’t go over to Big Ben or check anything out inside, but I got some good pictures and gave it a big wave. From there we walked all the way back to our hotel on Haymarket and orange st to come up with a game plan.

We toyed with the idea of going to see a musical in the West end, which would have been wonderful…but we really wanted to catch dinner in a classic English pub and get a good night of sleep after such a long day. So that’s what we did.

Now, we assumed there would be an English pub on every corner, but we didn’t find that to be true (at least not where we were). We did circles around Piccadilly looking for a legitimate English pub. We found a good looking one called ST. James corner and settled in there. This place had everything we were looking for: dark wood, dimly lit, fish and chips, icy cold bartenders and lots of people. Interesting fact: you tell the bartender what you want to eat and where you’re going to sit (figure that out before you go to the bar) and they will bring everything out to you. We ordered two orders of fish and chips with peas and bread and butter. Also one cider beer and two waters (which the bartender was so offended we asked for….is that weird to do in an English pub? #embarrassed). 

The food was seriously so good….seriously. The cider was the yummiest I’ve had in a long time, super refreshing!! 

With all of our London tourism-ing out of our system, we headed back to the “Z” for some shut-eye. 

We absolutely loved London. It’s a big crazy city, and it sort of feels like several of our big cities at home but just different enough. It definitely has a Philly/New York feel to it, but then a giant red double decker goes by, or you look up and see these incredibly old buildings and quickly realize you are not in the USA. Everything about it is charming. Never once did we feel unsafe, and with the exception of the bartenders at the pub, the people were incredibly friendly. The city is SO walkable, and pretty easy to navigate. The men are SO damn stylish here and I LOVE IT! The only challenges we faced here were trying to remember to hang to the right on escalators (people will whiz by you on the left, and I’m sure we pissed several people off before we knew that), crossing the street (but they have painted “look left” and “look right” on the streets for those of us that can’t figure it out…thanks London!) And walking down the left side of the sidewalk instead of the middle or the right.

We did SO much walking that we felt we got a really great taste of the city. We loved it and would go back in a heartbeat. Thanks London, until next time…cheers!!

Next up: from London to Venice 

Xoxo,

A and J

From Denver to London, May 2017 Hello! It's 9pm in London. Joey is already sacked out and I am very close behind him after the insanely amazing day we had!