#but you're also the marshal so you're always prepared

[ia-nsfw]

Main post | Uncensored page 1, page 2

And by bashful Chen, I meant Chen with his ass up and legs in the air.

(I'M SORRY ABOUT THE SFW SASUKE, TUMBLR KEEPS FLAGGING IT )

[daechwitatamic]

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorrhansol)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Also in this universe: storm breaker by @/sailorhansol

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

– 

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills. 

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead. 

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves. 

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated. 

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better. 

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for. 

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s. 

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away. 

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No. 

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering. 

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted. 

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them. 

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate. 

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true.  “I got scared.” 

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly. 

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol. 

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you? 

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded. 

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again. 

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood. 

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low. 

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it. 

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away. 

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones. 

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces. 

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you. 

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it. 

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction. 

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that. 

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense. 

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission. 

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him. 

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling. 

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing. 

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt. 

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole. 

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight. 

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind. 

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred. 

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that. 

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome. 

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles. 

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner. 

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened. 

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call? 

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop. 

You greet the person on the line with your real name. 

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck. 

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away. 

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore. 

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response. 

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen. 

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time. 

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.” 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago. 

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh. 

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together. 

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long. 

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter. 

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival. 

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze. 

“It will be okay,” she whispers. 

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons. 

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside. 

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control. 

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat. 

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it. 

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch. 

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol. 

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it. 

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly. 

“And that’s it?” he demands. 

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight. 

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision. 

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap. 

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love. 

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness. 

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk. 

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding. 

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following. 

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake. 

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know. 

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. 

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide. 

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. 

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory. 

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.” 

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign. 

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem. 

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart. 

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly. 

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded. 

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?”  He looks sideways at you, sly. 

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

[moremaybank]

headcanons about being pregnant with jj maybank

-͟͟͞☆ pregnancy headcanons with jj...

warnings: mentions of pregnancy/sex, mentions of smoking weed (jj, not reader)

jj masterlist

the man is so overprotective, and he worries about you like it's his second nature, so he won't let you do anything

he's always rubbing your feet after you've been running around all day

always there to satisfy your pregnancy cravings, no matter how odd they are

has his hands on your belly, caressing it as he talks to your baby

"you're totally gonna be a daddy's girl. or daddy's boy. or a daddy's baby. i don't care. either way, you're gonna love me. i'm super cool."

and you're rolling your eyes playfully, but you think it's the sweetest thing ever

he's constantly taking pictures and videos of you because he's obsessed with you, even more so now that you're growing his child

you catch him filming you one day as you're swaying back and forth, trying to soothe the baby who's kicking like crazy

"you look so pretty, baby"

"i look like i swallowed a watermelon whole," you reply with a frown

decorating the nursery together, and jj buys a miniature surfboard

"what? we're gonna have a lil' baby pogue. they're gonna be cruising the waves just like their daddy."

giving you belly rubs because it's relaxing for you and for the baby

"you're so sexy like this, baby. i like the fact that everyone knows that's my kid in there."

helping you put your shoes on 'cause you can't reach your feet anymore

"my own personal cinderella"

standing behind you and wrapping his arms around you so he can gently lift your belly in his large palms to give your back/body some relief

kissing your belly all the time

if you've ever watched how i met your mother (highly recommend if you haven't), you might remember marshall and lily hosting a mock game show to find out if ted, barney or robin would be the godparent(s)

so naturally, jj does his own pogue-style version with the group

also naturally, pope excels because he's extremely well educated

"i always knew my boy pope would win"

"then why did you have to hold a competition?"

"...because it's fun. duh."

he's always saying the most random things out of nowhere

"...wait. does this mean i have to stop smoking?"

"you're not the one that's pregnant, jj."

or

"does this mean we can't fuck anymore? 'cause i'm not tryna poke the baby's head with my schlong. that's just rude."

and you're just like "really? that's where your mind's at right now?"

honestly it's just a fun time seeing the biggest (and sweetest) goof you know prepare to be in charge of a whole other person's life

~

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @skydisneylover @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste

[saradika]

DIN DJARIN - 2023 FIC RECS

this year has been filled with so many beautiful fics, I wanted to make a rec list to share & support everything I read. please check these out and support these creators, they are all incredible! 💖✨

— A Kind of Demon by @fettuccin-e

Kinktober Day 3: Monster AU | Incubus!Din Djarin

— A Rule Of Threes by @5oh5

after not celebrating your birthday for many years, din djarin makes sure this is one you'll never forget

— Betrayal by @againstacecilia

Bounty hunting, not a happy ending, feels.

— Brown Eyes by @mandoisapunk

Din comes back to Nevarro only to find his favorite soldier acting as an interim Marshall, and the reunion is everything he could’ve hoped for.

— Coming Home by @whataenginerd

Din has just arrived back at the Sundari palace after a long and boring diplomatic trip. 

— Consummating The Riduurok by @beskarandblasters

You just got married to Din in a large celebration on Mandalore. At the end of the night it’s time for one thing only; to consummate the marriage.

— Coporal by @pentechnics

Your new job is more or less a cinch; you’re the secretary to the COO of a big manufacturing company. Day in and day out you balance calendars, prepare morning coffee, and send a variety of emails. / But you also fantasize about your boss. In every which way. And it doesn’t take long to find out that his mind is just as filthy as yours.

— Denser Than Beskar by @floral-force

Your beskar-clad taxi pilot is an awkward man, and you decide it’s due to his limited social interactions. Under the armor, a nervous Din Djarin thinks his flirting and hints are obvious. Will he be able to share his feelings before you’re lost to the sands of Tatooine?

— Don't Hold Your Breath by @bits-and-babs

forced proximity smut

— Fear Not The Abyss by @psychedelic-ink

din initiates you into the cult.

— Forbidden Cravings by @inklore

stay in your room; that’s all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you’re trapped between two monsters. | din x reader x bo-katan

— Hex Code by @bits-and-babs

given the task to hunt down an enchantress renowned for her deviancy, din fails to understand just how hard this mission will be to complete.

— Home by @beskarandblasters

A little drabble about domestic life with Din at his new house on Nevarro

— Home Is Where You're Mine by @/inklore

in nevarro you and din can finally breathe and spend your days christening every surface of your home.

— Ichor. Blood. Water. by @cherubispunk

stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the ‘man made from metal’, forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

— Keen by @/bits-and-babs

the child has been getting in the way of you and mando spending time together. after weeks without your touch, he’s finally reaching his limit.

— Love, Intertwined by @lowlights

Once upon a time...no, that’s not how your fairy tale goes. Din might have saved you that fateful day, but he was no knight in shining beskar armor. But the universe has a funny way of pushing people apart and bringing them back together again. 

— Love Is a Fire That Burns Unseen by @moonlight-prose

on your list of things that could possibly happen while bounty hunting with din, dying from hypothermia wasn’t included. nor was finally admitting the truth to yourself about your feelings.

— Misjudgments by @floral-force

Din Djarin reluctantly agrees to work with a partner on a hunt, and they turn out to be incredibly skilled in bounty hunting. They make him a nervous wreck, something that never happens to him. But, maybe there’s more to Din’s mixed emotions than he realizes…

— Never Break The Chain by @/moonlight-prose

years after you lost contact and parted ways, he comes back into your life. in the most drastic way possible. | jurassic park!au

— No Words Needed by @againstacecilia

“Din, can I ask you something?” / His helmet turns to look in your direction. / “What does cyare mean?”

— Of Brown Eyes and Desert Skies by @floral-force

When a new man storms into the saloon you work at, you're instantly terrified--and captivated. But as he lingers in town and stirs up trouble with every step, you question who the brown-eyed man is underneath the poncho, and if he really is just a bounty killer at his core.

— Of Shadows and Roses by @the-scandalorian

You're engaged in an illicit affair with your bodyguard.

— One Night Only by @mondaychildsworld

You and Din get down and dirty in a fancy hotel room in Coruscant.

— Pearl Rosary by @sweetercalypso

Priest of Mandalore!Din Djarin listens to your sins during confession

— Permission by @javier-pena

You belong to Paz … but there’s something about Din Djarin. He’s on your mind constantly. | din x reader x paz

— Petals by @mandelirious

“When did you know?” / “Ithor.”

— Potter!Din by @silksaddle

A collection of drabbles and oneshots that surround your life with Din, who works away in his pottery shed.

— Raising Cain by @hier--soir

at a private gala in berlin, two agents slip inside, uninvited. unbeknownst to one another, and working for seperate agencies, they prepare to bring the same target to justice. the only problem is - one of them wants him dead, and the other wants him alive. who will succeed? will the strange connection they feel stop them from completing their mission?

— Return The Favor by @galactic-basic

din and reader share a moment in their newfound quiet.

— Rite by @bits-and-babs

 Traditions form after Din removes the mask.

— Salt Water by @5oh5

din carries you in his mind, in his body, the way waves carry the salt of the sea: unforgettable, inextricable, forever.

— Still Of Your Hand by @/moonlight-prose

"din was always scared he would hurt you. always tentative to give into your desires of being taken apart roughly, because he was a gentle person when it came to you. his life revolved around violence, yet when it came to this—you—he was anything but that."

— Tales of the Heart by @lavendertales

Joining Din on his missions carried no expectations from either side. You simply provided him with medical assistance when needed and tended to the ship while he was gone and nothing else. / But several situations arose where you truly believed something might happen between you and Din.

— That's Not My Name by @theidiotwhowritesthings

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” - Shakespeare

— The Art of Failing by @theidiotwhowritesthings

The Division of Mythological Affairs was created to protect and serve the supernatural community while keeping the knowledge of their existence a secret. / You hoped to become an Agent of the DMA like your mother before you. Just as your dream begins to fall apart at the seams, you stumble across a missing persons report that could change everything. | Werewolf!Joel Miller & Vampire!Din Djarin

— Unearthed by @grippingbeskar

you are the new leader of your planet, but you lack an army. lucky for you, a new king has also recently ascended the throne.

— Unseen Smile by @beecastle

It’s your first anniversary and Din wonders if he should take his helmet off

— Velvet Mand'alor by @outercrasis

State functions are boring - certainly there are better ways to occupy your time

— Woven In Stars by @ilovepedro

Instead of navigating the galaxies, Din is navigating his new home life with Grogu on the ourskirts of Nevarro. In doing so, he meets you - a seamstress in town. The two of you form a beautiful bond through helping him adjust to domesticity in his secluded cabin. Throughout the time you share together, the bond you have flourishes into something more that can no longer be contained.

— Your Heart Got Teeth by @/moonlight-prose

horny thoughts about din’s necklace.

if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting! 💕

[lestappenforever]

I'm confused about why a red flag would've been needed for George's crash. The timing of communicating a vsc, sc or red flag to drivers would be identical, so it's not like a red flag would get information to them any quicker. Under the vsc the race is neutralised, cars come to a slower delta and prepare for danger on the track - with Carlos on the last lap the only functional difference between a red flag and a vsc is that he went to the line instead of into the pits? George would've been in the same amount of danger under a red flag or a vsc.

A red flag should always be the response when an accident is as severe as George’s was, and the fact that he ended up in the middle of the fucking track - not on the edge, not in the gravel - not only made the accident itself pretty severe, but it also made the track unsafe for the rest of the grid. And that is, according to FIA's very own regulations that they do love to follow, grounds for red flagging a race.

And the thing is, if somebody had crashed into George, no matter how unlikely it was? There would have been a huge liability issue with the marshals choosing the VSC as opposed to the red flag when the crash warranted a red flag under FIA's own regulations. As a FIA licensed marshal myself (although obviously at a far lower level than the F1 marshals), you learn really fucking early not to take any risks because your first and foremost priority is driver safety.

There was nothing gained by anyone by having the drivers "complete" the race under a VSC; the positions were already secured. And by choosing the VSC instead of the red flag, despite it probably not having made much of a difference, they are indirectly saying "fuck you, we don't actually care about driver safety, all we care about is having a completed race".

To the drivers, the flags and deployment of a SC/VSC also let them know the severity of the cause of the reaction. George was lying there, in the middle of the track, with no visibility behind him and having no clue where the cars behind him were, terrified. He was begging for a red flag because its meaning and severity would have given him at least some sort of comfort, and being told they had deployed a virtual safety car instead? I can only imagine how that could have made him feel in that moment because that's the marshals indirectly telling him "Yeah, we know you're trapped in your car in the middle of the track with no way to see any cars behind you and you're clearly scared as hell, but tough".

The regulations exist for a reason, and the severity of George's crash and the placement of his car should have triggered a red flag.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Ikemen Prince (JP)

You know what happens when you mess with my stuff, right? (Gilbert von Obsidian) Premium

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

Where did this case come into picture? The answer is, "All of it."

Gilbert: "Hey, want to help me do something bad?"

Silvio: "Don't talk in your sleep, idiot."

I visited Silvio's guest room and was met with a cold shoulder.

I sat down beside him without hesitation as he stirred his rose wine without paying attention to me.

Gilbert: "You're a businessman, so you should at least hear me out."

Silvio: "I only do that when dealing with decent guys."

Gilbert: "You're also a navigator, so you like to take high risks, yes?"

(There's no way he'd miss out on a money-making opportunity like this.)

I put the small box I had prepared beforehand on the table, and Silvio, with a wary look on his face, put down his glass and opened the box with one hand.

Silvio: "You, this..."

Gilbert: "This rare ore is produced in small quantities, and there is probably no better pure ore in the world than this."

Silvio: "Idiot! Don't take this precious thing out of your pocket so easily."

Gilbert: "It's just a rock, but to those who know its value, it's a tremendous treasure."

Gilbert: "SO...?"

Silvio: "Fine. What's it about?"

(The look in his eyes changed.)

Chuckling inwardly, I leaned back deeply against the sofa.

Gilbert: "You know that dog that's always hanging around Miss bunny?"

Silvio: "Yeah, that damn dog?"

Gilbert: "Yes. I just need you to separate him from his owner tomorrow."

Silvio: "That's it?"

Gilbert: "Yeah, that's it."

Miss bunny will attend her friend's tea party tomorrow.

(She's so excited about it. She doesn't realize she's being taken advantage of.)

The people who are planning to approach Miss bunny are those who are aware I'm close with her.

As for her lady friend, I've already done my research on her. If this is a black-and-white situation, she's definitely in the black.

Also, it looks like the father, rather than the daughter, has made several attempts to contact Obsidian. And this is probably part of that.

(They're thinking like a simpleton, taking Miss bunny as a hostage in a tea party just to negotiate with me.)

(Well, I'm about to see something interesting, so I won't miss it.)

Silvio: "You're asking me to assassinate about 100 VIPs here."

Gilbert: "Oh no, assassination is Obsidian's specialty. We don't outsource assassinations."

Silvio: "I don't think you should be so proud of yourself."

Silvio: "How much money are you paying me to harass that woman?"

Gilbert: "I'm willing to pay as much as I can for the little rabbit."

Silvio: "What do you want with that woman anyway?"

Silvio seemed to have a strange hunch, perhaps because the price was indeed too much.

Silvio: "Everything you do is harass her. Do you have something against her?"

Gilbert: "It's terrible to call my expression of affection harassment."

Silvio: "Answer me seriously."

Gilbert: "I don't have any grudges. If there were, the little rabbit would already be dead."

Silvio: "Then what do you really want?"

("What," you ask?)

Of course, I have a clear purpose, but I'm not going to reveal it foolishly and honestly.

Gilbert: "Do you know what my nickname is?"

Silvio: "Fucking eye patch, the world's nastiest calamity, the ever-victorious marshal, and the overrun."

Gilbert: "Yes, it's overrun."

(I'll pretend I didn't hear about the fucking eye patch.)

Gilbert: "I've trampled and ruled so much that people started calling me the Overrun Beast."

Gilbert: "Even in Rhodolite, what I do is the same."

Silvio: "Ha! Even I feel sorry for that woman."

Gilbert: "Fufu, me too."

Silvio: "Don't say it yourself."

I smiled back at Silvio, who looked a little reluctant and got up from the couch.

(Now I'm ready to go.)

(After tomorrow, Miss bunny won't be able to trust anyone anymore.)

(She's going to be betrayed and sold out by her dearest friend.)

Gilbert: "I'm looking forward to it."

(...............)

(How did this happen?)

------------Flashback-----------

The plan must have worked.

A short time after Miss Bunny had left for the library, I couldn't help but laugh when her lady friend called me over, looking guilty and paler than the last time I saw her.

(If you’re going to feel guilty, you shouldn’t have done it in the first place.)

I believed her obvious lie that “Emma wants to see me” and went to the warehouse.

What was waiting for me inside were the Count, Miss bunny, and a few mercenaries.

When I noticed the house looked more like a hideout for ruffians than a nobleman’s mansion, I laughed again.

Gilbert: “Geez. If you’re going to negotiate with me, you need to have at least three times these mercenaries on hand.”

The Count and even the mercenaries were put off by the slightest hint of murderous intent.

Rather than hiring veteran mercenaries, it looked like he just hired some thugs in the city.

(They could stay, but it doesn’t make me feel good. I guess it wouldn’t matter as long as only the bare minimum of actors is present.)

Except for the Count and her daughter, I cut down all the peace-loving people with the sword I picked up.

Needless to say, I was disgusted that they couldn’t even use a hostage properly, even though they had a defenseless little rabbit.

Gilbert: “For now, I’ll just listen to what you have to say before Miss Bunny wakes up. So, go ahead.”

Eventually, Miss bunny woke up, and when she learned that her friend had betrayed her, her face contorted in despair.

Her friend affected by my murderous intent also chose to abandon Emma without saving her.

(Everything should’ve been fine.)

---------Flashback Ends---------

Emma: “Lady Louise?”

With our lips almost touching, the door to the guest room swung open just in time to reveal her lady friend with a sword in her hand.

She gripped it shakily, probably thinking Miss bunny, sitting on the villain’s lap (me), was under attack.

Louise: "Please let go of Lady Emma!"

Gilbert: "That's a funny thing to say. You betrayed her, remember?"

Gilbert: "It's all your fault that we're in this situation."

Acting like a good person now won't make the fact that you sold out your friend.

I hate these people so much I want to kill them.

(It's not unusual, though, because aristocrats are all "self-absorbed" people like this.)

Louise: "I know I'm just a lowly person who approached Lady Emma on my father's orders."

Louise: "But she still considered me her friend."

Louise: "She said that I'm her friend."

(.............)

------------Flashback-----------

???: "Listen, Gil. I'm on your side no matter what."

???: "I promise. I won't leave you alone. Okay?"

---------Flashback Ends---------

(Disgusting.)

Emma: "Lady Louise."

Louise: "I'm sorry for being selfish. But I don't want to hurt you anymore!"

Louise: "It was not you who disrespected Prince Gilbert. It was me!"

Louise: "So please punish me."

Gilbert: "Hmm? Then back to my original plan."

Emma: "No! Please don't touch Lady Louise!"

Louise: "Lady Emma! I'm fine, don't cover for me!"

Emma: "I'll be fine. Just run away!"

Louise: "I won't run away, I promise!"

Emma: "Lady Louise!"

Gilbert: "..............."

(Ah, the farce has begun.)

(What am I going to do now?)

I was ready to comfort Miss Bunny, who had been betrayed by her friend. However, if this happened, everything would be ruined.

(This lady is definitely an aristocrat. She saved herself and sold out her friend.)

(And yet I showed her blood in front of her eyes and soaked her to death.)

If the beauty of Emma’s heart moved her, then this “Belle” is more troublesome than I thought.

(I overrun my enemies with malice, but Miss Bunny is the exact opposite.)

(If instead of dyeing white into black, she dyes black into white, then she's not a good match for me.)

(She might be my natural enemy.)

Both Miss Bunny and the lady have regained their normal complexion.

Even if they may suffer a terrible fate, they probably think it would be "better" for them.

(I'm a bit frustrated.)

I sighed and admitted defeat as the desire to kill was gone, and the "anger" receded like the tide.

Gilbert: "Let's go home, Miss Bunny. I hope you had a good time at the tea party."

Emma: "Okay."

Miss Bunny's blatantly relieved look stuck in my mind.

Gilbert: "We're here, Miss Bunny."

Emma: "Mnn..."

(She's not getting up at all.)

She fell asleep in the carriage, perhaps due to tension, and showed no sign of waking up even after I carried her to her room.

She didn't open her eyes and only grunted when I put her on the bed.

(Speaking of which...)

------------Flashback-----------

Gilbert: "It doesn't matter if it's in front of a prince or a servant. If I ask for it, you'll kiss me."

Gilbert: "I’d say that's a good enough balance."

Emma: "............."

Gilbert: "What do you say?"

---------Flashback Ends---------

(I didn't get a kiss because we got interrupted.)

(If that promise had been kept, all sorts of interesting things would've happened.)

I pressed my finger to her lips.

(But I'm a big bad guy.)

I put my hand on the side of the defenseless little rabbit and put my face close to hers.

(I'm not going to kiss you now, though, because it won't mean anything.)

I brought our ears closer together, not our lips.

Emma: *grumbling*

Gilbert: "Ah, I knew it."

(I thought she was saying something earlier, but一)

She looked like she was having nightmares, judging from her whispering and groaning.

(No matter how much she thinks she's okay, dreams do not lie.)

There was no way that today's events wouldn't have left a scar on Miss Bunny's heart.

Even if their friendship was restored in the end, the fact that her friend betrayed her will never go away.

Gilbert: "But that still won't stop you from believing in people, will it?"

(You're an idiot, you know that?)

Gilbert: "You're kind, so I'm sure people will continue to hurt you."

Gilbert: "I wonder if you would make the same choices if you were betrayed and hurt repeatedly."

(It's easy to dye white to black, but difficult to dye black to white)

(I wonder how many more times you can endure it.)

(................)

For some reason, I'm irritated.

I'm frustrated.

Emma: "Mnn...huh?"

Emma: "................"

Emma: "!?"

Gilbert: "Ah..."

When the little rabbit woke up, she was startled by the proximity of our faces.

After blinking a few times, she blushed and pulled up the sheets to hide.

Gilbert: "Fufu, what did you imagine?"

Emma: "No! Nothing!"

(This is the kind of reaction that makes me want to tease her.)

(Poor thing. I wonder if there's anyone who can protect her from me.)

I lay down next to Miss Bunny and stared at her, her face appearing to be scared.

Emma: "You didn't do anything, did you?"

Gilbert: "Who knows?"

Emma: "What did you do?"

Gilbert: "Fufu..."

(I got it wrong.)

I pursed my lips and smiled as I always do.

(Sorry, I'm in a bad mood right now.)

She repainted black as white and believed in her friend even though she betrayed her. But the truth was she was so wounded and having nightmares but refused to show even the slightest sign of it.

(So...)

Gilbert: "Shall I remind you?"

❣ Epilogue

[scoonsalicious]

hi pookie its meee🩷🩷

I just wanna tell im sorry that i havent been spamming lately😂. Part of it is because im busy preparing for my sis engagement day which is tomorrow (WHO KNEW ENGAGEMENT WOULD BE VERY CHAOTIC?!)

Unwanted updates has been my alarm clock early in the morning (around 6-8)😂. Usually I would wake up at 12 in the afternoon but since then, early it is.

Somehow my brain knows when you’ll update.

OKKAY Let’s rewind to chpter 23. Of all things… SHEAR A SHEEP?!😂😂😂😂 Thinking about it, I might actually do it too😂 Tony and Pocket clicked right away. I love their dynamic. He cares for her since the beginning and for someone like Pocket, she needs him. That chapter is wholesome.

Next, even if it’s only 1 part, we got to see Sam and Pocket in action and I can’t wait for more. Sam calling himself dark chocolate is just😂😂😂😂. Also a glimpse of Pocket’s childhood/backstory😔 She’s a tough one which makes me even more worried. The ‘plan’. Buying drugs from Kozlov sounds BAD. This makes me think that they will force her to take some kind of new drugs that made her really vulnerable and kidnapped her. (and i really REALLY think, will be the work of fucker cunthage).

Last but not least, I miss Bucket😂 I miss his stupid head. I cant wait for him to be the knight in shining armor, saving his beloved Pocket and beat the shit out of Jeremiah. I trust Pookie will build him to the manly man he needed to be.

Anyways, as always, loads of love for u Pookie. Ur work r the best.😭🩷 I cant wait for the upcoming new story.🔥

Hi, Bestie!!! I love getting your messages! And no need to apologize, because 1) they are *never* spam, and 2) you're busy! Congratulations to your sister, by the way! I hope she has a very long, happy, and healthy marriage! I'm glad I can be your personal alarm clock, lol; though, if I could sleep until noon, that's all I'd be doing! So, the shearing a sheep thing-- I was having a convo with @mrsbuckybarnes1917 and was talking about how I think RDJ and I could be besties, just hanging out and shooting the shit and going on ridiculous adventures, then I was like "he seems like the kind of guy I could shear a sheep with in the middle of the night." And BOOM! An origin story was born! It ended up working out better than I expected. I love writing them together so very much. He really is the solid foundation of her life, and if not for him, who knows where she'd be right now?

Sam calling himself 'Dark Chocolate' was loosely based on Marshall from How I Met Your Mother calling himself 'Big Fudge.' I dunno, as I was writing, I just saw Sam saying it, and I was like 'Bingpot!'

I miss Bucket, too. He has a teeny, tiny over-the-phone cameo in the next part, but they won't be 'on screen' again together until Chapter 25. I should have kept them apart for longer, honestly, but I couldn't resist.

Three parts coming out today, since they're all relatively short, and I'll be leaving you on a bit of cliff hanger to start your weekend. In the meantime, I'm off to work on With Friends Like These which, part way through chapter four, is already 19.5k words. Brevity is not my strong suit, apparently, lol.

As always, Pookie loves you so much, and the cat-kiss gifs give me life! There's nothing I love more than a kitten smooch!

[ceterisparibus116]

Hey! As far as I understand, in the US you guys have to do an undergraduate degree before doing law school. Do you have any opinion on what Matt would’ve taken at undergrad?

Also I just want to say that I really love your writing and your posts are genuinely making me consider a career path that I’d never thought about before! I’d always sort of dismissed being a lawyer because I’m quite shy about public speaking, so I never really thought about how much I like the law in itself. It’s so interesting!

EEEEEEEEE this is exciting! The world needs more lawyers - especially more lawyers going into it for the right reasons. So many lawyers just care about the money or the power (or their parents' approval), which means there's a dire need for lawyers who want to help people.

And I just wanna say: law doesn't require public speaking. Criminal law kinda does (you're pretty much always showing up for hearings and trials in criminal law), but civil law...not so much. Civil law has some hearings and depositions, but very few civil cases go to trial. The vast majority of it is sitting at a desk, writing and researching. Although you do have to be able to meet with victims and witnesses, and that makes some people nervous. (That still makes me nervous, actually.) But it's not public speaking, I think?

You could also try to be a full-time law clerk. Most judges hire clerks for only a year or two, but some take on clerks permanently. As a clerk, your job is 100% research and writing and preparing documents. You get all the fun of making brilliant legal points, but you can make those points safely on paper without having to stand up and present them.

However, I also do believe that public speaking is a skill, not just some natural talent. So I think it's always possible to get better. Here are my two absolute favorite resources on public speaking:

This amazing youtube channel (which isn't specifically for public speaking, but does address public speaking sometimes, and has a ton of general tips for building confidence, overcoming nervousness, turning awkwardness into charisma, etc.); and

This lifesaving book (which is the best book I've read on public speaking, hands-down, and I highly recommend it even for people who aren't lawyers because although it's written for lawyers, the content is overall about how you approach public speaking [how to both feel and appear more confident, etc.] rather than the content of what you're saying. I literally love this book so much!)

Oh, you also asked about Matt. XD

My undergrad was political science, so I like the idea of Matt doing the same just because #relatable. But I don't actually think of him as a poli-sci guy. Like, Karen is the one who's more concerned with broad social structures. Matt seems more interested with figuring out what he's supposed to do than he is with figuring out what society is supposed to do. Matt seems to say: "The system is broken, but I can help as a lawyer, and where I can't help as a lawyer, I can help as a vigilante." He's not the one invested in uncovering corruption or dismantling oppressive systems.

I think of him as more like a history guy. Partly because of the Thurgood Marshall thing. But I imagine him digging into the history books, finding people who inspire him, and modeling his life after them (when he's not angsting about whether he could live up to them).

That said, I secretly ADORE the idea of Matt as a math major. My mock trial coach in high school tried to convince me to be a math major myself, and although I didn't go that route (I'm more like Karen; I wanted to research social and political issues), there's a lot of wisdom to it. Math is logic, after all. And it's pure logic.

If I say "a + b = c," there's no emotion there. But if I say something like "police + poverty = ____" ...y'all already are having an emotional reaction, right? And you're filling in the blank with something. You're likely filling the blanks in based on emotion and anecdotes, since I think most of us have a strong opinion about this, but most of us probably haven't done a deep statistical study into the issues.

As a lawyer, if you care about truth, it's absolutely vital to be able to use logic both to make your arguments and to figure out which arguments you should be making in the first place. We can't completely ditch our personal biases, but I do believe studying math helps work those parts of your brain that can analyze a problem with logic and without using emotion and anecdotes as a shortcut.

So yeah, I love the idea of Matt being good at math.

[lulu2992]

I've been doing an introspective RP with a friend and I've become very attached to Deputy Hudson. It feels like the game doesn't actually give us much info about her, since you have to dig through files and triggering her dialogue naturally is somewhat difficult.

Said friend recalls hearing a piece of dialogue somewhere suggesting or flat-out stating that John didn't actually "do much" to torture her. That she was even allowed to walk the halls of the gate and that her fear/isolation were what took the biggest toll. That John did torture her violently at least once, (the audio of which was turned into a sermon that you can hear at outposts), but other than that he mostly stuck to threats.

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on this? If you've heard the files or had any ideas about the methods of torture used. Just trying to paint a picture, since she and Staci deserve more justice than what they got.

We indeed don’t know a lot about Joey Hudson… Apparently, she and Pratt were originally supposed to be Guns for Hire, which probably explains why they have more combat lines than they need. However, I don’t remember anyone in the game saying that she was (relatively) well-treated or free in John’s Gate.

While she’s in the bunker, the Resistance and civilians are worried and hope she will be rescued soon. They say that she’s tough, but they think it’s not necessarily a good thing because “John loves a challenge”. As for cultists, one comments that Hudson is one of John’s “special projects” and another that he spends a lot of time with her. I suppose it’s because she was stubborn and therefore hard to break, so she required more “work”, but also because, as the Junior Deputy’s partner, she was bait. If they didn’t want to come for him, John hoped they’d at least want to come for her.

I believe she did receive “special treatment”, in a way, but that mostly included being broadcasted across the entire valley either looking in danger or screaming in pain so her colleague would want to save her. John often threatened to hurt her in retaliation, but in the end, I don’t know if she was tortured significantly more than the other captives. That’s clearly what he wanted the Deputy to believe, though.

I looked through oasisstrings and found what Hudson says about her time in John’s Gate:

That hell hole of a bunker -- I was trapped in it but my mind was somewhere else. I sorta just went through the motions, gliding along… Like you would in a nightmare. It never ended. I can't remember all of it… Just flashes… I begged people for help, but they just… smiled. I've never been around that many Peggies in one place, and every single one of them just smiling.

When you escaped the bunker… John didn't say it… but you could see it in his face. Failure. Things got worse from there… Like he was trying to make up for something. Prove to his brother he could… I never thought I'd make it out of there.

This is all surreal to me – being alive I mean. When I was in that bunker, all I could think about was the ways I would die. Think about who I was leaving behind. How every moment in my life came together and drove me to this point – this… end… You prepare yourself to die, because everything is telling you you're about to… But I'm not, and I just feel… numb.

She doesn’t talk about being able to walk freely in the bunker, so I’m not sure she (or any other hostage, for that matter) was allowed to do it. In comparison, it seems Pratt had more freedom, in the sense that he could walk around a bit in St. Francis and wasn’t always in a cage. That said, his mind, like the Marshal’s, wasn’t free at all…

As for what exactly John does to people, it’s unclear because the game doesn’t really give details, and neither do the people who had to Confess or say “yes” to him. What’s certain is that they still seem affected by what happened, ashamed of what he managed to make them say (even Jerome), and that most of them don’t want to talk about it.

In the Confession room, there’s a blowtorch…

…but how (or if) it was used, we don’t know. And it appears his toolbox only contains a screwdriver, a tattoo gun, and a stapler.

According to Sharky, John “knows all these pressure points and can make you feel pain beyond anything you ever imagined”. Another NPC, who Confessed, says he “messes with your head, asks you questions, makes you say shit you don’t wanna be saying”, but then refuses to elaborate. John knows how to hurt people physically, but it seems he doesn’t always need to do it. Sometimes, as we saw when he made Nick say “yes”, a few well-chosen words are just as effective, if not more.

Narratively speaking, I think it was a good idea not to tell us what John does or says to make people comply so easily. That, plus the fact that those who Confessed are too uncomfortable to talk about their experience, makes him an impactful villain. Players can only guess what his methods are and, given the circumstances, tend to imagine the worst. How exactly he tortures people, physically or psychologically, is a mystery, and that makes him look more threatening.

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

Hi Phie! Congratulations on 200 followers, you deserve all the love! 🥰 I’d like to request prompts 12 and 39 (if I can do two; if not, you can pick which one! No worries!) for Commander Cody (shocker lol) x fem!reader :)

Thank you so much, and congrats again!!

MOLLY!!! This took me so long, I'm so sorry!! (I have another request to complete that I haven't even started yet, but ANYWAY)

Um,,,, this is not a drabble lol. it's a lot longer. It's also more angsty than I intended but I had fun with it tbh 😅

SO!!

Love & War. Cody x f!reader

prompts: 12. "By the gods, you love her, don't you?" (altered to *Maker,...) & 39. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen"

warnings: alcohol, slight angst, not beta'd

words: ~2k

summery: Cody gets a talking to from his brothers and has a realisation.

I'm gonna tag @softsunburstlove since I know Nova's currently keenly interested in anything Cody.

masterlist

Taking another sip from his drink, Cody sighed as he looked across the bar. His brothers were dancing, talking, drinking. Having a good time. Meanwhile, he stuck to his far corner, drinking in silence. It had been... a long week. With the relentless death of war and the mounts of paperwork and planning and strategy meetings...

But that wasn't the thing stealing Cody's sleep. His mind had been on you. It was always on you. Ever since the day the two of you met.

But he was the Marshall Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic and they were in the middle of a war. He couldn't allow himself any distractions. Thinking of the work he accomplished this week though, and the quality of it, he had to consider the fact that that ship might've sailed.

So he sighed, and he took another sip, and suddenly Wolffe, Gree, Fox and Rex were taking a seat across from him. So much for a quiet evening.

"Been looking for you, brother," Gree started, taking a sip from his own drink. "You been hiding from us?"

"Not at all," Cody replied lamely. One look at Rex told him that he'd seen right through him. Truthfully, he didn't expect to be able to lie to Rex. The man himself couldn't lie his way out of a paperbag, but he was quite discerning when it came to his brothers. Though seeing as he ran the 501st, he likely had to be.

"Really? So you're just hanging out in the far corner of the bar, all by yourself, because you wanted us to find you?" Rex fired back.

"Rex," Cody said slowly, in a tone his brother knew all to well.

Rex relented right away, knowing better than to push him. He knew Cody was a smart man. But he also knew he tended to overthink things. That did mean he was always prepared for any possible outcome. It just... took him a while to get there. And Rex certainly understood the importance of thinking this through well enough.

Wolffe, however, was much more blunt than Rex. And much more curious. And he didn't necessarily care about pushing a bit too hard.

"Codes," he began, and was immediately interrupted.

"Don't call me Codes," Cody said, far too quickly. His statement was met with complete disregard.

"If you have a problem, I'd suggest you talk to your vode. Pushing us away and hiding in some corner isn't gonna get you anywhere, vod."

Cody tapped the side of his cup. Wolffe made an excellent point. Talking to his brothers was usually the way he solved the toughest problems. And when they couldn't be solved? His brothers would buy the rounds until they were. He could always count on them.

But thinking of you now? Of your deep eyes, and your beautiful smile and your loving hands touching his body, caressing away the horrors of the war?

Sharing that felt like giving a piece of it up. Telling anyone at all would feel like it wasn't his, and his alone anymore.

Cody realised it was childish, seeing as Rex had already put two and two together. Not exactly a difficult equation either, seeing as he disappeared for conspicuous amounts of time every few days. And that one time you were at 79's with your friends and you caught his eye across the room and he felt like he couldn't breathe anymore. Rex had been right beside him to witness it all. He was grateful that his brother clearly hadn't spoken a word about it, but it did also mean that now that he was having doubts the choice of telling them was his alone too.

Cody sighed deeply, still studying the liquid inside the glass. "It's complicated..."

"Ah," Fox began, nodding knowingly, "it's a girl."

Cody scoffed, looking off to the side. His brothers knew him a tad bit too well.

Wolffe chuckled deeply, leaning over to smack Cody's arm. "And what girl wields enough power to have the Marshall Commander this out of sorts?"

He looked up from his glass briefly to address his brother. "We...," he cleared his throat. "We met shortly after the second Battle of Geonosis."

Wolffe scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Piece of advice, maybe don't try to make a living as a story-teller after the war."

After the war. He'd heard that phrase a lot lately. From you of course. How you'd buy them a house on some back water planet after the war. How you two would start a family after the war. How after the war all would be well. How he could rest after the war.

"Geonosis? That's almost a year ago now, isn't it?" Rex asked, realising that he didn't know as much of the full picture as he once thought.

"Yeah," Cody confirmed. He'd been counting the days since he met you. Wanting to savour every last one of them, knowing that every tally mark on the side of his bunk could be the last.

"So you've been with this girl for...?" Rex trailed off.

"Does it matter?" Cody shot back. Then he threw back the last of his drink and looked out into the crowd again. Gree had brought a bottle of whiskey with him. He quickly filled Cody's cup again, receiving a grateful nod, however, unaccompanied with his usually warm smile.

The others exchanged worried looks, silently communicating what they were all thinking; Cody wasn't himself right now. Something must've happened.

"So a girl," Fox began, always the political one, "A girl you've been with for a while. Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, no," he cleard his throat again. "Yeah, it's great," he said, unconvincingly.

"Okay, how'd you screw it up?" Wolffe asked.

"I didn't!" Cody shot back. Too quickly to keep up his detachment. He deflated then, admitting to the fact that he'd lost. "I didn't screw anything up. Neither did she. Everything's been great for a long time."

"Then what's the problem?" Gree asked.

"It's... she takes it as a promise. Something I can keep. Like my surviving the war this long means that we have a future where I don't need to sneak around, lie to all my superiors and brothers and...," he trailed off, emotion swelling in his chest. Damn, how much had he had today? "I know I can't give her what she wants. I can barely keep it up now."

"If it's more trouble than its worth why not just break it off?" Wolffe offered, always the pragmatic one.

Rex shot him an angry look, but Cody understood their brother. He and Wolffe had always been a bit more... detached than the others. Rex didn't date a lot but when he met someone he liked he was head over heels before the first date was over. He couldn't help it, he just felt that deeply.

Cody certainly felt deeply for you but... something permanent? He'd never had that. War would never provide him with consistency. He had accepted that but he wasn't sure you understood that. How could you? You were a civilian. The sweetest, loveliest, most beautiful civilian he has ever met. But this part of him, you would never fully grasp. He accepted that too. At least he thought he did. But lately, more and more, it was like there was a war going on inside of him. His emotions going haywire all the time and he didn't even know why. And more and more, the center of his thoughts, his feelings, his plans... was you. But that wasn't realistic. That wasn't how this was going to end. Right?

When Cody still didn't speak, didn't even look at them Wolffe's eyes widened and he spoke the words Rex was silently begging him to swallow. "Maker, you love her, don't you?"

He might've choked on his drink. "I... what do you... I'm not... I can't," he sputtered in-between coughing.

When he managed to crack his eyes open again, the entire table was looking at him with identical grins. Even Rex, the little shit.

But damn, if it wasn't the truth. The truth he had been too stubborn to admit. The truth that, at it's core, might not have been as scary as it sounded in his mind. Still scary but... there were worse things, right? Right.

The one thing Cody did know for sure is that the rest of this conversation wasn't going to be conducted with his brothers. He quickly jumped up and mumbled "Excuse me."

****

It was late when he knocked on your door. Usually he comm.s first. Just as a curtesy. He's like that. A little uptight, but always with a warm and kind heart behind it.

So you're quite surprised when he shows up out of nowhere smelling of whiskey and smoke and 79's. But you've had worse surprises.

You smile, a bit of concern glimmering in your eyes.

"Cody? Hey, sweetie, is everything okay?"

You remember the last time he showed up like this. It was after a tough mission. The Citadel, you vaguely remember.

Next thing you know he's grabbing your hips and pressing his lips against yours. You're taken aback now, this is totally new. He'd never been that assertive. Always kind, gentle, caring, loving. This wasn't him. There was a new... hunger in him.

You pull away quickly, not because you don't want him to kiss you but because you're worried. When you search his eyes, you see tears in them.

"Hey, hey," you coo gently, cupping his face. "What happened? Who did we lose?"

"No one," he chokes out, shaking his head. He then pulls you close again, burying his face in your hair.

You're still standing in the door, for all your neighbours to see. You couldn't care less.

"Tell me what's going on, love," you whisper into his ear. "What happened?"

He takes a shaky breath to steady himself and walks the two of you inside more, shutting the door behind him.

"I never told you," he says, his voice still impossibly strained.

You grow nervous now. Was he keeping secrets from you? Was there...?

"What do you mean? Is there-?"

He cuts you off. "There's no one else. I just... I never told you... I love you."

A few moments of silence pass and suddenly you're taking a deep breath and a teary smile appears on your face. "That's okay. I always knew. You didn't have to tell me. I could see it. It's okay."

He frowns, his grip on you tightening as he shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. "No, it's not! It's not. I... I should have..."

You cut him off this time. "I have no idea what it's like to be a soldier. But I know that, saying it to you? Knowing that you might not come back next time? It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I didn't mind that you couldn't do it till now. I knew. I always knew."

He heaves a deep sigh, as if a weight fell off his shoulders and leans his forehead on yours, eyes fluttering close. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I love you so much. I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. I'm sorry I wasn't even trying to search my feelings. I'm sorry I wasn't ready to commit."

You smile a little the softest of laughs escaping you, making him feel like his heart was about to burst. "What you couldn't see in yourself, I always knew was there. I never doubted you. You might not have said it, may not have known it was there. But I knew. That was enough for me."

He shakes his head, a few tears falling from his eyes as his nose brushes against yours. "Cyare. How are you so perfect? So patient with me?"

You press a chaste kiss to his lips. "Because I love you."

He spent the night then, whispering silent promises to you. About love, and the future, of all the two of you would do after the war. But the phrase he said most -- over and over again in fact -- was the one he never thought he'd say to anyone.

[hlovescincy]

Mini Review: 5 Things I REALLY liked about "It Ends With Us" movie, and a few things I liked a little less.

📌 5 Things I liked...

1) Casting was fantastic. I remember seeing Justin Baldoni's cast search video when they were trying to find a young Blake Lively, and I scoffed at the time bc how is it possible to match up someone to her gorgeous face? But they actually did! She looks so much like her, that I almost thought it was AI over Blake's face, until I just looked it up.

2) Casting was fantastic, part 2 -  I haven't read the book so I don't know if it's true to those, but I thought every single actor seemed made to play their role. The leads, the supporting actors, everyone.

3) I liked how stunning the movie was visually. You don't always get that in dramas but you did here. All the scenes and shots of the city were beautiful, especially the restaurant and every single view of the flower shop.

4) I loved how real the love felt between all the characters. I think Blake Lively embodied love in the movie as Lily. Lily's love for Axel and her love for Ryle and her love for her mom... all of it she expressed so well. Sometimes movies about DV try to make it seem like there's no real love there and that one fell into a relationship strictly out of trauma - even though that's not how it usually happens. As heavy as it was to watch the main relationship, Lily and Ryle gave us a lot of purity to their characters so we could fall in love with them as a couple first... and feel the instant, and ongoing pain when it disintegrated.

5) I don't know anyone offscreen who has gotten out of a DV situation alive without being on the run for awhile, or some severe aftermath. But it make more sense in the movie because of the sister and law, mom, Axel and just the mere fact she had a strong support system. I am sure some people think it's unrealistic, but I think it's also important to sometimes give out hope. Some people are able to leave if conditions are right and they have other support. I think people can really use hope when 8t comes to the topic so I was glad for its inclusion.

📌 3 Things I liked less...

1) I wanted more Hisan Manaj. I would've liked to see how his character, Marshall, reacted after learning the truth about his brother in law. In all his lines I wanted just a little more of him.

2) It pains me to say this one: as someone who knows every lyric to my tears ricochet, I hated it's usage in the movie. It didn't fit the scenes it was in, not a single moment. My friend who was with me though didn't know the song and thought the words she heard were about having grace, until I explained the song is very much not that. So yeah it just didn't fit and I wish another Taylor song was chosen. Maybe it wouldn't be distracting to non-swifties though :)

3) Lastly, (and this is not about the movie as much as some of the promotion around it), I don't think a lot of moviegoers knew what to expect. Lots of people (including kids) there seemed prepared for a RomCom. After the movie, sadly I picked up conversations from girls walking out who were most disappointed that Lily didn't give Ryle more chances! That was hard to hear.

All in all I'd highly recommend the movie. See it by yourself or with friends whom you're always comfortable with. It's heavy and triggering and thorough, but it's all tastefully done. Great direction, cast, and levity to an important topic.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Hello, m'lady!

If you don't mind, here are some incoherent thoughts about some of the Bois that came to my mind after reading around in your brilliant writing. You said you wouldn't mind my incoherent thoughts, so I thought I'd share them! (I'm still working on my incoherent Bad Batch thoughts, btw)

I want to hug Jesse. Like, he's hot as hell no questions asked, but I also just want to hug him. Like, a long hug. And tell him that he's loved and that he's enough and wonderful exactly as he is.

Also, I want to cook for all the clones, but these vibes are the strongest with Wrecker, and, for some reason, Hardcase and Fives.

Also, my ideal date is going to one of those public strawberry picking fields where you can just... walk around and fill your basket with strawberries, and afterwards go home and bake strawberry cake, and I'm going to drop that in this context.

Also I find it so interesting how non-commitical Rex actually is; like, who would've guessed that a guy with such a spit-death-in-the-face attitude on the battlefield would be so scared to let someone into his heart.

Also, I low-key wanna call Cody Marshall Commander, Sir and see what happens >:3

I haven't even consumed any Delta Squad material, but solely the writing on this blog made me love them all and (idk, maybe they've met in canon XD) I think Boss and Cody would get along.

And someone should tell Fixer to go tf to sleep, I'm sensing that he doesn't do that *nearly* enough.

Someone should also tell Kix that always putting others first and neglecting his own needs is not what being a good, compassionate person is about, and that he's worth it.

I could go on and on, damn, but lemme just say that your depiction of the Bois really helped shape a more 3-dimensional and rich picture of them in my head and that is awesome :)

Also thank you sm for my date set-up again, I'd 100% ask the dear commander for a second date.

I've been thinking about these gems nonstop since you dropped them in my inbox! 💙 I love getting thoughts like this so keep them coming! I don't get to talk about these wonderful clone men IRL so this is my only outlet 😅

And just so you know, I did intend to respond like a normal person and just... piggyback on your thoughts, share a few of my own, call it a day... but then my hand slipped and now I have 8 whole one-shots to share instead 😳😳

So, in honor of May the Fourth, I've got my 8 stories queued up to post throughout today (5/4), all based on what you shared here! We've got hurt/comfort, we've got silliness, we've got slice-of-life, we've even got some spice.... I had so much fun writing these and I hope you all enjoy them! 

Thanks for the inspo, friend! Wishing everyone a fantastic Star Wars day! 🌟

JESSE

Jesse definitely needs a good, solid hug every once in a while. Be prepared for his reaction, though, it'll be quite an emotional moment for him...

WRECKER (+Fives and Hardcase)

They do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...

BLACKOUT

Why not go on this ideal date with your new beau, Blackout? 😃

REX

His fear of commitment is interesting, huh? But he does have many loved ones who will help him work through that fear...

CODY

Oh boy, you'd best be ready for a long night after a line like that...

BOSS & CODY

They're leaders with different styles, different responsibilities, different crews... and yet they're bonded together like two old men who just met in the power tools aisle...

FIXER TECH

Actually, I headcanon that Fixer is an early bird. It's more likely that someone would tell him to go back to sleep.

Tech on the other hand...

KIX

There aren't a lot of people Kix would listen to if they told him that. Thankfully you're one of them...

[direwombat]

tagged by: @socially-awkward-skeleton (tysm! 💕)

tagging: @adelaidedrubman, @detectivelokis, @baldurrs, @kittiofdoom, @funkypoacher, @aceghosts, @strangefable, @deputyash, @fourlittleseedlings, @confidentandgood, @sstewyhosseini, @purplehairsecretlair, @roofgeese, @poetikat and god I feel like I'm forgetting people but if you see this and you're not tagged but want to share a wip I am tagging you! (But also. As always. No pressure!)

Still wrestling with ch 1 of kneeling at the crossroads so here's some of that

“Last chance, Marshal…” Whitehorse warns.  She redirects her attention to Burke, watching the realization dawn on his face. His eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack, mouth hanging open as a shaky breath is forced from his lungs. Fear, so sudden and so potent she can practically smell it. He swallows thickly, taking in a deep breath to compose himself. “We’re going in,” he says.  To his credit, he, at the very least, sounds resolute. Whitehorse gives Pratt the order to land the helicopter. Her stomach lurches as the landing skis touch the ground, causing the entire craft to jolt. The blades begin to slow overhead and Whitehorse makes one last call to Nancy. If she doesn’t hear from them within the next fifteen minutes, send in the cavalry.  She takes a moment to check her pistol. She shouldn’t need it -- Whitehorse’s instructions to keep it holstered tell her as much -- but it’s a ritual she’s adopted from her time in active duty. “There are times when your mind and body will fail you,” her old captain had once said. “But a well kept weapon never will.”

And then they’re moving. Burke, Hudson, and the Sheriff all take point in front of her while Pratt stays behind to keep the engine going.  Sybille is no stranger to walking into hostile territory, but nothing could have prepared her for just how familiar it feels as she enters the cult compound. Men and women dressed in various uniform mill about, armed and leering. Dogs bark, lunging against their cages as she and her fellow officers move past. But beneath the cacophony is something low and sweet and melodic. A choir of voices sing out into the night; an old song she knows by heart. One her mother used to sing every night when she was a child. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound… But something about it feels strange. Hollow. Haunting. The mud slows her movements, sucking at her boots like it’s trying to hold her back, stop her -- save her from whatever awaits her inside the church.  Cries of “We’ve done nothing wrong!” and “What are they doing here?” ring out. She holds herself a little taller. Back straight, chin held high, projecting as much authority as she can without being outright intimidating. The Sheriff does his best to soothe the agitated crowds, but even Hudson can’t help but voice her own growing apprehension.  “Jesus Christ, you’re wearing badges, aren’t you?” Burke cuts in snidely.  “Yeah, but they don’t respect badges much around here,” Hudson answers. “They’ll respect a nine millimeter,” Burke mutters, passing a man wielding an automatic rifle. The singing grows louder as they approach the chapel. It echoes into the moonlit night, reverberating deep in her bones and resonating in her chest. Her heart aches at the sound, memories and longings from an easier, simpler time threatening to breach the surface. She stomps them down, but she struggles to bring her focus back to the task at hand. A cloyingly pungent floral smell wafts through the air. Her head spins as it coats the back of her throat and lungs, suffocating her like she’s drowning in perfume. Her limbs are heavy and her head light as she trudges through the mud. A dog throws itself against the chain link fencing. Its teeth are bared and gnashing, flecks of spittle and foam flying from its mouth. She startles, her heart sent jackrabbiting in her chest for the first time since stepping inside the compound. Looking to her coworkers to see if any of them are affected the same way she is, she locks eyes with Hudson. Her own wide-eyed expression is reflected back at her.  She opens her mouth to say something reassuring, but before she can, Burke is moving the push open the church door. The entire edifice is painted an eggshell white, chipped and worn from the elements and carved with scripture. Whitehorse holds out a hand, intercepting Burke and pushing the partially opened door back closed. “We do this my way,” he says. “Quietly. Calmly. You got that?” “Fine,” Burke groans, but as his hands drop, he keeps one placed firmly on his holster. “Hudson, on the door. Watch our backs and don’t let any of these people get in,” Whitehorse orders. “La Roux -- on me. And you,” he turns and looks tiredly at Burke. “Just try not to do anything stupid.”

Burke’s jaw clenches, but he feigns a friendly smile, patting the Whitehorse on the shoulder. “Relax Sheriff. You’re about to get your name in the papers.”  As if anyone other than him actually cares about what the press has to say.

and the intro to the muzzle fic. some sweet polycule au goodness will be had here

“Bunny’s been biting again,” Kit tells him after she returns from her patrol of the courtyard. 

Jacob stands, leaning over his desk as he pores over recent reports from the Project’s remaining outposts. “Other prisoners or the Chosen?” he asks, not looking up. Sybille’s come-downs from the trials have always left her in a more rabid state, snapping at and lashing out at anyone who gets too close. 

“You think I’d be bothering to tell you if it were prisoners?” she says flatly. “She took off a man’s trigger finger. Doctors weren’t able to sew it back on.”

With a heavy sigh, he turns around and folds his arms, leaning back against his desk. He stares at her and scratches at his beard. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says. Kit nods, and by the tightness in her mouth, he suspects she has something to say. “What do you think?” he asks.

“She’s throwing a tantrum and she’s demanding our attention. We do anything and we just give her what she wants.”

He hums and strokes the hair of his chin. “She’s not normally that violent and we don’t want her to be. Ignoring her would only encourage the behavior.”

Her brows lift skeptically. “We’re not rewarding this,” she states plainly. 

“Oh, no, of course not,” he reassures her. “But she does respond better to positive reinforcement.” That skeptical look only deepens. “She’ll stop acting out if we remind her what her incentive is to behave.”

Kit lifts her eyebrows. “You mean…?”

“Next time she’s unconscious, we’ll have her brought up.” He turns back around to his desk full of reports. 

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Jacob pauses before looking back at her. He supposes she has a point. Sybille is the kind of woman who demands some sort of contingency plan be in place. Their clever little rabbit has a way of circumventing even the finest laid traps. But he’s fairly confident that this particular snare is one she won’t be able to escape. She’ll learn her lesson. But on the off chance she resists more than normal…

“Then I guess we’ll have to pull some teeth,” he sighs, though he takes no pleasure in the thought. 

Kit’s face is a carefully trained mask of neutrality, but, while reassured, he can tell she also doesn’t delight in the idea. The sadistic gleam he fell in love with is noticeably absent from her eyes. Hurting their little bunny -- sinking their teeth into her tender flesh, holding her so tight her pale skin bruises a vibrant purple, and pulling those sweet high-pitched sounds from her is fun. But anything that would cause her any actual lasting harm is something they’re both reluctant to do. 

They want her docile, obedient, and well trained. 

Not broken entirely. 

“Just trust me, Kitten,” he sighs, and he pulls her in to press his lips to her forehead. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” she says.

He holds her there for a long moment, combing the fingers of one hand through her thick auburn waves. But then he pauses, his brow furrowing.  “What did she do with the finger?”

“What?”

“The finger,” he repeats. “You said the doctors couldn’t sew it back on. What did she do with it?”

“She spat it out,” Kit says. “But not before chewing it up first.”

An impressed smile tugs at his lips. “Jackrabbit’s got a taste for blood,” he hums. It’s almost too bad they have to remind her of her place in the food chain.

[vampireluvwund]

can i suggest jonah and adam being caregivers to an age regressed gender neutral reader :]

JONAH + ADAM WITH A AGE REGRESSOR READER.

I hope u like this idk how good it is

Jonah Marshall.

You had to explain it to him like twice until he got the point.

Still will do questions, but don't worry, he is very polite.

Gets child games for console for you guys to play together!

> Search how to prepare hot milk

> burns the kitchen

more than once will have stepped on a squeaky toy that has woken you up from a nap

" I'M SORRY KEEP SLEEPING PLEASE "

Always ready to throw punchs at anyone who dares to say anything bad to/about you.

OH OH also IF YOU PUT RELAXING MUSIC TO SLEEP BETTER HE IS FALLING SLEEP TOO i love that image in my head

Like you're sleeping nicely in your bed and he's just in a puff sofa with a very calm music in the background (he's there to prevent nightmares 🙌)

Overall good caregiver 8/10

Adam Murray.

He got it when you first told him!

He tries his best, always buying toys + plushies

If you decore your pacifiers, he will totally help you!

An flaming horror fan but if it scares you, he will try to keep that stuff away from you

For some reason I think nap times get him really relaxed, like, imagine him sitting next to your bed reading something,

(probably Stephen King books)

And the only light in the room is the orange that the setting sun projects,

And he just eventually falls sleep...

Can't cook for shit as well so probably will buy 80% of your food

Or will watch tutorials

> Search how to prepare hot milk

> Burns the already burned kitchen

Another nice caregiver give him a big hug bug

[sam7sparks7]

Currently facing the writer's dilemma when one song fits two pairs of blorbos very very accurately and you can only use it in one fic.

Here we are going into a slightly in depth analysis of the Fall Out Boy song 'I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers'

The blorbos in question are -

1) Boyd Crowder/Raylan Givens from Justified

2) Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell from The Boys

Disclaimer - I have watched a fair bit of Justified but that was last year, though I keep reading the fics and hence don't remember what is not canon. I have never watched The Boys, only experienced it on Tumblr and read maybe 5 fics only.

Behold ~ the lyrics + my thoughts

[song pov Boyd and Billy]

You're a canary, I'm a coal mine -

1) Literally Boyd to Raylan, they dug coal together!!! (screaming crying and all that jazz) also how Raylan was the canary who realized that the mine was collapsing and grabbed Boyd thus saving his life.

I also think it plays into how Boyd views himself, an essential part of the Harlan structure, but knowing he will be abandoned once he has no use. As compared to how he sees Raylan, a canary, not meant to be inside a mine, a symbol of freedom.

2) I think (cause I haven't watched the fucking show) Billy calls Hughie the canary, the good guy, Mr Do Good of the whole operation so this fits

'Cause sorrow is just all the rage -

1) Boyd is angry at a lot of things, one of them being Raylan leaving Harlan

He knows that it was necessary, he is happy Raylan saved himself, but he is heartbroken and devastated at being left behind and knows in their town, there's no surviving with a sorrowful heart, hence he channels it into anger

2) Billy Butcher seems very angry at a lot of things and desperately needs therapy

Won't be a stretch to say he is masking his pain as anger

Take one for the team -

1) Funnily enough, Raylan has stepped in to protect Boyd, but never on Boyd's terms

2) Hughie getting that superpower shot

You all know what I mean -

1) Death or the knowledge that it is something one might not survive, still doing it out of feelings neither party will ever acknowledge

2) Same as above

And I'm so sorry but not really -

1) Boyd was never sorry for where their paths intersected, because at some level I think, he was always prepared to die at the end of Raylan's bullet

2) This line is literally Billy Butcher personified

Tell the boys where to find my body -

1) Continuation of Boyd's line of thought that he'll die by Raylan's hand probably in a mine somewhere, peak romance if you ask him

He doesn't wants to be forgotten though

He wants that place to be marked, for people to say 'this is where the Givens boy shot the good for nothing Crowder boy, yes the one who was a preacher for a little while'

2) For Billy, I choose to interpret this line as a self sacrifice, something he would say to Hughie before pushing him out of the line of fire and dying to make sure Hughie made it back to The Boys

New York eyes, Chicago thighs -

1) Boyd gently teasing Raylan about his travels and marshal work taking him places

2) Billy meanly teasing Hughie about how he is the most sophisticated out of them all? I might be wrong here

Pushed up the window to kiss you off -

1) Boyd at 18 climbing up the side of the house to reach Raylan's window and losing minutes kissing on the windowsill, before Raylan pulls him inside

2) Billy would do it impulsively, without thinking about why he wants to do it

Do you remember the way I held your hand -

1) Young Boyd and Raylan returning from the mines, late evening, falling darkness, empty street. They are moving with shoulders brushing and if their fingers happen to get tangled together, neither of them pulled away.

2) There's only two ways I can see Billy holding Hughie's hand. Hughie is unconscious in a hospital bed and will never know. Hughie is too slow running away so Butcher just grabs his hand and pulls him along while cursing him for being a weakling deadweight.

Under the lamp post and ran -

1) Continuation of the post work walk, except they challenged each other who would reach the tree first, took off running, but did not remove their hands from each other's. Instead they tightened their hold, not wanting to accidently let go as they ran, ending with them tripping and crashing - laughing, out of breath and red faced, but together and happy about it.

2) Seems impossible but maybe in the running away from danger scenario.

Home this way, so many times -

1) Home for both isn't a house, it is each other. We are talking pre exodus Raylan, when the only good thing that was all his was the love and attention of Boyd. And for Boyd, Raylan was the safe space no one else could take away because Raylan had chosen him. Irony being Raylan took himself away.

They held hands and ran out of the collapsing mine together everyday (metaphorically), until one day Raylan ran out of Harlan itself and Boyd's heart collapsed.

2) Billy equates Hughie's presence as a home. A beacon of normal among the weird. He can have the most fucked up, out of the world experience, but coming back to their bunker and getting to call Hughie a cunt makes it simultaneously more real and bearable to do what he does.

I could close my eyes? -

1) A question. An offer. I could close my eyes if it makes it better for you. I can look away if that is what you need from me. Should I keep them closed when you put a bullet through my heart, so that you don't see the love I hold there. Or am I closing them for your benefit, so you do not see yourself reflected in them, distancing yourself from this thing (love) that will only die when we both are dead.

2) The only kindness Butcher can offer Hughie. I can look away whenever it is too much for you. Be it your own emotions or be it my stubborness, I promise you I will let you have your space. This is the least I can do for you, you deserve so much more, but I am not the person who deserves to give you that.

The truth hurts worse -

1) Oooh boy, I love this line. So essentially Boyd Crowder. So what's his truth - that he did and does love Raylan Givens? Or that Raylan is just a means to an end and Boyd keeps him close for the protection?

No one knows, but either way, I think one aspect of that truth is, they both care for each other very much and it hurts because caring is lethal. Caring in Harlan means you will at the least, get severely hurt and at the most, gruesomely die.

2) Billy's truth, hmm. Maybe that he does love Hughie but won't hesitate to let him go on a mission impossible return from, as long as it serves his vision. Or he will never feel anything for Hughie but string him along with scrapes because Hughie's sunshine is addicting and his presence is vital?

There is nothing but pain should Hughie ever try to find the truth. Hence Butcher makes sure Hughie would never want to.

Than anything I could bring myself to do to you -

1) Boyd doesn't need to tell Raylan the truth of why they can't stop hurting and saving each other. They both know. Acknowledging it would mean confronting all those emotions they never untangled and a can of worms that would need months of open honest communication to resolve. They both would rather be trapped in a mine, thank you very much.

2) Butcher will never tell Hughie the truth because the moment he does it, he would have to be accountable for his actions. As long as he keeps them in the limbo of not knowing where they stand, Hughie will always come back to stand by his side. But if he shares it, then Hughie will know that the way Billy treated him was just how he was, love doesn't change a person like Billy Butcher. And that could cause Hughie to finally leave, something that their operation won't survive.

Now, press repeat -

1) Both Raylan and Boyd have a lifetime worth of regrets between them, but when it comes to each other, they both will always choose to save the other one's life. They will not leave the other behind in the coal mine, or they'll die trying to escape, but they won't do it alone.

2) I think a bit similar to what I said above, but more in the way that Billy will resist change and Hughie will stop pushing him to change, hence them continuing as they were. A part of it might be they both have gone through life altering experiences, but separately. Therefore even though they have changed as individuals, they will repeat the same old script with each other because they are afraid of a change in their relationship.

[prodtrouver]

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐍

❝ I'm lucky just to get close to the throne. ❞

Their people never wanted a queen. They've always thought kings are better off for the kingdom. However, the kingdom became full of spies and traitors when the new queen was coronated and was told to assassinate her. There is a catch though: they have to get pass her right-hand men.

Pairing: Kang Taehyun x queen!reader x Park Jisung

Genre/warning: fluff, slight angst, mentions of murder/assassination, bodyguard x queen, knight x queen, mentions of sexism where the kings are much more superior than queens

No. Of words: 2791 words

IMAGINE INSPIRED BY:

= 10 years before =

The little boy ran out of the house, ashes on his face as he immediately fell on the ground. His tears streamed down his face when he realized his family is no longer beside him.

He felt like everything has disappeared from him, everything was taken away by the fire that was set.

He guesses he'll be living on the street now. The people stared at him in pity. Suddenly, he felt someone kneel beside him. He turned to look at the person.

It was a girl: she wore a beautifully embroidered white blouse with a linen skirt. Her slightly wavy hair runs down her shoulders. She looked wealthy, and the villagers looked shocked to see her beside him.

"Don't cry... I know you just lost everything but don't cry." She muttered as she looked over at the still burning house.

"Put it out," she said to the men behind her. She helped the skinny boy stand up. A soft smile on her lips before she hugged him. They were both on the same height and the boy weirdly found her comfortable.

"I will let you stay with me, so tell me your name." She broke the hug and stared at him. She wiped the ash from his cheeks with a piece of cloth.

"Kang... Taehyun..."

= 2 years later =

Taehyun stopped his horse when you got off your horse.

"Princess? Where are you going?" He immediately gets off his horse and followed you. His hand ready to grab your wrist as you head somewhere unknown in the woods.

"Taehyun, I think I saw a body here," you whispered. Taehyun furrowed his brows but stayed quiet.

Suddenly, as you said that, you both halted your steps. A young boy laid unconscious on the leafy ground, blood on his shoulder as if it was still fresh.

"Wha- Taehyun, help me help him!" You said and rushed towards the unconscious boy. Taehyun kneeled beside him while you lifted the boy up a bit.

"Get a cloth or something! Wrap his injury!" You said, and quickly, Taehyun did that. After doing so, you both carried the boy on his horse and immediately head back to the castle. Taehyun clung onto the boy while you rode your horse in front of him.

When the unconscious boy woke up in an unknown room, his pain was no longer there. He looked over at his shoulder: his injury was bandaged. He looked around, confusion stayed on his face.

"What's your name?" He jumped at the sudden question. He turns around and sees you there with a boy beside you. How did he not see you there?

"What's your name, boy?"

"Park Jisung,"

= back to the present =

Taehyun and Jisung stood on your side as you listened to the boring meeting of your father, the king. You yawned and looked over the war board. You took a little Knight,

"If you go there, they will expect you, and you will be assassinated. However, if you go behind the castle at past midnight, that is their weak point." You moved the little knight to behind the carved wood castle of the neighbor kingdom. You pushed more knights behind the figure.

"Immediately, you must surround the castle because they will realize you are attacking. Do not surprise them by shooting whatever from the sky," you said.

Their expressions, except Jisung's and Taehyun's were all shocked. Your father was smirking though, plans running through his head as he watched you whisper something to Taehyun and Jisung.

"Y/n, how does Queen y/n sounds to you?" He asked instantly. Everyone has their eyes wide.

"Sounds nice.... Now, if you excuse me, I need to go," you stood up from your seat. You exited the room,

"You're okay with being Queen?" Jisung asked, and you hopped your head as a yes.

"It will be interesting if you think about it," you spat. You chuckled when you heard Taehyun groan softly.

"Yeah, assassination is definitely interesting," Taehyun said, and you laughed. Jisung just looked over at you both, slightly concerned about the upcoming events.

"Assassination is interesting if you're the target. I have 2 right-hand men to protect me... That is if you can handle it," you smirked, and faced the two boys.

"I trust both of you,"

Coronation wasn't nice at all. All the rushed preparation and activities were being made. Taehyun leaned by your bed while Jisung brushed his hair.

"Coronation is boring," Jisung muttered. Taehyun agreed, but you sighed as a reply.

"I know and I hate the responsibilities of the queen, however, I believe the attempted assassinations of people will be fun." You clapped your hands as you fixed your cape.

"There's something wrong with you then." Taehyun walked towards you and took a hair clip from the vanity. You clipped in your hair, you thanked him.

"Should we stay close to you?" Jisung asked, and he stood beside you. You chuckled and bobbed your head up and down.

Jisung caresses your hair before taking a rose from a vase.

"After this, you will officially be our queen. We vow to be committed with you," Jisung lent you the rose before he kissed your palm.

"We shall put our lives on the line for you, your majesty," Taehyun slightly bowed his head. He held your palm and placed a kiss on it as well.

"Stop acting that way," you smack their shoulders before laughing. You heard the door open and turn your heads.

"Your majesty, it is time," the servant said. Taehyun and Jisung help you stand up and they follow behind you until you make it to the coronation hall.

The door opened: neighbor kings and their wives, as well as princes and princesses. You softly bit your lips as you walked down the carpeted floor. Jisung and Taehyun stood on the side of the podium.

"We are gathered here today for the coronation of our first queen!" You kept your eyes in the front, however, you could tell Taehyun and Jisung has noticed something.

"It's just coronation day, and she already had people targeting on her." Taehyun whispered to Jisung when he pointed at a prince who gripped on the handle of the dagger hidden inside his coat.

"Let's just stay close to her later," Jisung whispered back and Taehyun agreed.

You softly smiled to all the people that greeted you with joy and pleasure. Although, it is weird to bow to a queen, and not a king. You weren't having it though; you despised greeting people who threw looks as daggers at you.

You knew you need to prove that you are capable of ruling the kingdom, however, you also knew there would be traitors and stubborn minds out there.

"Your majesty, we saw a prince with a dagger. Please, be careful," Taehyun lightly held your arm. You placed your hands on both of their shoulders.

"Instead of staying close to me, monitor him. Eliminate him but don't kill him if you must," you whispered. Both boys nodded their heads before separating ways.

"Good day, your royal majesty," you turned around to be greeted by the neighboring kingdom's princes, Choi Yeonjun and Mark Lee.

"Good day, Prince Yeonjun, Prince Mark," you bowed your head, slightly. Both princes sweetly smiled at you as they make up a conversation.

However, behind them, you saw another prince. He had his gaze on you, a glare perhaps. Behind him was Jisung, and on his left was Taehyun. Both were pretending to be busy while they kept their gazes on Prince traitor.

"Your majesty, if you would like, we can send a few of our royal guards to keep you heavily guarded. There are people who do not like nor trust a queen." Yeonjun insisted, but a faint chuckle left your red lips.

"Thank you for the insistence, but I figured I could handle the betrayal of my so-called-people. No need to worry, I will be alright," you said.

"Alright then- but if you need more guards, our kingdom will be glad to lend a few," Mark said before you thanked them once more. Both princes left shortly to talk to other inheritors of the other kingdoms.

You, on the other hand, thinks of a plan to please your kingdom, only to realize that won't be needed.

A week has passed and everything was alright. You have already improvised and finished the undone tasks of the past king, aka your father.

The farms were able to finish just before spring arrived with the extra pairs of arms you sent out. More supplies were given to the shops in the village that could last them a lifetime.

It wasn't to please your people, but rather do the right thing. That's what important in being the ruler of a kingdom.

"Your majesty, a few more guards have been sent out to patrol the village. Do you want to increase the number of guards to patrol the castle grounds during evening as well?" The kingdom's Marshal explained.

"No more increase for the evening patrols. Although, assign a few guards from the day patrols to the remote are of the kingdom's village." You said, the marshal nodded and left afterwards.

Jisung, who sat on the side, suddenly yawned. You looked at him from your throne while Taehyun rolled his eyes at the other's reactions.

"So boring!" Jisung shouted, not giving a damn to the other guards in the humongous throne room.

"I hate to admit it, but today is more boring than yesterday," Taehyun spoke the truth. You chuckled and removed the cloak on your shoulder.

"Should we go train then? It has been a while since we practiced our swordsmanship."

They both smile and hurriedly made their way to the training grounds. You let out a chuckle, however, that didn't last long when you felt stares behind you.

You turned around, only to see a man ran towards you with a dagger on his palm. You stood still and closed your eyes.

Pain didn't hit you, nor hurt you. Instead, all you heard is the man's groans and winces of pain.

"Glad we didn't get that far," Taehyun spoke as he took the dagger from the unknown man. Jisung has hit foot pressed on the man's chest, his arms crossed.

"Nevermind, today isn't so boring," Jisung smirked. "If anything else, it's quite interesting to find out a mere peasant plans to assassinate her majesty."

You opened your eyes to watch Taehyun pull the man up, his hands already tied to the back. Jisung, who took the dagger from Taehyun, threw the dagger down the window.

"What if you hit someone with that?" You said as you stood beside Jisung. You both watched Taehyun effortlessly tie the struggling man.

"Then it looks like blades do fall from the sky. They'll probably think it's the devil trying to kill them." Jisung joked, and you rolled your eyes playfully.

"You have time to joke around while almost being killed!? You really are a careless queen! The kingdom doesn't need you!" The man shouted as Taehyun pushed him against the wall. Taehyun stepped back and stared at the man.

"I'm not careless nor thoughtless- I'm joking around because I know I won't die. Why do you think I just stood there? To show that I'm an easy target?" You smirked and immediately pulled out the sword from Jisung's sheath.

You stabbed the wall. The blade of the sword was centimeters away from the man's ears.

"Go ahead and tell your people I'm a very easy target. My father gave me the throne for a reason, and throwing away people like you from the kingdom is one of those reasons." You removed the sword from the wall.

You gave it back to Jisung and turned around, about to walk away.

"Taehyun, I trust you with handling this man. We will meet you in the training grounds." You spoke as Taehyun nodded. Jisung followed you to the training grounds.

"You must be sick of her ordering you around- do you plan on killing her too?" The man smirked at Taehyun, who smirked back.

"I'm lucky just to get close to the throne, you peasant. I'm never tired of her orders, I enjoy them lots." Taehyun said as he effortlessly dragged the man to the other guards to imprison him.

You walked down the dark halls of the castle. A lamp on your hand as you looked straight ahead.

The castle remained its peaceful silence, even in the evening. Although you're certain it cannot remain that way for you knew, someone has their eyes glued on your figure.

You're never really keen of normal princess stuff. War strategies, weapons, and swordsmanship interests you more. You just learned proper princess etiquette because of your mother.

Jisung and Taehyun aren't currently with you, hence, making you more vulnerable than usual. That really didn't stop you from staying strong. You are the one who trained the two boys.

You stopped and let out a sigh.

"Stop following me, will you?" You turn around, your right hand already on the handle of your sheathed sword. The 2nd unknown man of the day smirked at you.

"You took away my brother, you will never take me!" He lunges himself towards you, daggers on both of his grasps.

Luckily, you ducked and kicked him in the chest and sent him flying backwards. You unsheathed your sword and pointed it at the man.

Just from his figure, it was obvious he does swordsmanship. He even could surpass you, but you stayed confident that you're stronger.

Once again, the man stood up and lunges himself at you. The blade of his daggers met the blade of her swords. The cling and clangs of both blades echoed in the half-empty hall.

"So you're not useless at all," the man was stunned by your swordsmanship. All you could do is smashed your head into his and kicked him backwards once again.

"What's your head god damn made off?" You laughed this time, you lunged yourself at him.

The way you moved and yield your sword from his weak points kept catching him off guard. However, you were also surprised with how quickly the man thinks.

You both circled in the hall, your blades being yielded. Suddenly, he kicked your hand and your sword falls to the ground. Your eyes followed the sword, and he used the chance to kick you once more.

Pain came crashing down on your chest and hand. The man smirked as he held you up, his dagger pointed on your neck.

"Bye bye, your majesty," he said. The icy blade touched your skin, it sent shivers down your spine but it confused him. You looked unfazed, then instantly-

"The show was nice, but I'm not pleased with the fact you hurt our queen." The man was kicked from behind and he dropped you. You were caught by Taehyun, though.

"You were amazing, y/n- you should teach us again," Taehyun dusted off all the 'peasant dust' off you.

"I was wondering why you guys were just watching behind that door," you rolled your eyes.

"The night was boring," Jisung spat.

"Everything for you is boring," Taehyun picked up your sword and returned it to you. The three of you looked at the man who was reaching for his daggers.

"I'll take that!" Jisung picked both of his daggers and inspected it.

"Interesting, interesting- it still looks new, however, it's dull. If we weren't here, you would've suffered a tragic murder, y/n." Jisung said as he gave the daggers to you.

"Death is boring- why not dodge it when you're seriously about to die?" You joked and put your sword back in its sheathe.

"I won't even ask who sent you. Jisung and Taehyun could handle them," your eyes got darker. The man felt his crack.

"I hope you realize you messed with the wrong people. You messed with the queen, not only that..." You kneeled in front of him and pressed the cold dagger's blade on his neck.

"You messed with the Queen's right-hand men." You smiled sweetly, but your eyes don't show sweetness nor kindness.

"Guards, take him to prison!" You clapped your hands, and a door opened, and revealed the guards who were watching everything.

"Make sure he stays with his dumb assassin brother," you said as you turned to look at Jisung and Taehyun.

"Now that's over- let's play in my room! The night isn't over!" You locked your arms with them.

"I'm sleepy though," Jisung yawned.

"Everything is really boring for you," Taehyun rolled his eyes as he let you drag him to your bedroom.

"I'm joking! What game should we play? Charades? What words should we include?" Jisung said as he thought of things to act as.

"Include the title Queen's right-hand men." Taehyun joked, and you laughed.

"How are you both going to act that? You're going to call yourself right hand 1 and right hand 2?" You joked and they both laughed as the three of you reached your bedroom.

"Simple! Just point at the queen, then point at me and Taehyun!" Jisung said,

"That's already saying the answer, Ji!" You and Taehyun shouted before you all threw in a fit of laughter.