#but while I was holding the clover she trundled right up onto my hand

[flufflecat]

I met a lovely bumblebee a few days ago (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[tk-duveraun]

Title: Fallout 4/4 Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Rating: T Genre: Romance & Drama Warnings: Some violence Summary: Continuation of Resilience. Morathis continues to try to convince Fox to do something they both want him to do. Notes: Vasili next! I swear! Probably! Not super thematically great, but take it anyway.

Parts: One Two Three

Once Fox is settled into their bed to mope with a snack and promises of a puppy the next time they go to Dromund Kaas (this is the fourth puppy Rathi has promised him and so far they have none, so he’s not concerned), Rathi returns to the capitol building to settle accounts and read reports while he waits. Dawn’s light is coming through the windows by the time Hound arrives, but she still does.

Her hair is frazzled and there are dark rings under her eyes. Her armor is even still streaked with mud and grass. Her eyes are narrowed and there’s an angry crease between her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” Rathi responds. He can tell his cool demeanor is just annoying her further, but his beloved cried himself to sleep and even if it was Fox’s own fault, Rathi doesn’t particularly care.

“You know what I mean,” Hound all but growls at him.

“If I wasn’t here, some poor underling would be faced with your wrath.” Rathi yawns and deactivates his datapad.

“I’m still angry,” Hound says.

“I can see that.”

“But I found out why this whole planet is ass over tits for Faximil,” Carina says. She nearly spits out the words with how grudging they are.

Rathi just waits silently, waiting for her to get to the point.

“Don’t look so fucking pleased with yourself. It was your brother that ran his mouth when I was in the hospital seeing to Atonai.”

Rathi shrugs. “Tava gets ahead of himself sometimes. He hates my wife more than I do. He’s wanted a real sister for a while.”

“You have a wife? You know what? Not now. Not fucking now. For right now, you’re going to tell me whatever the fuck else you two are hiding from me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear about my wife,” Rathi says, grinning.

Hound slaps his chest with her open palm and makes a pleased sound when Rathi just crumples in his seat. “I want to know what you’re hiding, not things that don’t actually matter.”

“Ow,” Rathi gasps. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re a bastard and I’m proving that I know there’s something wrong with your chest so you don’t fucking try to hide anything else.”

Rathi stares at her for several long moments before shaking his head. “He’s dead in eighteen months. Maybe a year. There’s no way to know exactly when and after the last time he refuses to even discuss trying to stop it.”

Hound looks like Rathi just whacked her in the chest. The anger is a distant memory, replaced by something close to helplessness that she clearly doesn't have experience dealing with. When she finally finds words, Hound’s voice is small. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“He’s a Sa’alle. His secrets could never be anything good.”

She covers her mouth and shakes her head. “I suppose not. What happened last time?”

Rathi sighs, but doesn’t hesitate before he starts undoing the tiny buttons that hold his uniform jacket closed. Even without looking, he can feel Hound’s hard stare. He opens up his starched, uniform shirt and then grabs the hem of his black undershirt. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I’m going to find out eventually. Might as well take it all at once,” Hound says, her voice certain, if still only a fraction of her normal presence.

Rathi pulls his shirt up, revealing the blacken skin and bright red crystals. They’re still pulsing with the energy captured from the padawan’s attempted Mind Trick.

“How… Why?”

“Lord Sa’alle wanted him to suffer while he died, so she killed me with my own knife and had her slaves drop me, dying, at his feet. He pulled these out of priceless Force relics and…” Rathi lifts his hands and sighs. “Did Afflicted nonsense. He shouldn’t have survived it. I shouldn’t have survived at all. Now here we are and he doesn’t want it happen again.”

“That’s stupid,” Hound says. “If Sa’alle tried to kill you the first time, why would this time be any different? If anything, she’ll make sure it sticks. What is in his head? Flutterwings and Force kark?”

Rathi lowers his shirt. “Mostly puppies.”

“That’s- What?”

“...Surely you know what puppies are.”

Hound rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Yes, I know, but I was being facetious with the flutterwings bit.”

“He loves cute things and has been angling for a puppy for years. His brain is completely filled with nonsense. Why do you think I was pushing you both so hard to get together? I need someone else to help keep him in line.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I haven’t yet.”

Hound considers his answer for a moment and then starts pacing. “Alright, we’re in this together, Rathi.”

Rathi raises both eyebrows at her while buttoning his shirt back up. “That’s presumptuous, isn’t it?”

“You sold out your partner to me, you don’t get to complain that I’m being familiar. Anyway, we’re in this together now. You’re not telling him we spoke. I’m still angry. He’s going to sweat a bit.”

“Alright. I’m keeping him busy, but what will you do today?”

“Preparation.”

“For what? The op is over.”

“You’ll see.”

---

Rathi doesn’t sleep. He waits for Fox to wake up and whispers comforting things in his ear when Fox makes a sound like a wounded animal and tries not to cry. Fox’s grief is sharper than Rathi expected and getting him out of bed and showered takes longer than he planned for, but the point of the day is to keep him busy, so it’s no big loss. He has a few theories about what Carina might have in mind, but most are outrageous or decisions he would make based on knowledge she doesn’t have.

The day after a successful op is always the worst time to be on Olkin II. Everyone is so grateful and wants to show their appreciation and touch Fox. But Rathi keeps his annoyance off his face and simply bears it with a strong desire to grit his teeth. Thankfully, Tava finds them halfway through the city and mercifully convinces Fox that yes, it’s sad that Carina left him, but he still has to eat.

“We likely won’t stay long after the Mandalorians pack up. We’ve been here longer than we should have been as it is,” Rathi says. He doesn’t know why Tava loves this restaurant. The neon curries always turn his stomach.

“And after you get me that puppy.”

“If we have time, dear heart.”

“Actually, the Armandes’ neighbors’ dog just had puppies,” Tava says excitedly. However, he deflates as soon as he sees Rathi’s expression. He mouths ‘sorry’ across the table, but the damage is done.

Fox laughs so hard he has to hold onto the table and gasp for breath. “Finally! Finally, I’m getting one. Does this mean I get four puppies?”

“No, you get one.”

“They’ll give me as many as I want.”

“You’re only getting one,” Rathi says firmly.

“You owe me four.”

Rathi sighs and just presses his forehead into the table. He bangs it repeatedly on the wood. Fox laughs, so the embarrassment is worth it. He suffers through the rest of the meal, it’s mostly Tava describing the puppies and showing Fox holos. They’re some weird short-legged breed, but apparently also runts on top of that? Rathi should be more interested. He’s going to be stuck watching the thing.

After the requisite fifteen minutes of talking the owner out of waiving their bill, Rathi trails behind Fox and his brother. He listens with half an ear, apparently the neighbors also have small children that Tava babysits some weekends because the Armandes treat him like a human teenager, even though he’s a fully functioning adult doing his residency at the hospital. Rathi hangs back as Fox is mobbed by the chubby puppies that trundle along, wagging their entire backsides because apparently they don’t have proper tails, either.

Each one is presented to Rathi and given the opportunity to belch it’s horrific breath in his face before licking him, usually on the nose, and then being replaced by another puppy, this one somehow with worse breath. Fox kneels on the ground, heedless of the mud ruining his robes, not that the puppies haven’t tracked it all over him, and talks to the children. They look human, at least mostly, maybe five years olds, but Rathi doesn’t mind children, so he has no idea. They’re inarticulate, so all he really has to do is yes “Yes that’s wonderful” every few minutes to keep them appeased.

Finally, Fox presents him with a puppy that is apparently brindle-colored, not that that word means anything to him. And the dog’s name is Clover. “Clover.”

“Yes.”

“Like the weed?”

“Clover isn’t a weed!” One of the children, the blonde one, insists. At least, she tries to. She can’t really pronounce her rs.

“It’s a very nice name,” Rathi says with a complete lack of sincerity. He can see the Armandes laughing at him from their window and plans to send them a very terse email this week.

When they can finally make their escape, thankfully with only one puppy, Rathi sighs and drapes himself over Fox, as if he’s so drained from the ridiculousness that he can’t walk on his own. “He’s not sleeping in the bed.”

“But he’s so little,” Fox says, clearly offended on behalf of the puppy riding in the hood of his robes. Instead of barking in agreement, it snores and kicks Fox in the ear. He’s charmed.

“He’ll be crushed.”

“No he won’t.”

“He’s not sleeping in the bed.”

---

Rathi doesn’t sleep well that night. Not out of any worry or concern about Carina and her plans, though Fox got mopey and purposefully undid his braids twice so Rathi would redo them. No, it’s because his lover is insufferable and stubborn and several more adjectives that are far less kind. Clover technically isn’t sleeping in the bed. Clover is sleeping on Fox’s pillow. But Fox is not the only one who uses his pillow. So Rathi wakes up seemingly every five minutes to tiny feet kicking his forehead.

An hour before he normally gets out of bed, his comm unit chirps with a text-only message, so Rathi gives it all up as a loss, kisses the back of Fox’s neck, and gets out of bed. Rubbing the irritated sand out of his eyes, Rathi reads the message.

I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be dressed. We need to present a unified front.

Instead of her name or title or her clan name, Carina has signed the message with a picture of a dog. Rathi is tempted to tell her to pound sand. Instead, he gets dressed in the uniform Fox calls blindingly white and instructs the door guards to let her up when she arrives. Five minutes before she said she’d be there, Carina quietly opens the door to their suite.

She’s in her full armor, not that that’s anything new, but it’s adorned with something that Rathi supposes is the Mandalorian equivalent of a tabard and there seem to be trophies attached to her belt. Her expression is cold and calculating and reminds Rathi of why he likes her so much. “He’s still asleep?” Is all she says before going into their bedroom.

Silently, Carina points to Clover and she and Rathi exchange exasperated gestures for a moment before Rathi carefully relocates the puppy to the thick pillow and warm blanket that they bought for it.

Once it’s safely out of the way, Carina lunges at Fox and grabs him by the collar of his thin nightshirt.

Fox is instantly awake and his eyes glow yellow with power for a moment before he realizes who’s attacking him. “Carina? What?”

“I’m giving you exactly one chance, Fox. You have a choice. There are two options. I will not be negotiated with, chided, wooed or cajoled into a third option and if you think you’ll intimidate me into one, you have another thing coming. Got it?”

Wide-eyed, Fox glances at Rathi, standing at Carina’s shoulder just as he always stands at Fox’s, but Rathi gives him nothing. Fox nods.

“We are killing Sybil Sa’alle. The only choice you have is whether you help us, or if Rathi and I do it alone.”

That’s not what he expected Carina to say. It’s an option he tossed out immediately as ridiculous, too dangerous and too outrageous. But now that she has said it, now that she has forced the issue, Rathi has no hesitation in backing her up. This is what he should have said to Fox five years ago, as soon as they’d recovered. This is what they need to do to have any kind of future.

It makes so much sense, now that the gauntlet has been tossed. Carina’s not going to waste her present if there won’t be a future. Even Rathi knows enough about Mandalorians to understand that. And he certainly understands the fire burning in her eyes as she looks at Fox.

Fox’s expression is pained, just as deeply marked as it was when he thought she had left for good. He puts both hands on her wrist, but doesn’t try to squirm out of her grasp. “Carina, you don’t understand what you’re-”

“I know exactly what I’m up against. You always think you know best. You just make decisions for other people because you’re so kriffing smart and powerful you must be right, and then you don’t even give them a choice. I’m mando’ad. I’m ver’alor of Clan Meshurok and like hell am I going to let some scrawny, long-haired, spoiled, silver spoon-fed, trust fund, dar’jetii brat tell me who I am and am not allowed to kill.”

Again, Fox stares at both of them, but Rathi keeps his expression as hard and cold as Carina’s. He doesn’t like the hurt on Fox’s face, but better that his feelings be hurt now than that he be dead in eighteen months. Finally, Fox wilts and sighs. “That’s not a choice. I can’t leave you to face her alone.”

Carina releases him and Fox falls back onto the pillows, though he doesn’t let go of her wrist. Her expression is still unmoved. “And don’t try to Mind Trick us or make us forget this happened. I’m resistant and those crystals in Rathi’s chest shield him.”

“I won’t. I won’t pretend that under other circumstances I wouldn’t consider it, though. The time for lies is over.”

“I’m glad you realize that,” Carina says. Her voice is stern, but the frozen distance is gone.

“But I’m keeping the dog. And my hair. Rathi won’t let you cut my hair.”

“What?”

“It was part of your rant,” Rathi reminds her.

“Well it’s still ridiculous.”

Then Clover wakes up with sneeze so violent, he rolls off of the pillow and all hope of a serious conversation is lost.

[ragwitch]

Birds and Bees

Here’s some dreamy clawshock (Darcy/Logan) for @dresupi and the end of summer. Honey, I hope it gives you the warm buzzies (see what i did there?) and any one else that needs some. <3<3<3

Rating: T for language

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/ Logan (Wolverine)

Words: 1957

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, leaning into the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, straining the sleeves of his flannel. “It’s not forever.”

Darcy tried to erase whatever look she’d been wearing. It was unconscious, really. Logan just snorted at her and stepped back into the cabin.

“Come and put your shit down,” he said.

It was nice, if she was being honest. It was quaint which was weird because in her experience Logan was…rough and if she had walked in to find, like, a store of canned food and two sleeping cots she would not have been surprised. But there was a couch and a wood burning stove and a coffee table with little cork coasters and a half finished beer. There were even curtains. Plain curtains that he’d probably gotten at the dollar store, but it wasn’t newspaper over the windows so Logan must really have been feeling at home.

“Running water and everything,” he said drily.

She realized he’d been watching her take in the space. (She could see a kitchen through a doorway and there was a nice little hall off to the left for the bedrooms and bathroom.)

“It’s nice. Thanks for taking me in,” she said.

“Figured the only way of keeping you out of trouble was putting you somewhere you can’t find any internet,” he said, and then he turned and left her for the kitchen. “Your room is on the left side of the hall. You want a beer?”

“Please,” she said.

Way to bring it home, Logan, she thought as she drifted down the hall. Jane was out of the country and Darcy, in her restlessness, had accidentally broken into the wrong end of the dark web. And by accidentally she just meant she wanted to do her part for the good of mankind, maybe? But when the whisperings about her turned into outright requests for someone to take care of one Darcy Lewis?? Well Tony, and Phil, and Jane at a distance, and pretty much anyone else that thought they had a vote in her life, decided it was high time to put her somewhere for safekeeping.

So yeah.

Welcome to Montana.

The bed in her room had a quilt, all gold and purple triangles and squares bursting out from the center, and a rust speckled mirror, and a little space heater in the corner. There was a lopsided collection of wildflowers halphazardly hanging out of a jam jar and Darcy reached into her pocket to take a picture with her phone. And then remembered that they hadn’t let her bring it.

She dropped her bag to the floor with sigh and went to find Logan in the kitchen. He had a beer ready for her and he nodded to the back deck.

“Come and listen to the birds,” he said, tone dull and face hiding a laugh. “‘Bout all there is to do around here.” He scratched at his beard, which was about as close to sheepish as Logan ever got.

Darcy followed him out to the deck, the hollow rising up around them from the valley, turning into mountains. The sun was setting in front of the cabin and the rampant tall grasses were cast in gold, growing taller as they spread away from the building and Logan’s attempts at order and mowing. He sat down on the bench seat that lined the deck, legs stretching out in front of him, beer bottle spreading a ring of condensation on his jeans where he propped it, head tilting back to listen to the bird song ringing out from the trees rising up the hills.

_

Darcy woke up to the sound of more birds and blue gray darkness outside her window. And then again an hour later to the smell of coffee brewed and a heavy engined truck rattling down the stone drive, barely a hint of light in the sky. And then again a half hour or so after that to more birds.

So she gave up and grabbed a cup of coffee, black and dense and shockingly bitter, and went out to the deck with an old plaid blanket from the couch. It was later than she was expecting, but the sun was just making it’s appearance over the hills and the hollow was chilly and rinsed in dew from the night. She bundled up in the scratchy blanket and slurped at the coffee as light crawled over the meadow and down the drive.

An engine growled down the winding road into the hollow and a rusted up brown pick up truck trundled around the corner and onto the property. Darcy could see the sideburns from here.

Logan got out of driver’s side and Darcy was struck with the sudden notion that she wanted to crawl directly into his unraveling knit sweater and soak up all the body heat she knew he had cooking under there.

“I got you books,” he said, circling back to the bed of the truck and lifting cardboard boxes out from the back.

“Books?” She repeated. From the number of boxes she kind of wondered if Logan didn’t just rob a library.

“You know,” he said, glancing up from under thick eyebrows. “Like Google. But on paper.”

_

He’d gotten a bookshelf too. He said he got her the books and the bookshelf. But they went up in the living room and it all felt…domestic.

And the Google dig was less of a joke than she realized. A lot of the books were reference materials about the area. Because he had robbed a library. Well not robbed. But bought out the charity sale.

So when Logan vanished off into the woods to chase rabbits or chop down unsuspecting trees or whatever it was he did every day, Darcy pulled out the local bird field guide and a pair of binoculars. After three days she decided she liked the little yellow and black Evening Grosbeak best with his indignant chatter and squeaks. And then she got out the illustrated book of local fauna and went foraging.

She made chokecherry jam and pineapple weed tea and Logan came back to the house and sniffed the air.

“The hell?” he asked, staring at the stove.

“If you make a single Little House on the Prairie joke, I’ll drink all your whiskey tomorrow while you’re out,” she promised.

“Not saying nothing.” And then a minute later, “Not taking the first bite of that jam, either.”

_

“Is that your kill?” Darcy asked.

She was stretched on the porch with a thriller novel, smothered in sunblock and enjoying the bright rays all the same. Logan was dragging a tree back to the house, stripped of branches.

“Fresh from the hunt. C’mere. I’ll teach you to use a saw,” he said, hefting the trunk up onto a logging bench.

“I’d rather stay here and objectify you,” she said.

Logan hid his grin behind his sleeve as he wiped the sweat off his face. Then he unbuttoned and stripped out of his flannel so she could stare at him in a damp tank top.

She got all of two pages further into the novel before giving up and going in the cabin to fetch beers for them both. She watched the rest stretched across the top of the deck bench, and didn’t mind a bit when Logan took the tank top off and went to work with the axe.

_

The temperature dropped dramatically at night in the hollow. Which explained the space heater in her room in the belly of summer.

She put together a little campfire in a ring of bricks and Logan came out after her fingertips were a little singed and she’d stopped cursing. They sat in lawn chairs near each other, letting the smoke drift away from them, sipping whiskey together.

“Where do you go every day?” she asked after a quiet hour of watching embers spread over logs and sparks float away into the tree line.

“Checkin’ on my bees,” Logan said, soft and rumbly. He was wearing that sweater again, the one with the cuffs that were undoing and slouch that Darcy was pretty sure she could share with him.

“Your bees?” she asked. “Is that…Is that slang?” B’s like bitches? Did Logan have a harem of log women out in the woods?

“For what?” he asked, laugh cracking out in the words.

“Bees, bees? Bzzzz bees?”

He was laughing, trying to hide his sharp smile behind the hand rubbing at his beard. “Got no idea what other kind you’re thinkin’ of, Darce.”

“I just…I can’t picture it.”

“I don’t have a suit for you, but you can come out with me sometime.”

_

She only got stung twice. They burned a little but Logan took her back to the cabin and put baking soda paste on her neck and arm with careful fingers. She got the ones high up on his shoulders. Not because he needed her too, but he was letting her and if she lingered…well, he was relaxed, so who else was going to mind?

The important part was that they had honeycomb for their efforts.

“Oh my god,” Darcy hummed, trying to hold the heavy syrup on her tongue for another minute. It was spicy and dense and the sweetest flavor she’d ever had. She whimpered a little as Logan poured a little puddle of cream into the bowl over the top of her chunk.

“Trust me,” he said.

And she did.

And he was right. They both groaned, teeth dragging across spoons trying to catch every last smear of honey, cold cream bursting and bringing the flowery clover taste out to spill into their mouths.

“Way to go bees,” Darcy said and pretended not to notice Logan’s cheeks pink with the praise.

_

Late in summer Darcy woke in Logan’s arms. They’d had another campfire, this one with more whiskey. They’d shared a log as a seat and even if Darcy didn’t get into that ribbed sweater, she’d cuddled up to it.

And then fallen asleep on it.

Logan was putting her down in her bed and her fingers were tangling into the loose threads on his sleeves. He smelled like campfire and the cigar he’d been mangling and honey.

“I think you should stay,” she whispered.

Warm hands squeezed at her waist and hips as she sank against the mattress. His knee was pressing into the bed against her side and she was pretty sure if she just tugged a little harder, he’d come sinking down over her.

“I think you should ask me that tomorrow,” he said, growled, into her ear.

“I’m gonna,” she said, and he untangled her fingers from his sweater and nuzzled his nose against her hairline before vanishing from the bed.

She huffed as the door shut behind him and then burrowed under her blankets.

_

She woke up early in the morning, and the cabin was dark and quiet. Her room was chilly and her toes were cold.

She padded across the hall to the other bedroom where the space heater was going. She knocked on the cracked door and when he shifted on the bed- it was bigger and the spread was dark and soft looking -she crossed the room.

She pressed her knee to the mattress and ducked her head down till she could smell the whiff of smoke still in his hair. He was wincing up at her, groggy and grumbling, but there was curl at the corner of his mouth.

“I think you should ask me to stay,” she whispered.

“Was planning on it,” he rasped and then burning warm hands appeared on the backs of her thighs and he dragged her down under the covers.