#drop in anchor installation

[daydreams-after-dark]

Good things come in small packages Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Mini Han x fem reader

Synopsis: One year ago you purchased a ‘miniature companion’ named Hannie. He’s the size of a Ken doll but alive and horny. But something unexpected happens on your one year anniversary.

Word count: approx 7.4 k

A/n: SURPRISE!!! I know I said this was being released approx next Monday, but.... I wrote it quicker than I expected. I want to thank you for your patience with this installment. There was a point there where I almost didn't have it in me to write it. But your words of encouragement helped spur me on.

I hope that you enjoy part two of this fic. There's a lot of emotions, sickly sweet moments, and a surprise character features too.

CW below the cut

C/W: unprotected p in v sex, oral sex, rough sex, angst, brief themes of depression, fear of suicide (just a fleeting thought), size kink?

Previously:

"Hannie?" You whisper, lowering the lamp, letting it drop to the floor.

"Why is everything so small? Wait. Why am I naked? Noona, have you been playing with me in my sleep?" He looks up at you confused and worried. "Noona, why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes land on his pajamas, torn to shreds next to him. He picks up the scrap of fabric that was his pajama top, and his eyes widen. "Why are my clothes so tiny?"

"Hannie," you take in the man before you, naked and taking up most of the bed. "You're big."

------------

Han just stares at you blankly. Then realization hits him, causing him to spring out of bed and look around the room frantically.

"Hannie?" You say again. "Hannie, look at me." You take a step closer to him and he finally looks at you. It's as though your gaze anchors him and he appears to calm down somewhat. His eyes soften and he looks at you like he's looking at you for the very first time, just as you are with him.

You already know he has an incredible physique. Broad shoulders, slim waist, toned muscles. But standing before you right now he’s breathtaking. But you don't love him for his body. You love him for his heart.

Standing fully naked in front of you, he seems less real than when he was small. How can this be happening? It's impossible. Right?

"Noona?" His eyes drop to where your gaze has fallen. Right on his cock, still semi hard from his morning wood. It's the most delicious thing you've ever seen. So much bigger than you expected too. You can't help but imagine all the things you want to do with it. You have imagined it plenty over the past year. How you want him to fill you up, or make you choke on it. How it tastes. How it feels in your mouth.

"Hey!" he covers himself with his hands. "I'm going through a crisis and you're staring at my dick!" He exasperates. He narrows his eyes. "Oh my God, Noona? You know what this means?" His eyes light up with excitement.

"I do, Han. Trust me, I know. But first we need to figure out what is going on. Why this has happened." You take another step towards him, closing the distance, and with shaking hands you reach out and touch his chest. You feel his heart pounding and it makes your heart beat faster too.

He's real.

"Do you think my wish has finally come true?" he whispers. "I wish it every night before I fall asleep. That I'd wake up and be human sized."

You look up to meet his gaze. His gorgeous big brown eyes. "I wish it every night too. It's just... this doesn’t make any sense.” You pause. “Wait. The manual. Maybe it says something in that?”

Without giving him any warning, you snap into action and disappear into your walk-in wardrobe, returning with a pair of sweatpants and an oversized tee.

"Here. Put these on. I can't be getting distracted." You say and hurry out of the bedroom.

----------

"I thought you said you'd studied the manual?" Han says suspiciously whilst chewing on the scrambled eggs and toast you quickly cooked for him. You were quite happy to forgo your breakfast so you could search for answers, but his stomach rumbled so loudly you couldn’t ignore it.

While he scoffs down his breakfast, and you're still in your pajamas, you pore over the instruction manual spread open on the dining table, looking for any information that might help.

"Well... I kind of only read about how to keep you alive. You know, like how often I needed to feed and water you." you reply casually. Inside, you wish you had read the rest of the information. Maybe you would have had a heads up about this and you could have prepared yourself?

"Do you think I'm going to be like this permanently? Like the first year was a test of your commitment or something? Maybe I could learn guitar? Or cook? Or-"

"Okay. I've got something." You interrupt. "It says here: At twelve months of ownership, your companion will transform into typical human size-"

Han's eyes light up excitedly. "Wait! So this means?"

You hold up your hand to hush him. "There's more." You say. "He will remain in this state for 48 hours, before returning to his original size."

“Oh.” Han’s fork clatters on his plate. You look up at him as his expression changes from excited and hopeful, to absolutely crestfallen and deflated.

"I'm so sorry, Hannie." you whisper. You know how badly he wants to be big. You watch as he swallows a lump in his throat, and without a word, he stands and walks into the kitchen to look out of the window above the sink.

————

Forty eight hours? So It's not permanent? What kind of fucking idiot is he to think he'd ever be able to be a human? He tries to fight back the tears as he looks out of the window.

It's a beautiful, sunny morning, and usually on a day like this he'd climb up onto the windowsill and watch the world. There's a little strip of shops across the street that he especially loves to watch. His favorite is the flower shop. Observing the customers going in and out buying flowers and bouquets for loved ones. They’re such pretty colors too, the flowers. He’d love to be able to buy flowers for you.

A lady about your age works there, and sometimes another man is there too. Han doesn’t see him there often, but knows he’s someone special the way the shop owner and him look at and hold each other. Maybe he travels for work? He's often wondered as he sits on the windowsill.

He's broken from his thoughts when he feels your arms wrap around his waist and you lean against his back. His eyes close softly, and his body relaxes as he savors the feeling of being embraced in this way for the first time.

"Hannie, I know we don't have long, but maybe if we see it as a gift?"

He turns in your arms to face you, and wraps his own arms around you. You feel so good like this. In his arms. Holding so much of you in one go. Feeling your entire body pressed against his. It's better than he ever imagined.

"You're right." He says finally. "We can't waste a minute of this precious time. There's so much I have to do to you." His dick twitches when he sees your cheeks flush. He knows you're not shy, but if you feel anything like he does right now, then you’d have to be trembling on the inside.

His hand slides up to hold your jaw tenderly as he brings his lips close to yours. Sure he's kissed you, parts of your lips - both sets even, and other parts of your skin. But your lips in their entirety? He feels so scared, so nervous. What if he's a shit kisser?

"Stop thinking, Han Jisung." You say and connect your lips to his.

His lips fit yours perfectly and he melts into them with a moan. He kisses you slowly and carefully and a warmth spreads throughout his body. He hardens immediately when he feels your tongue slip into his mouth to find his. Your tongue, the one that’s licked his entire torso in one sweep, is currently inside his mouth. 

He allows his hands to wander lower to cup your ass. He loves your ass and often stares at it when you're doing housework in your tight little exercise shorts. Another moan escapes him when he pulls you even closer against his body. Touching so many parts of you all at once has him feeling overwhelmed in the best way possible. What will it be like when he’s inside you as well? He has to know.

He lowers his hands a little more to lift you up and you wrap your legs around his. Then he’s carrying you - actually carrying you - to your bedroom.

Your room is still filled with the warm sunlight, and Han is glad because he’ll be able to see absolutely everything. He lays you gently on the bed and kisses you deeply, then sits up to kneel between your parted legs.

“I think these need to come off.” He announces, flicking the waistband of your pajama shorts.

You smirk. “You do, huh?”

“Yes. We need to be naked.” He starts tugging off your clothes, then his own.

You look stunning beneath him, and you feel the same way about him. The sunlight hits his honey skin perfectly and you feel a surge of love for the man above you.

This is actually happening, is the thought going through both your heads.

Han gulps as he drinks you in with his eyes. Where to begin? He decides to start with your breasts. Holding them in his hands, massaging them. He loves the pretty noises you’re making as he kneads them. He leans over to take a nipple in his mouth, flicking the tiny pebbled nub that he normally has to stretch his mouth around. It goes straight to his dick and he can’t help but grind his cock against your core. This is too much already. He sits back up between your legs to try and regain his composure. He doesn’t want the first time he has intercourse to be over before it begins. To bide some time, he slowly runs his hands down your stomach and massages the tops of your thighs while his eyes lock onto your pussy. Home.

His favorite thing in the world is to eat you out, and he’s excited to taste you. Firstly, though, he is dying to explore you with his fingers. He drags his thumbs through your folds. “Wet for me as usual, Noona.” He states, glancing up to see your flushed cheeks. He chuckles to himself knowing how flustered he’s making you.

“Hannie…always soaked for you.” You say with a breathlessness to your voice. 

He rubs circles on your clit with his thumb whilst using his other hand to spread you wide. 

“I need your fingers inside me, Hannie.” you wiggle your hips to give him the hint.

“Like this?” He asks innocently as he slips two fingers into you. You moan in relief, making him smirk again.You’re so tight just around his fingers that he can’t imagine how you are going to fit his cock. He partially withdraws his fingers then pushes them back into your warm, wet, cunt. He repeats this a few times, your moans and ‘yes’s urging him to go a little harder, a little deeper. He remembers watching you finger fuck yourself and that there’s a spot inside you that when you stimulate it makes you come. He needs to try it. 

He angles his fingers a little differently and fucks you with his hand. The response is immediate. Your pussy begins to make those lewd, but arousing sounds, that he has heard when you’ve made yourself cum on your dildo. Your back arches off the bed and your thighs start to tremble. He knows the signs of you having an orgasm. He’s made you come so many times. But not like this. He leans over you to slide his tongue into your mouth, capturing the moans from your orgasm while his fingers work you through it until you’ve settled back to earth. Stunning. Erotic. Perfect. That’s what you are to him right now.

Now he can eat you out. Lick up all that arousal leaking from your delectable pussy. He nestles between your legs, his agonizingly hard cock squashed between his stomach and the mattress. He knows it’s leaking all over your quilt.

Firmly holding your thighs apart, he licks a long stripe from your vagina to clit. You taste perfect. He is careful not to go too hard or too rough. When he’s tiny he needs to use all his energy and strength to get you off, but right now even the most delicate of licks or suckles has you whimpering for him.

He spits on your clit and then sucks it off. Then moves lower to slip his tongue inside you. He has to hold you still as another orgasm starts to build for you. He loves making you feel this way.

He needs to make you come again, so he slips a finger into your pussy while he laps at your clit. He feels you come on his face, shaking, quivering, covering him in your juices. Yep. Still his favorite thing to do.

He removes himself from between your legs to hover over you to take you in an urgent kiss, smearing your arousal all over your lips. His dick throbs.

“Hannie,” you pull away from the kiss. “I really need you inside me. I need it so much it hurts.” You look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Me too, Noona.” He gulps. He’s so fucking scared and hopes you don’t notice.

“Are you nervous?” You reach up and stroke his cheek. 

Of course you noticed it. You always know how he feels. He nods. “Yeah. I am actually. I am a virgin you know?” He chuckles awkwardly, like you didn’t know he’d never actually fucked before.

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull him close. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just let it slip in. Dicks usually find a way into a pussy.” You whisper in his ear.

He trusts you and grinds the length of his cock against your slipper pussy. It’s already beyond incredible feeling your soft skin against his obscenely hard cock. You both moan equally in pleasure and the frustration of needing more, so he shifts his hips to allow the tip of his cock to prod at you. 

“Yes!” You cry out against his ear. “Fuck…Hannie…need you. It’s so close…” 

All it takes is a slight adjustment of the angle of his hips and he feels the tip slip inside you. 

“Please…hurry.” You sob. “I love you so much, Hannie.”

“I love you too, Noona.” he says with a shaky breath, and then he’s inside you. All the way to the hilt. You both moan in relief. 

“You’re so tight.” he declares, his eyes rolling back into his head. He’s not going to last even a thrust. It’s already too good. But he begins to move anyway, eventually finding a slow, deep rhythm.

He was wrong. This is his most favorite thing to do. Be buried in your pussy, with your arms and legs wrapped around him as you moan his name over and over. Definitely his favorite.

“Faster…please… harder…oh Hannie…fuck.” You claw at his back trying to pull him even deeper. He obliges, picking up the pace, fucking you harder. He kneels between your legs again so he can see all of you. The sight is erotic. Seeing all of you at once, with your legs folded and pushed up high and wide. Your breasts bouncing with every thrust. And the expression on your face as you look down at where you’re connected almost makes him fill you right then and there.

“I’m coming, Hannie… I’m…don’t stop! Come with me. Come inside me!” You’re already trembling beneath him, and there’s no way in hell he’d be able to stop himself coming inside you even if he wanted to. He’s about to burst. Not just his cock, but his heart too. He loves you too much. He takes his thumb back to your clit and focuses on bringing you over the edge. He feels your walls squeeze tight around him like a vice, and it sends him over as well. With a few last shaky thrusts, he releases himself inside of you with a deep moan.

“Noona… Fuck…” he pants and collapses on top of you. “That was the best feeling in the whole world. I don’t know how anyone gets anything done when they could be doing that!” 

—-----------

The day passes far too quickly as you fill the rest of the day with lovemaking, food, drinks, and even more lovemaking. You both don't want to miss a single moment of each other. Night comes too quickly, and despite trying your best to stay awake, sleep eventually takes you both as you lay in his arms.

-----------

The sun streams through the window waking you from your sleep. You feel Han's arm laying heavy across your waist. It wasn't a dream. Your eyes snap open to find him fast asleep, mouth open, and still very much human size.

You watch him until he finally stirs and opens his eyes. "Am I still big? Are we still naked?" He asks sleepily.

You grin in response. "Yes. You're still big. And we’re still naked. " You lean down and kiss his cheek.

"So we can have more sex today?" he adds, rubbing his eyes.

"Anything you want, my love." You say and let your hand wander down to rest on his erect cock. Flicking the sheet off of him, you begin to kiss your way down his body, savoring every inch of his skin, ensuring you remember this moment forever. You pause when you reach his cock, admiring the way it looks. Fucking perfect. Mouthwatering. You waste no time taking him in your hand and bringing your tongue to the underside of his shaft. 

He releases a sharp breath. “Fuck, Noona. Please…are you gonna suck me off? Please suck my cock, Noona.” he begs, lifting his head and looking down at you. You give him a sly look and swirl your tongue around the tip, and he throws his head back down onto the pillow, surrendering to you and your plans.

You take your time teasing him, alternating between kitten licks to the tip, to long languid strokes of your tongue along the shaft. His breathless pants turn to whimpers, then finally a deep, relieving groan as you sink your mouth over him. You take as much of him into your throat as you possibly can, and even though your eyes start to water, you take him even deeper.

“Baby, Noona…This is…your mouth… How can you even breathe right now?” He can barely get the words out. “So good… ngh…s’good.” he squeezes his eyes closed trying his hardest not to thrust into you. His hands thread through your hair and rest on the back of your head. You hope he pushes you down further so you take absolutely everything, and when he does, you feel your cunt tighten and your arousal leaking between your legs. 

Your lips are pressed to his pelvis and he isn’t letting you go. You are finding it hard to breathe, but you don’t care. You want more. You feel him getting close when his cock hardens even more and he starts thrusting into your throat. Yes. This is what you need. 

Han gets noisier as he approaches his climax, then you feel it. The familiar taste of his hot cum hits the back of your throat. He cries out then stills, releasing his hands from your head and relaxing into the bed.

As usual, you swallow every last drop. There is so much more compared to normal, the fluid coating the back of your mouth, then you make your way up to kiss his lips. 

Han grins at you with hooded eyes. “Fuck, Noona! That was so fucking goog.”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve pictured doing that for you, Hannie.” You smile and curl up to his side.

“Noona?” he says, stroking your arm.

“Mmm. Yes my love?” you hum.

“Do you think…after we fuck again, we can go out? There’s something I want to do.”

You turn your head to gaze at him. “Of course. Anything you want, my love.” you say again, but this time with a curious tone.

-----------

"Are you sure I don’t look weird?" Han isn't convinced that the sweatpants and tee you have given him are unisex.

"You're fine, I promise. Just trust me?" You reply, locking your front door.  You take his hand in yours and begin to up your front path. As you reach the sidewalk, he begins to have second thoughts. Sure he's been out of the house with you before. In your handbag, hidden away. Safe. Unseen. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all, he thinks to himself. Maybe he shouldn't have such lofty ideas? But he's not going to have another opportunity to do this. So he has to be brave.

“”What would you like to do, Hannie?” 

“There’s something I’ve thought about doing for a while now. Buy you flowers.” He gestures to the flower shop across from your home. 

Your eyes light up and a smile washes over your features. “I’d absolutely love that!” You squeeze his hand and look up at him. “I love you Hannie.” You say and kiss him on the lips.

“Noona, y-you can’t do that!” He stutters.

“Do what, sweetie?” You tease, and kiss him again. This time a little longer.

He pushes you away gently. “You’re getting me hard.” He whispers sternly and looks around to make sure no one can notice.

“Okay, Han. No public display of affection. Got it.” You pinch his chubby cheek.

The flower shop isn't very big, but it manages to accommodate so many flowers and bouquets that fill every corner and surface. Han takes in the floral scents, and the vibrancy of the colors, and smiles when his eyes land on what he's looking for.

"Can I help you with anything?" the shop owner asks cheerfully.

"Yes, can I please have the bouquet of purple tulips?" he says proudly.

The owner, who's name tag says 'Jules', takes the bouquet back to the counter to ring up the price. "That will be $60."

That's right. He has no money. He closes his eyes for a moment, berating himself. Of course he can't pay. He has no bank account. No identification. He's not a citizen of... anywhere really. He's an alien.

"That's okay, I've got it. He forgot his wallet today." You step in from out of nowhere and take care of paying for the flowers.

Ashamed by his inadequacy, Han steps away from the counter, and busies himself by looking at the corner with some potted houseplants. He quite likes the houseplants you own, often sitting underneath the leaves pretending to be somewhere outdoors. He chuckles to himself at how silly that sounds when movement behind one of the pot plants catches his eye.

Intrigued, he crouches down and ever so slowly nudges one of the plants to the side. His eyes widen and he almost stumbles backward when he sees a little man, the size of a Ken doll, looking up at him.

The same man that he’s seen kissing and holding Jules the shop owner multiple times.

Han blinks, not believing what he is seeing, but when he opens his eyes the little man is gone. Where did he go? Did he imagine it? He starts shifting plant pots around, desperately trying to find him.

"Hannie. I'm done now." you call to him from the shop entrance.

----------

"Hannie, what's wrong?" You ask as you both step outside onto the sidewalk. "Is it about paying for these?" You hold up the tulips.

"No, Noona. It's not that." He turns to look back at the shop.

"Han? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you okay? Are you feeling okay?" You press your hand to his forehead. Sweaty and warm. Is he getting sick?

"I'm fine. Just... the forty eight hours are coming to an end tonight." He frowns.

You drop your head. You have been trying your best not to think about it. Today was so perfect, spending time with Han like a proper couple. It felt so heartwarming watching him with his big, curious eyes as he interacted with his surroundings.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the flowers. "What made you choose these?" you ask him curiously.

"Well," He starts, as you begin to walk back towards your home. "From what I read on the internet they are a symbol of perfect love." He smiles sheepishly. "It also said that they symbolize rebirth, as well as being known to help us let go of the past and embrace the future with renewed optimism and hope." he adds, proud to have remembered the details he'd read.

"I think that sounds perfect." You smile warmly and kiss him on the cheek.

---------------

Dinner is a quiet affair. The quietest it’s ever been. Usually at dinner time you share your day with each other, listening intently, offering advice or support, or whatever each of you needed that night. Tonight you’re both thinking about the same thing. That your time together like this is coming to an end. Neither of you want to talk about the elephant in the room, so you both stay silent. 

After a while you see Han set his knife and fork on his plate and stand up, walking around to your side of the table. You look up at him and he offers his hand out to you. Wordlessy, you take it and let him lead you to your bedroom.

He’s not gentle as he pushes you down onto the mattress and practically rips your clothes off before climbing on top of you and taking you in a rough, heated kiss. He shoves his tongue past your lips and you thread your fingers through his hair to pull him into an even deeper, even more feral kiss. He pulls away only to remove his own garments, then he forces your legs apart so he can line his cock up to your entrance. 

Without any preparation, or warning, he pushes the entire length of his cock into you in one go. You cry out at the intrusion, but part your legs further. You need him inside you, to consume you.

He’s careless with his thrusts, and his hands grope and squeeze, bruising your flesh. There’s a look of anger and resentment in his eyes. You know it’s not because of you, but at this whole situation. It feels so unfair to have a glimpse of how life could be, and know that it’s never going to be like this again. You love Hannie no matter what. But this feels so good too. Why? Why let you experience this, only to have torn away so quickly?

“Are you gonna remember me like this forever, Noona? How full I make you? How deep inside you I am? How hard I can fuck you?” He growls. “Tell me. Tell me you’ll never forget it. Cos I’m never going to forget how your pussy feels around me. Squeezing me tight. Tell me I’m your favorite. Tell me I feel better than anyone before me.” 

Han’s words are aggressive, and so is the way he’s fucking you. But his voice is full of heartbreak and angst. You want him to give you everything. His sadness, his anger, you want him to take it out on you. 

He thrusts his hips even harder against your body, and his cock slams into your cervix, causing you to cry out his name.

“Hannie!” You choke. He doesn’t slow down or go easy on you. You can barely breathe. 

“Say it… please…Tell me your mine.” he sobs, but he doesn’t slow down.

“I’m yours, Hannie…forever.” you whimper.

He leans down over you, caging you underneath him. “Come for me. Come on my cock.” He growls, his hot breath against your ear. “I wanna feel your pussy choke me one last time.”

It’s too much and you come hard around him, sobbing against his shoulder.

“That’s it…Yes…Fuck! I’m coming too!” He grunts as he thrusts his hips a few more times and empties himself inside you.

You stay like this for a while. Breathless and sweating. Eventually, he lifts his head and looks down on you. “Did I hurt you?” He asks with a concerned expression.

You shake your head. “It was passionate. I needed you to fuck me like that.” You sigh. He closes his eyes softly in relief, then withdraws his softened cock from you. 

Neither of you move to clean up, or even get a drink, or even say another word. You simply lay in the comfort of each other’s arms as though the world was about to end.

---------

You fall asleep first, but Han can't sleep. He doesn't want to sleep. So he watches you sleep instead. He cups your cheek. He needs to burn the image of this into his brain, for tomorrow his hand will barely be able to wrap around your pinky finger. These past forty eight hours were a dream come true, but he’s not sure how he’ll get over it either. 

-------------

You wake to find your bed empty. "Han?" You call out and search the bed, lifting the blankets. Sometimes he ends up tangled in them, but he isn't there.

You hop out of bed, slip on your robe and head out into the kitchen. You find him sitting on the windowsill above the sink. Small as ever. You feel a sadness in your chest and bite your lip as you approach him. "Hannie?" You say softly, leaning your arms on the counter next to the sink so your face is close to him.

"I'm okay Noona." he sighs, but doesn't turn to face you.

"You want me to fix you some breakfast before I go to work?" You ask hopefully, but he shakes his head.

The usual conversation that you have when you get ready for work is replaced with a heavy, awkward silence.

"You know, Hannie, you are perfect to me no matter what. Your personality, your heart - it’s bigger than that of any man in the world.” You say as you turn to leave the kitchen and head out the front door for work.

--------------

Han hasn’t left the windowsill in days. He hasn’t washed, he's barely eaten. The spark you love so much in him has dimmed, and you’re frightened that it won't come back. It's not like you can get him therapy. No one knows about him. No one can know about him.

Every day you leave for work not knowing what you'll find when you return home. What if he’s left? What if he's-" No you won't let yourself even go there.

Those forty eight hours of him being big was not worth it, and if you could take it back and go back to how things were before, you'd do it in a heartbeat. You just want your Hannie back.

--------------

Han knows you love him. But he can't help but feel depressed. He feels worse now than he has ever felt in his entire, albeit short, life. It's like him becoming big was some sick, cruel joke. Like it was to taunt him. To show him how good it could really be, how good it could really feel, to be a human, just to snatch it away from him.

It isn't just depression that's consuming him. It's an obsession with the flower shop and that little man he had seen that day.

For ten days now he’s stared at the shop hoping to catch a glimpse of...something... anything that might give him answers or closure. They know something. He can feel it.

Then finally it happens. Han hurries to a kneeling position, face pressed against the glass to catch a better look.

The man is back. As a human sized man. Han guesses he's seen this man maybe four times over as many months. He stands in the doorway waving to a customer before going back into the shop. It definitely looks like the little guy he saw standing by the pot plant.

You probably imagined it. You were probably over excited from the sex with Noona. Can sex make you hallucinate? Han isn't sure of anything anymore. Except that the miniature man was either imaginary, or, he has the answers Han's looking for.

-------------------

You leave work early and pick up a cheesecake. Han hasn’t eaten in days and you hope his favorite dessert might perk him up a little bit, even if it’s just a sugar rush.

You open your front door kicking your shoes off, and make your way upstairs to your main living area. The house is eerily quiet, even with a depressed Han it's too quiet. Something is off. Something is wrong.

“Hannie?” You call out. No answer. You place the cheesecake box on the counter. He’s not on his windowsill. Maybe he’s asleep somewhere? You check your bedroom next. He isn’t there either. You search every room, calling out his name.

Nothing.

He’s gone. He’s actually gone! Why? Why would he leave? Where would he go? What if he’s hurt? What if he’s - you gulp. You start to panic and begin to check everywhere again. Maybe he fell into a drawer? Maybe he’s stuck somewhere?

Again, nothing.

He really was gone.

—-----------

Han has never ventured out of the house by himself before. Well this month has been full of firsts, he thinks. Why not climb down the stairs and sneak out of a slightly ajar window?

He jumps down from the window sill and tumbles into the garden, surprisingly unscathed. He is on a mission and nothing is going to stop him.

Determination takes over any fear of being eaten by the neighbors cat, or being runover by a car, as he carefully treks across the road to the flower shop.

He hasn't even planned what he’s going to say. What if he's mistaken and the owner faints? What if she kills him? Or kidnaps him? Tortures him? No. He shakes his head. The lady was really nice the other day. People love to go to her shop. It'll be fine.

By the time Han reaches the threshold he is hot, sweaty and very thirsty. He looks up to looming doorway and swallows hard. Here goes nothing.

He slips inside, carefully seeking the cover of a nearby flower pot. The shop looks gigantic compared to last time he was there.

He notices something that he missed the last time. That the entire shop is set up suspiciously accessible for him. Like it was made for someone his size. Strings from buntings and signs dangle in such a way that Han would be able to reach just about any shelf he wished. Some shelves look to have mini rope ladders, and there seems to be plenty of places to hide and watch customers, or your Noona.

He quickly climbs up one of the rope ladders where he can get a better view of the sales counter. Jules is there finishing serving a customer. But where is the man?

Han doesn’t have to wait for long. The man emerges from a back storeroom with a gift bag for the customer.

“Oh Minho! You’re back in town!” The customer exclaims in a high pitch voice. “How was your work trip?” She gives this Minho a kiss on the cheek.

“Adventurous as usual.” He winks at her.

“Well it’s good to see you.” She takes her flowers and gift bag, smiling as she leaves the shop.

“Take care Mrs Maple!” Minho waves after her then turns to Jules. “Finally, I’ve got you alone, kitten.” He smirks and closes the gap between them. “Maybe we could close up for lunch? Head back into the storeroom?” He kisses her neck.

“You’re always so horny, Minho.” She teases. “Don’t think I don’t know you masturbate behind the flower pot while I work.”

Wait! What? Han’s eyes almost pop out of his head and he stumbles knocking an ornamental garden gnome off the shelf.

Jules and Minho’s eyes land on the smashed gnome. Then they lift their gaze, eyes landing straight on Han.

Fuck! He freezes to the spot.

The pair look confused and make their way over to where Han is standing pretending to be gnome himself, and crouch down so they are eye level with him.

“It’s the customer from the other day.” Jules remarks. “He didn’t have any money.” She adds.

Han crosses his arm and pouts.

“He’s the one I told you about. The one that saw me on the shelf.” Minho adds.

“Excuse me?” Han interrupts. “I was hoping you could help me. You see, I live across the street with my Noona. She was the woman I was with when I came in the other day. And…anyway… I sit in the window sill and watch the flower shop. Not in a creepy way.” He is sure to add. “And I’ve seen him…Minho, or whatever your name is,” he points to the man “a few times… Then when I came in, he… he was small.”

“And you were big.” Minhos’s eyes glisten and he rubs his chin deviously. “And now you’re small!”

“Exactly! And I need to know… are you one of those miniature companions like me? And if so, why do you keep getting big? And… and is it the same for all of us? Is it different depending on the batch? Do some of us get big and others don’t?” Han’s out of breath by the time he’s finished.

“What’s your name?” Jules asks kindly.

“Han.” He replies and plops down, crossing his legs.

“Han?” She repeats thoughtfully.

“Do you recognise the name, babe?” Minho enquires.

Jules nods. “Yes. I believe he was also part of the range I purchased you from. The Skz range. I don’t think he was ready yet. How long have you been with your owner?”

“Just on a year.” He replies.

Jules and Minho exchange looks, then turn back to Han.

“Well, Han, buddy,” he says. “I think we might be able to answer your questions.”

—-----------

Eventually, after tearing your house apart in the hopes to find Han and failing, you flop yourself on your couch feeling empty and numb. You don’t even notice that your doorbell is ringing, but then a loud knock on the door makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“Yeah okay, I’m coming!” You call out as you head downstairs. With a sigh, you open the front door to find the woman who owns the flower shop across the street, and a man who you’ve seen a few times around the place, standing there. The woman holds a basket in her hands, and the man holds an amused look on his face.

Great. You’re not in the mood for interaction.

The woman’s eyes widen when she sees your tear streaked face.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Jules. From the flower shop across the street.” She smiles awkwardly. “And this is my, um, partner, Minho.” She gestures to the man next to her.

You continue to stand there, saying nothing.

Jules coughs, clearing her throat. “We’ve brought your Hannie home.” She declares.

“Noona!” Han’s head pops out of the basket.

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth. “Why do you have my Han?” You choke. Your eyes dart from Jules to Minho, confused and scared. Han is supposed to be a secret. You can’t have outsiders knowing about him.

“I went to them, Noona. They have something to tell you! Can’t you let us inside already?” He whines.

A whining Han is a good sign. You nod and usher them inside.

————-

You’re back on your couch, this time with Jules and Minho on the couch across from you, and your little Hannie on the cushion next to you. You’re relieved he’s back, but also so mad at his reckless behavior. He could’ve gotten himself killed. He and Minho are enjoying a piece of cheesecake, like this is some normal afternoon gathering of friends.

“So you have something to tell me?” You say looking to Jules.

“We do. You see, Han came to us because he saw my miniature companion in the flower shop the day you both came in.” She starts.

Your eyes widen. “You know about them? You’ve got one?”

Jules nods. “Yes. Minho here is my companion.”

“Hi.” He waves.

“He’s your companion?” You arch an eyebrow.

“Yes, he’s got his monthly grown up pants on at the moment, but most of the time he’s small like Han.” She nods her head towards Han.

You shake your head in disbelief. “One minute Han is doll sized, then suddenly out of nowhere he’s big.”

“She really didn’t read the manual, hey Han?” Minho chuckles.

“Then I find out there’s another tiny man running around across the street?” You continue, ignoring Minho’s remark.

“Hey, I’m far from tiny!” Minho turns to you with a deadly glare.

“Calm down sweetie.” Jules pats his thigh. “He’s not really cold and cynical.” She reassures you.

“He’s cocky isn’t he?” You say lightheartedly to Jules but your eyes are firmly on Minho. “You know you were able to read their traits on the website and select accordingly?” You say jokingly.

“That’s why she chose me. For my cock-iness.” Minho leans back into the couch.

“He was the only one who was cat friendly. I have three cats, you see.” Jules playfully punches Minho in the arm.

“Hah! You love my cock-y personality.”

“I do.” Jules admits and leans against him.

The pair are fascinating, but you need to know more. “What did you mean by monthly grown up pants?” You ask.

“Once a month I grow into the size of a human for two days.” Minho shares. “It’s a fault in the Skz manufacturing process.”

“You didn’t receive the recall email from the company?” Jules turns back to you surprised.

You shake your head.

“There was a form in the back of...the manual...that you could send in so you’d receive any important information. Like recalls and such.”

“Noona only read up to the part where it says I can ejaculate.” Han pipes up, his mouth full of food.

“Hannie! Don’t, you’re embarrassing me. Sorry, he hasn’t been socialized.” You say bashfully.

“I think these two will become best friends.” Jules laughs looking at the two men. “Han did say this whole human size situation came as a surprise to you both.”

“I feel so stupid. I didn’t read the whole manual.  I’m such an irresponsible companion owner.” 

“There was a recall on the Skz range because they were only supposed to grow big the once, not once every month. Purchasers were given the option to return the companion if they chose.”

“And she chose to keep me.” Minho adds.

“Would you have sent me back, Noona? If you’d known about the recall?” Han looks up at you with his boba eyes.

“Of course not. I love you. I just wish I’d known all this so we could have been prepared. Looked forward to it, even.”

“It’s okay, Noona. I think it has worked out for the best this way.” He looks at each of you. “I’ve finally got friends!” He says gleefully.

Jules and Minho leave shortly after, to have some alone time before his “grown up pants become too big”.

Han is exhausted from his adventure, and just wants to snuggle up on your chest and watch anime. Neither of you say much. There's no point in being angry at him for venturing out alone, and you're just happy to have him back in one piece.

Neither of you are really watching the anime either. Instead you're both smiling inwardly, imagining what life is going to look like from now on.

—————-

A little update on our y/n and Hannie:

Over the next year, Han and Minho have become inseparable, spending almost as much time with each other as they do with you and Jules.

You’ve introduced Han to your family. He was so nervous at first, but once he realized they approved of him, he was okay.

He learned to play guitar, and even commissioned a guitar maker to make a scaled down working model of an acoustic guitar so he can play whenever he feels like it.

------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little fic. I loved writing it, even though it took me so long to have the energy to put the ideas into words. Thank you so much for reading. Your support encourages me to keep writing.

If you enjoy the more plot driven, lovey dovey fics, I have a few others on my main blog @moonlightndaydreams and I think I will probably cross post this fic as a oneshot over there to keep all my longer Hannie fics together.

Sorsha x.

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@kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @katsukis1wife @jeonginsleftcheek @ihrtlino @ivydoesit23 @gnab-nahc @skzstan12345 @youcanstayyeah @binnieonabike @hanniemylovelyquokka @moasworld @binniesbabe @courtnort455 @yongbokkiesworld @felixleftchickennugget @bangchans-angel @heerinnie @meilix

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @galaxycatdrawz @jiminssluttyminx @dool-set-net @redstayrosie @mintymintmint251 @katsukis1wife

[sharksnshakes]

Night Out (III) - Tim Drake

After discovering Tim is the Red Robin, his behavior starts to make a lot more sense. One confession leads to another...

AN; and we are done!! i hope u all enjoy the final installment of the tim drake miniseries. never done anything like this before and very grateful for the support <33 literally wouldn't have written it otherwise

Wordcount; 1k

TW; cursing, choking, minor injuries, tim being a simp

You don't have to puzzle over Tim's strange behavior for too long. Just days after the incident in the alleyway, you're watching a news report on the Red Robin, who was spotted fighting Dr. Freeze with Nightwing's help somewhere in the Diamond District.

The news anchors play a clip of Robin protecting civilians while Nightwing kicks ass in the background, and when Robin pushes an elderly man out of the way of Dr. Freeze's ray gun, you get deja vu; The arm flung in front of the civilian, the reaching for something in his utility belt--the vigilante's motions match Tim's exactly, right down to the damn batarang.

And then Dr. Freeze kicks Tim in the gut, and you can't keep watching.

You're not sure if you're the world's best detective, if Tim's horrible at hiding things, or if it was just plain luck, but ever since you put two and two together things have been making a lot more sense. Namely, why he constantly backs out of plans at the last minute and is busiest at 3am. His vigilante status might also have something to do with the ungodly levels of caffeine he consumes, but you're pretty sure he'd be drinking all that coffee regardless of whether he was Red Robin or not.

Unfortunately, you figured this out days before finals week, and you know that if you don't confront him you'll be distracted the whole time you're taking exams...

...Which is what leads you to where you are now. You're sitting in the passenger seat of Tim's fancy car (it's glossy black with custom upholstery to match--really, the whole 'Batman and Robin' thing should've been way more obvious) and chowing down on Big Belly Burger in a parking garage.

"So," you start, taking a sip of your drink to steel yourself, "I have something to tell you."

He swallows a gulp of food, brow furrowing. "Which is?"

"Y'might wanna put the food down for a second."

Tim huffs out a laugh. "No way it's anything that serious."

"Uh, I know you're Robin?"

He chokes.

Thirty seconds and several gulps of water later, Tim is staring at you with a dumbfounded expression that would be comical if the stakes of the situation weren't so high. Are the stakes high? You're not really sure. While you don't peg Batman as the type to have his vigilantes assassinate randos for figuring out their secret identities, he's a grown man running around dressed up like a bat. Who knows what goes on in his head?

Well. Tim might.

Regardless, Tim doesn't even attempt to dispute you. After sitting in silence for an additional two minutes, he just sort of... shrugs?

"Yeah. You're right."

You blink at him. You're not sure what you expected, exactly, but him owning up to it with zero hesitation was definitely not it. "You're just gonna admit it?"

"I mean-" he shrugs again. "What am I supposed to do? Dispute you? I'm sure you've got evidence."

You say nothing.

"You had no evidence?"

"I had a hunch," you protest, "And you just confirmed it!"

He groans, dropping his head into his hands. "You only had a hunch? No photos? No eyewitnesses?"

"It's almost finals week! What was I supposed to do, drop everything and research you instead of my term paper?"

"No, obviously not. Sorry. I'm just..."

"Shocked? Surprised? Caught off guard?"

"Well, you saw the news," he says dryly. Reaching for the hem of his shirt (also black, it was so obvious), he pulls it up a few inches to reveal a dark bruise splashed across his abdomen.

His incredibly toned abdomen--

You wince. "Ouch."

"Yeah, no kidding." At that moment, Tim's cheeks flush pink, and he quickly pulls his shirt back down. "Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to... you know."

"Nah, it's fine," you say, opting to stare out the window so Tim doesn't catch you blushing, "It's not a bad view, if that makes you feel any better."

Wait, what the fuck did you just say?

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately drop your gaze to your lap. There's a time and place for flirting with your best friend who's also Red Robin, and that time and place is not right after he's shown you his injuries and admitted to having a secret identity.

Except maybe it is, because when you risk a glance at Tim, his lower lip is pulled between his teeth and his eyes look just a touch hazy.

"You think I look good?" He murmurs, and you forget everything that's ever happened, ever.

"Yeah," you admit, looking around his face rather than at it, "And I was gonna tell you about that the other night. But, um, then we got interrupted."

Tim sucks in a small breath.

"So judging by your reaction, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that you feel the same way...?"

"No," he deadpans, "I'm just staring at you like you hung the moon because I'm bored."

You blink at him. "You better be fucking joking--"

Tim reaches across the console, cups your jaw in his hand, and pulls your lips onto his.

You gasp. He swallows up the noise, moving slowly, deliberately, like he's been thinking about this moment for a long time; his fingers tremble but he guides your movements regardless, pulling you as close as he can manage with the console in the way.

Tim makes a small, muted noise when you slide your fingers into his hair. It shocks both of you enough to break the kiss--you stare at each other, unblinking. Then someone moves and the cup of ketchup you'd been sharing tips over and launches itself all over Tim's lap.

Both of you burst into laughter.

"You know," Tim says a few moments later, "You figuring out that I'm Robin is, um... really hot," he confesses, cheeks turning the same shade as the ketchup he's wiping off of his pants.

"Really?" you ask, still trying to catch your breath between giggles.

He looks you dead in the eye. "Really."

You dissolve into laughter again, and somehow you just know that your relationship with Tim--whatever form it takes--is right.

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 16)

Hi there, and welcome back to Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics! I'm sorry it's been so long between installments this time. I started a new job last Wednesday which I absolutely love and am so grateful for, but it's got me working more and longer days (but with much higher pay), so I have been exhausted. Just a heads up, I'm probably only going to manage these on a weekly basis for the foreseeable future unless my workload suddenly lessens for some reason (which I have been assured that it will not).

Thank you all so much for your continued support of this series. It means the world to me. As always, I hope you're all having a good a day as you can, if not a great one.

Smoochies and squeezies, my darlings!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17

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Que Dis-Tu? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (G | 1/1 | 2,594)

“What, are you gonna tell me you know Russian next?!” Stiles demanded, flailing one arm, other hand still closed around the spine of his book.

“I do know Russian,” Derek confirmed, still looking confused.

Stiles dropped the book so he could flail both arms in the air. “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you know Russian?!”

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Your Royal Assholeness by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 3,327)

The second he walked in, Derek growled loudly and was beside him in an instant, reaching out to lightly touch his neck.

“Who did this?”

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles hissed in response.

“Your majesty.”

Stiles turned when the woman spoke, positive he’d misheard, but she was on one knee with her head bowed, and the wolves who’d all followed had done the same.

“Your what?” Stiles demanded, shocked, turning back to Derek.

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You Have Reached... by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (G | 1/1 | 5,074)

“Why did you listen to the voicemails?”

“I like hearing you talk,” Derek said.

There were many things Stiles had been expecting after asking that question. That answer hadn’t been one of them.

“Any time we ever spoke before, it was always about what next problem we were facing and needed to solve. The voicemails are just you... talking.”

“Oh.” Stiles had never considered that.

(SNYE - January 10th - Long Distance)

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In meeting his is born, In absence he has grown by lookingforatardis (T | 1/1 | 6,191)

The witch’s voice turned dark, powerful. Her head fell back as she chanted:

So it is written, so it becomes A debt for a debt A life for life, In the darkest of times With a mate by thy side In meeting he is born, in absence he has grown A son for a son, for the Highest Power, Her goddess the Moon draws balance once more With a love that endures. And so has been, and so it is, and so it will be.

- Or, A witch gives Derek a toddler after Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, and Derek definitely does not freak out about it and beg the Sheriff to call Stiles for help because he's his anchor (he definitely does)

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Choice by Omni (T | 1/1 | 8,613)

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings.

Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't.

(Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

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Wake Up Call by SylvieW (M | 3/3 | 10,084)

Derek has nightmares and now that Laura is gone there's no one to wake him up and comfort him.

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Yes is a World by jezziejay (M | 1/1 | 10,207)

When the nemeton casts a protection spell over Beacon Hills, Stiles can finally go to college. Derek thinks this might be a good thing.

In which Stiles falls in love and Derek learns a lot.

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Five Times Derek Heard Something He Wished He Hadn't, and the One Time He Did by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 14,841)

“This place is hell,” Derek decided. “This place is absolutely hell.”

How was it possible he’d gone so many years of his life without hearing anything nearly as over the top as he had just visiting Stiles at school? This had to be some kind of record for the most disgusting things he’d ever overheard.

--

(I mean really, the title says it all lol)

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Sigh No More series by elementalv (3 works | T-M | 16,472)

1. Sigh No More (M | 1/1 | 5,532) Scott respects Stiles’ decision not to take the bite right up until the day he doesn’t. That night, with the help of his father, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills for good. Warnings: See the Notes section at the end for warnings and possible triggers. The AO3 options don't quite cover what I need. 2. The Cave (T | 1/1 | 6,415) Chris has no idea how to salvage what was intended to be a diplomatic mission with an unknown alpha. 3. Winter Winds (T | 1/1 | 4,525) He hadn’t taken any particular pleasure in killing Peter for once and for all, though he was glad he’d thought to ask Deaton about what to do to make sure Peter couldn’t come back. Lydia wasn’t exactly thrilled with the countermeasures, but since it meant she wouldn’t have to raise him from the dead ever again, she dealt with it by making Scott pay in small ways and large. He accepts her treatment of him without comment, knowing that a lot of the mess the town is in could have been avoided if he hadn’t been such a dickhead all those years ago. And really, he thinks, as he’s patrolling near the Nemeton, dickhead doesn’t even cover what he did to Stiles.

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The Sound of Silence by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) (E | 6/6 | 17,279)

Everyone is so sure Derek is dead, but Stiles can't accept it. Not when there are so many loose ends.

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doesn't weigh me down at all by kellifer_fic (T | 2/2 | 17,657)

"Your brother is cool. What happened to you?"

"Har, har, hilarious," Stiles says as Scott grabs him in a head lock and rubs the top of his head. "He's going to hold this one over me for ages," Stiles sighs after a few minutes of the sounds of just their feet shuffling through the undergrowth.

"Could've been worse," Scott says.

"I guess so."

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Children of the Wild Ones by bellefire (M | 2/2 | 18,081)

One turned corner was all it took—a single split second decision. A death. Stiles could never decide if that turn had been a wrong one or a right one.

In which Stiles is turned, gets a pack and takes a roadtrip to Mexico with people he used to not even like but are now somehow family, but first: murder.

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discretion's not what i need to sell series by marinbel (3 works | T | 18,492)

Told in three parts, in three perspectives.

1. discretion's not what i need to sell (T | 1/1 | 2,024) Stiles raises an eyebrow. “So am I not correct then that I saw you leaving Allison’s place this morning? From her bedroom window?” His eyes give Scott a once-over. “I’m sure the healthy flush is just from the run, and no other activities. And- oh, hey, is that hickey on your throat also from the run? I didn’t know that could happen.” Scott’s jaw locks. Fuck. Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Sorry, just curious. Since I thought you and Kira were still a thing, and all.” 2. one more confession (T | 1/1 | 7,395) He’s talking to someone on the phone. She hears him. “We’ll think of something. Don’t- hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out. Okay? Okay. See you tomorrow, Babe.” The crack of light expands, Scott opening the door. He stops in his tracks when he catches Kira’s eyes blinking back at him. “Hey,” he says. “Hey,” Kira says back. “Who’s Babe?” “Hmm?” Scott goes, flipping the light off and coming back to bed, crawling under the covers and looping an arm around her waist. “You were on the phone with someone,” Kira says, like maybe saying it out loud will remind him of what he was just doing. “You said Babe. Who’s Babe?” . Alternatively, Kira finds out. 3. keep those tired eyes closed (T | 1/1 | 9,073) “You gotta let him go.” Derek watches him from the peripheral, dejected. He sees it just beyond his eyes, the ruminating and mind whirring and Derek says, “Hey. With me, breathe in.” He breathes in and Stiles follows along. “Breathe out,” they do so together, Derek saying on the exhale, “now let him go.” Stiles’ exhale is shakier but he gets through it. “I’m letting him go.” . Alternatively, Derek's trying his very best at being a supportive boyfriend.

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Falling Up by PalenDrome (nerherderette) (E | 1/1 | 18,522)

Of all the things Stiles imagined could happen, he never thought he’d end up packless.

*****

Derek picks up his coffee and drains it slowly. "My place is a twenty-minute drive from here. I could show you, if you'd like," he says once he finishes. His tone is studiedly casual, but Stiles knows what a big deal it is. It's an offer to re-establish a connection with a former pack member. To invite Stiles into the new sanctuary Derek created for himself.

Stiles looks at his empty cup. He thinks of the miles he's driven. Of the motels and hotels and cheap campsites he's crashed at, and tries to keep his desperation to have something familiar, of not feeling so goddamn lonely, from his voice.

"Yeah. I'd really like that," he says, and if his heartbeat does a little swoop, Derek's too polite to mention it.

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To Find You Again by nightlight9 (E | 1/1 | 23,788)

The man standing on his porch waiting for him is unmistakable even after six years. Though his hair has grown out longer and there’s a scraggly beard covering his once bare chin, the unexpected guest is undoubtably Stiles.

Derek swallows and tries to subtly catch a whiff of his scent. Then he swallows again when he smells nothing but the Colorado trees.

“Stiles?” His mouth is dry. "What are you doing here?”

Despite the bags under his eyes, Stiles’ smile is bright. “Hey, Derek. I-. It’s been a long time. Can I come in?”

That's all it takes. Derek opens the door.

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If These Ears Could Talk series by HappyJuicyfruit (11 works | G-M | 39,686)

Stiles is hard of hearing, that doesn’t stop him from running with wolves. Doesn’t stop him from dating one either.

1. Clueless (G | 1/1 | 4,748) After everything they’ve been through together, all Derek wants is for his pack to be connected with strong, thriving, pack bonds. And for the most part, its working. The pack is growing, healing, happy. He just needs to figure out why Stiles hates him so much. 2. Pack is Pack, No Matter How Far (T | 1/1 | 9,927) Derek tries to deal with his pack moving away for college. Stiles helps (a lot). 3. Come Light A Candle With Me (G | 1/1 | 1,804) Derek celebrates Hanukkah with Stiles. 4. Worrywolf (M | 1/1 | 5,470) After a few worrying text messages, Derek decides to go check on his boyfriend during midterm week. 5. Memories From You and From Me (G | 1/1 | 3,070) On the anniversary of his family's death, Derek tries to distance himself from the pack. Stiles doesn't let him. 6. It's My Party, I Can Yell If I Want To (G | 1/1 | 5,496) Derek has made a lot of mistakes in his life, and he has a lot of regrets. Currently, his biggest regret is forgetting his boyfriends birthday. 7. I Can Help With That (M | 1/1 | 3,277) “You can’t be the only hard of hearing person on the campus.” Stiles shrugged, “so?” “So, why don’t you make a club or something? You don’t really know anyone else hard of hearing, it could be really good.” “Did Derek Hale seriously just tell me to make a club?” 8. I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do (G | 1/1 | 2,340) 8 years. Degrees, Master degrees, vet school, law school... It took 8 years, but finally, the Hale pack was together again in Beacon Hills. 9. As The Years Go By (I Just Love You More) (G | 1/1 | 1,811) It started with Becca, but it did not end with her. Or, how Derek and Stiles end up with a house full of kids. 10. Baby, I Was Born This Way (G | 1/1 | 1,051) He knew Stiles like the back of his hand. He knew that this silence wasn’t him. This stillness was unnatural. He’d been married to the man for twenty years. He had 8 kids with him. Stiles was a force of pure energy, he was a fighter to his core. It couldn’t end like this. 11. Oh, To Grow Old With You (G | 1/1 | 692) Derek yawned, looking out at his bird feeder as he waited for the kettle to boil. He would go out and refill it after breakfast. Do a morning walk around their territory. It would be a while before Stiles woke up, insomnia kept him up late most nights. And Derek’s bad back woke him up early. Werewolf healing didn’t fix everything, when you were old. Or, a very fluffy retirement.

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No Time Like the Future by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 40,590)

It wasn’t until he was ten that the full explanation came to him, because every year when a group of kids turned ten, schools had a one-day course specifically about soulmates, what they meant, and why everyone had weird writing on their arms.

Derek remembered sitting in that all-day class, completely horrified, and absolutely devastated. The course leader made it sound like a good thing. Soulmates were the other half of your own being, they were the person you were supposed to love and cherish, who would understand every part of you, and all that other garbage nonsense. He was not here for this.

It wasn’t that Derek had any understanding of love—not romantic love, and certainly not at ten years old—but he read a lot of books and watched some shows and movies with his family, and love looked like something different in those environments. Love looked like a choice, like the meeting of people, and the getting to know them, and actively falling in love with a person because they were amazing and nice and just fit.

Soulmates didn’t sound like that.

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Nature Red In Tooth and Claw series by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) (4 works | T-E | 47,930)

1. Mockingbird Smile (E | 1/1 | 3,554) Kate has come to Beacon Hills to seduce Derek Hale and kill the Hale pack. Maybe she should have done some more research first. 2. Dirty Paws (T | 3/3 | 6,309) Every fairytale starts with a beginning. 3. In Our Town Of Halloween (E | 6/6 | 28,168) It's Halloween, the one night of the year the Hale wolves and their pack get to let it all hang out. Unfortunately for them, someone is on their trail and looking for revenge. What happens next will change everything. 4. Silver Bullet, Silver Arrow (E | 3/3 | 9,899) The Argents have come for vengeance. They're about to get what's coming for them.

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It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (M | 2/2 | 80,129)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

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Pretty Little Wolf series by ItsMe_Basil (3 works | T-E | 88,628)

1. Pretty Little Wolf (E | 35/35 | 82,164 ) Derek has heard stories about the Spark -the kind of stories that would have his younger self cowering under the blankets. The kind of stories that had Derek stick close to the pack. But when Derek is in trouble, and the pack isnt around, Derek finds himself in the care of said Spark, and he finds out fairly quickly that he's not all he seems to be. Stiles, he finds out, isn't a villain at all. Derek's only heard one side of the story for four years, and now it's time for him to hear the other side from his mate. *-* "Pretty little wolf," he hummed, stepping closer and kneeling beside Derek. Even in his death fogged brain, he recognized the words spoken. The words that were tattooed along his hip bone. The man reached a hand out, long bony fingers brushing against Derek's jaw. That's when recognition dawned on him. He knew this boy -not personally, but he'd seen pictures. This was the Spark. The one Scott had warned him about since Derek had returned to Beacon Hills four years ago. His mate. "Fuck me," Derek gasped out, dropping his head on the step. "Let's get you better, first, shall we, Puppy?" The Spark hummed. 2. Pretty Little Wedding (M | 1/1| | 3,650) Its been two years since the Hale pack moved to Hood River, and Derek couldn't be happier with his life now. He has Stiles, his family, and a town that treats them like family. Its everything he could ever hope to have. Almost everything at least. 3. Pretty Little Niece (T | 1/1 | 2,814) Cora and Lydia have a baby, Stiles and Derek fight about having children of their own, and Stiles slowly warms up to being an uncle! Part 3 of the Pretty Little Wolf series! If you haven't read thd first I recommend you do so!! These are just little snippets into the Hale packs life after they leave Beacon Hills!

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[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 3

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: If I were you guys, I would hate me. This is so. I'm sorry. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst / Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, swearing, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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previous part | series masterlist | next part

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"Mrs. Barnes, do follow me, please," Morozov demands despite his polite formalities. "And I advise you keep the baby to your side. You never know where she may wander off to if you're not watching," he says ominously.

You clench your jaw as you scoop Becca into your arms. She clings to you, little arms surrounding your neck. The poor girl is terrified, and you know you have to pretend you're not, too. For her.

You follow after Morozov and pray your phone hasn't died yet.

Please, Buck. Find us.

—

Morozov leads you down several confusing hallways that all look the same. You look for indicators to help you find your bearings, but there’s little to nothing there. You pray your phone still has some juice and is connected to a cell tower somewhere; you’re not getting out on your own.

Becca holds onto you with a death grip, her face buried in the crook of your neck to hide her eyes from the scary soldiers escorting you. Despite being an Avenger, you kind of wish Bucky was here for you to do the same thing.

“So, Mrs. Barnes, you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here?” Morozov asks, but his tone is more declarative. He does not wait for a response.

“Well, we’ve been tracking the Asset since I took over the Siberian HYDRA division, and that’s when we discovered that there was a Mini Asset! It was quite the pleasant surprise! We are well aware that the Asset’s trigger words have been removed—a shame, really. They took so long to install. So the original plan was to figure out how to reset the Asset, but with the development of the baby? Well…” He trails off, refusing to finish the thought.

Instead of providing further explanation for your capture, Morozov abruptly stops in front of a door, unlocking it and holding it open like a hotel concierge.

“Right in here.”

One of the guards pushes you in and you stumble a little. Straightening up and readjusting Becca in your arms, you turn and shoot a glare at the guard.

You quickly take note of your surroundings and realize you’re in a cell. This is when one of the guards and Morozov step in, closing the door behind them.

The cell is small and bare except for some shackles anchored to the wall. The soldier wrestles Becca out of your arms despite the little girl’s wailing and kicking and your onset panic. He then unceremoniously drops her to the ground and grabs your wrists, shackling you to the wall.

You lunge at the soldier, painfully pulling on your restraints.

“Don’t you dare touch her, you piece of shit!” You scream.

Morozov chuckles darkly, sending you an amused look, and crouches down to Becca’s height.

“Hello, miss,” he says, holding a hand out to help her stand.

Becca looks at his hand and then at you, unsure of what to do. You shake your head and she scoots away from the doctor and closer to you. Morozov only laughs again.

“You’ll be more cooperative in time,” he says simply, holding his hands casually behind his back. He turns back to you.

“And, Mrs. Barnes, I recommend you refrain from attacking or cursing at my men. It would be unpleasant.

“Now, please, ladies, make yourselves comfortable.”

Morozov turns and leaves the room, letting the thick metal door slam shut behind him and his soldier. You hear the locks click shut and you crumple in your spot, leaning against the wall, and try to get comfortable despite your arms restrained behind you.

“Mommy?” Becca calls, looking at your face.

“Yeah, baby?” You try to pull a comforting look onto your face but you have a feeling it looks more like a grimace.

“What’s the mean guy want?”

“I’m not sure, honey.”

“What’s ‘the Asset’?”

You frown, unsure what to say to her. You and Bucky had never explained to your daughter her father’s complicated past. In fact, you had intended to put it off as long as possible. You chew your lip nervously before you speak, carefully mulling over your words.

“‘The Asset’ is your daddy. A long time ago, before Daddy and I met, he was trapped by some bad people, and they made him do some bad things.”

Becca’s eyes widen.

“Do they wanna hurt Daddy?”

“I really don’t know, baby.”

“They hurt you,” she points out, small hands grabbing your face.

You lean forward and kiss her forehead.

“I’m alright, Becca. Promise.”

Suddenly, the small sliding door built into the cell’s door opens and a tray of food slides in. It closes immediately.

“Becca, can you bring that tray over here? It’s dinner time.”

The hungry toddler happily runs to pull the food over. For the first time since you were abducted, you feel a semblance of peace while you watch your daughter eat, and you giggle when she has you open up for the airplane.

—

You estimate you’ve been gone about a week, and your stay at the Siberian HYDRA facility has been less than pleasant.

They have refrained from taking Becca away from you, but they have happily tortured you in front of her. Frankly, you’re not sure which is worse.

Today has been brutal. Almost as brutal as when they found the phone.

—

The soldier’s cutting of your body—your body his canvas, his knives his brushes—is what led to the revelation of your phone. You’d been stripped of your shirt, leaving you in the sports bra. Your mistake comes in the form of a taunt, an ill chosen statement.

“That all you got?”

It was not. The soldier jammed his fist hard into your gut and you crumpled. You leaned forward, retching, and your phone happened to slip out of your bra onto the cell floor.

You froze.

Morozov lost it. The phone meant they were on the Avengers’ radar, and that was less than ideal. He grabbed the phone and hit the power button.

“1%. Hmm. We may have unwelcome visitors soon,” he said as he walked towards the exit. “Please show Mrs. Barnes how we feel about unwelcome visitors.”

With that, he left, and you quickly found out that they do not feel good about unwelcome visitors.

—

Morozov is always present, but he never strikes himself. He lets those around him get their hands dirty and helpfully asks questions from the sidelines.

Today, however, has been different. After all, everyone has their limit.

“Tell. me. how. the. hell. they. erased. the. brainwashing,” Morozov demands.

You scoff in his face.

“Go to hell.”

“You bitch!” He slaps you across the face.

Your face is forced sharply to the side from the slap, but you laugh as you turn to face him.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?”

“Not only do you look like you’re pretending to have power, but your slap lacks power, too.”

Taunting him is probably not your best move, you’re aware, but it’s been a week and all they’ve done is torture you for information about Bucky. And you were trained to keep your mouth shut.

Morozov stands up straight, smoothing out his ill-fitting military jacket. He takes the second to compose himself before he turns to the guard at the door.

“Grab the kid,” he says, smirking at you.

Your eyes widen.

“Don’t you dare touch her! I’ll kill you! I swear to god I’ll kill you!” You pull on your restraints, scrambling to find footing even though you can’t stand from the way you’re restrained.

Becca has been hiding in the corner of the room, petrified, as she has every time they’ve come to question you. She pushes herself further back into the wall as the guard moves towards her, but with nowhere to go, he easily picks her up and carries her to Morozov.

“You know, my strength may lack power to you, but I’m sure a punch to the baby’s gut would hold all the power it needs,” he muses, closing his hand into a fist in front of his face, observing it.

You struggle to get to Becca, tears beginning to escape and run down your face.

“Now,” he says, side-eying you, “tell me. How did they remove the trigger words? Because when we turn your daughter here into the next Winter Soldier—raising and conditioning her to serve HYDRA—we need to make sure she can’t defect like her traitor father.”

Morozov’s admission towards his plans for Becca flips a switch inside you. You’ve heard of mothers doing incredible things—like lifting cars off of their children—due to the child being in danger. It causes hysterical strength; you were never sure you believed it. But watching Morozov threaten your child? It was life or death. It was unforgivable. It made you hysterical. So Morozov even threatening to do to her what HYDRA did to Bucky causes you to act.

You scream something unintelligible as you yank yourself free. The chains are still bound to your wrists, but the anchor in the wall crashes to the ground. The cement moving with it. Before you comprehend it, you’ve gotten to your feet, jumped enough to hop the shackles and bring your hands to the front of your body, and have the chains around Morozov’s neck.

You pull the chain taut against his throat, and he chokes. You glare at the soldier holding Becca who looks incredibly unsure what to do (Does he save his boss? Does he hold onto the kid?).

“Let. Her. Go.” You tighten the chain on Morozov’s neck with each syllable.

Morozov subtly nods, signaling to the man to let Becca down. He does and you forget Morozov, leaving him to gasp for breath as you run to your daughter.

Skidding to your knees, you check over Becca as you scoop her into your arms.

“It’s okay, bug. You’re okay.”

You comfortingly run your fingers through her hair while she shakes with fear in your arms.

“Hmm,” Morozov muses as he rubs a hand against his sore neck. “Perhaps we might come to a compromise, Mrs. Barnes.”

You shoot an incredulous look at him over your shoulder.

“The strength you just exhibited? Extraordinary! Perhaps you might consider joining HYDRA’s cause,” he holds up a hand to silence you when you open your mouth to protest. “Perhaps you might consider joining HYDRA’s cause,” he repeats, “in exchange for your daughter’s release.”

You pick Becca up, letting her bury her face into your neck while she cries, and stand, turning to face Morozov.

“If you safely return her to her father and the Avengers, I’ll do it,” you say confidently. You absolutely did not want to work for HYDRA, but you could figure out your own escape later. Becca’s safety is your priority and only current concern.

“That can be arranged.”

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ko-fi

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Tags: @just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22 @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a

[666writingcafe]

RAD TV

Ran by the Newspaper Club and aired on Friday mornings

Mephistopheles: Good morning, everyone, and welcome to RAD TV. Our top story involves the first round of predictions for the bloody moon contest.

Rogmen: As you all know, this year Lord Diavolo has decided to allow our exchange students to participate. Some welcome the change, while others wonder why he would do such a thing.

Mephistopheles: However, we are not here to debate Lord Diavolo's decision, but rather to report the current standings of the contest.

A List of Standings Pops Up On the Screen

Rogmen: As usual, Lord Diavolo has the top spot with Lucifer and Barbatos following closely behind.

Mephistopheles: I've always wondered how Barbatos places so high on these things, considering he usually keeps to himself.

Rogmen: He's quite popular among royalty and fellow servants.

Mephistopheles: I see. Anyway, our number four spot is occupied by...MC?

Rogmen: I'm not surprised. A lot of people have been talking about them. Their honesty draws them in.

Mephistopheles: I understand that, but they're still rather new to the Devildom, while someone like Solomon has been coming in and out for years.

Rogmen: And yet Solomon wasn't the one who turned you into a stuttering mess after a certain speechcraft exam, now was he?

Mephistopheles: *blushes* That is not pertinent to this conversation.

Rogmen: *smirks* Anyway, Asmodeus and Leviathan are tied for fifth, Simeon is sitting at seventh, Satan's eighth, Beelzebub's ninth, and my fellow news anchor rounds out the top ten.

Mephistopheles: Only because Mammon isn't allowed to participate this year.

Rogmen: But he is this year's official bookie.

Mephistopheles: Why am I not surprised? Does Lucifer know about this?

Rogmen: Well, if he didn't, he does now.

Mephistopheles: See you up amongst the rafters, Mammon.

Rogmen: Speaking of Solomon, he's only a couple spots above last place. Guess people are growing tired of his antics.

Mephistopheles: I really don't know what goes through his brain sometimes. I mean, he thinks his cooking is a work of art.

Rogmen: I feel bad for the angels.

Mephistopheles: And that does it for our current bloody moon standings. Our next story--*puts his hand on his earpiece*

Rogmen: Everything alright, Mephisto?

Mephistopheles: I just received breaking news.

Rogmen: About...?

Mephistopheles: Asmodeus has just announced on social media that he's dropping out of the bloody moon competition.

Rogmen: What? He's usually all over these popularity contests.

Mephistopheles: He's uploaded a video on his story explaining why. Play the clip.

Asmodeus: Hi, my lovely people! I'm currently watching this week's RAD TV, and after seeing the first round of preliminary results, I have decided to no longer participate in the bloody moon contest. Before anyone spreads rumors that I'm upset about tying with Levi for fifth place, I want everyone to know that I am doing this because I believe that this year there is someone more worthy than I am of winning. So, instead of competing, I will be actively supporting MC and encourage you all to do the same. As always, I hope everyone has a fantastic day!

Rogmen: Did someone kidnap Asmo and replace him with a clone? Or is he just messing with everyone?

Mephistopheles: I think he's being serious.

Rogmen: If that's the case, then MC's about to see a huge increase in their numbers. Asmo has millions of followers across all of his social media platforms, and quite a number of them will do whatever he says.

Mephistopheles: I just hope that he told MC his plan before making that announcement, although knowing him, he didn't and instead acted impulsively.

Rogmen: Only one way to find out.

Mephistopheles: That does it for this installment of RAD TV. Make sure to be on the lookout for an exclusive interview with MC in our daily newspaper.

[noodleblade]

i loved your simpatico mistletoe fic. what other bots fall victim to Swerve's mistletoe?

Heehee Thank you <3 I love those nerds so much GAH!

Uhhh cygate+whirl, dratchet, rodimags and Swerve/Skids under the cut:3 This got a BIT longer than I intended but who cares:)

Cygate+whirl:

Tailgate see the mistletoe and is eager about trying it out himself. He's not entirely sure if the mistletoe itself holds any compulsive properties or its just solely tradition but either way he wants to give it a go. New experiences and all that.

Cyclonus is so against this idea. For multiple reasons. 1. It would be inherently performative to go purposefully put yourself under it. 2. Cyclonus has some trepidations about human traditions as a whole, especially when so many mechs on this ship can't even remember their own Cybertronian ones. 3. He has complicated feelings about Tailgate willingly putting himself under the mistletoe and some random mech being the one to kiss him. Every time Tailgate brings up trying it out, Cyclonus desperately thinks of another reason to keep Tailgate seated in the booth beside him. He's not sure how long he can keep up the ruse.

Whirl, ever observant and ever chaotic, sees all this and takes matters into his own hands. Claws. You get it. Despite how vigilant everyone has been with the whole mistletoe situation, it is surprisingly easy to snatch it without anyone noticing. It also takes a surprisingly long time for anyone to notice it is missing. Enough time for Whirl to make his way around the room and poise it innocently over Tailgate and Cyclonus's helms. Someone has to get their two to stop toeing around each other and he is tired of no one stepping up to the plate.

What he didn't take into consideration is getting a nuzzling kiss from Tailgate too. And an awkward yet tender peck from Cyclonus...After that, he lost track of the mistletoe, more than happy to cozy up between the two and sip their spiced energon together. He's giddy the rest of the night. Mission accomplished. And he received a delightful holiday bonus.

Dratchet:

Ratchet is mildly concerned once he knows the mistletoe is missing. He had been weary of it since he first saw it being installed. He had just wanted to get a drink with First Aid and Ambulon and then he was going to be on his way. But once the mistletoe was hung up, his only exit was blocked.

Granted, the mistletoe being there didn't mean he had to kiss anyone. Plenty of mechs had been fortunate enough to pass through with no issue. But Ratchet wasn't sure his luck would be the same. Not to mention, there was only one mech he'd even be remotely okay with kissing. Maybe even a little more than okay with. But Drift was anchored at Rodimus's booth and seemed to have no intention of getting up anytime soon.

But once it is missing, a new worry comes about. Too many mechs around him have a penchant for mischief and Ratchet is too tired to want to deal with it. He weighs his odds of successfully escaping without any drama while he sips his drink and is surprised when the metal flower falls into his lap. He's not sure how he got this or why but First Aid and Ambulon start giggling like pre-med students and egging Ratchet on about having to kiss someone.

Ratchet is not wholly upset with this. Fate is in his own hands and as long as he keeps the mistletoe to himself, there is nothing to worry about. He can make his escape and toss the dreaded thing out. Only halfway into standing up and turning, he runs right into Drift.

Drift had been listening to Rodimus's "pep talk" all night and finally decided to make his move. All he had to do is ask Ratchet for a drink or a walk or even just a small conversation. He'd take anything at this point. From what he could see across the bar, Ratchet looked in good spirits so he thinks this is a good as any chance.

When Ratchet turns to face him, all thoughts of confessions or propositions flee his mind because his optics drop to the metal mistletoe in his hands. Both of them are awkward about it and Ratchet, fully fed up with the entire debacle of the mistletoe and maybe a little inebriated, just throws it aside and gives Drift a kiss on the cheek.

Drift is...more than happy with this outcome. They leave Swerve's together. To walk. To talk. To exchange more kisses.

Rodimags:

Rodimus sees the mistletoe on the ground and snatches it up immediately. A million ideas go through his head of how he can mess around with it (and maybe score a few kisses himself). However, before he can even act on any of them, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and Rodimus doesn't even need to turn around to see Magnus's unamused faceplates.

The worst part is Rodimus can't even uno-reverse the situation. Magnus is too tall for him to get the mistletoe above them so he just crosses his arms and tries to pretend he only had the purest of intentions of going to hang it back up. He's not even sure if Magnus believes him, but he does offer to help.

Ultra Magnus absolutely does not believe Rodimus was being a Good Samaritan but he will go with the lie if it means getting that idiotic item out his hands. Plus, he is at least tall enough to affix it himself, rather than watching Rodimus use a wobbly chair or worse climb another mech's shoulders. He is a little weary when Rodimus follows him along but its not entirely unwelcomed. Contrary to popular belief, he does enjoy Rodimus's company.

Little does he realize, as he his hanging the mistletoe over the doorway, it does position it above both of them. Rodimus's grin is all teeth, daring and challenging. Smug. Magnus is not amused as he often isn't when Rodimus decides to be how Megatron's puts it: a little shit.

The smug grin is wiped off Rodimus's face as Magnus leans down and gives him a kiss right on the lips. Rodimus...hadn't expected Magnus to meet his challenge. But he certainly isn't complaining now. Especially when Magnus pulls away and he's got the faintest of warmth crawling up his cheeks.

Rodimus's proposition to continue things in his rooms is very much turned down. However, his counter proposal of sharing a drink...is accepted warmly.

Skids/Swerve:

Swerve is pleased with the entire event. The mistletoe was a grand success but so was his newly crafted spiced energon. Skids had also been immeasurable helpful is putting the whole event together and Swerve is even more thankful that his friend stayed behind to help clean up.

It takes them a while and they drink the remaining spiced energon together while they tidy up. The last thing they have to go with remove the mistletoe which Skids offers to do while Swerve wipes down the sticky bar top.

The crinkling of metal is Swerve's only clue that Skids has returned and when he looks up, Skids is hanging it above Swerve's helm with a soft smile.

Their kiss is soft and sweet, tastes like spiced energon and holiday cheer. At least, that's what Skids says when he retells the story. Swerve is just happy the night ended even better than he thought. He keeps the mistletoe in the back. Ready to bring back out next holiday season.

[perfectfangirl]

notes after rewatching fallout s1 ep1

so once again like a crazy person [i've done this with star wars sequels before] i've decided to take three and half pages of notes over the course of an hour. i've been a fan of the games for at least a decade and i'm actually always watching lore content between the installments though so while i do know some minute details, within the show, there was some things i was interested in and curious about that i just decided to jot down. some of this may be things discussed already and some of it might be something i wasn't sure if anyone brought up before but anyways! maybe i'll do the whole season, but here's my ramblings • them titling the episode "the end" was when i knew i'd love the show • ok but i really wonder if cooper can still do those party tricks? he was really good at them and lucy would probably love them too 🥺 • thinking back, the radio in the first scene mentions not knowing where the president is--- beginning to wonder if he was the guy sitting in on the vault tec meeting • just realized they introduced the mr. handy robot in some of the first scenes • ten years of nuclear threat according to anchor but the show is careful not to give away all the cards because why does the weather anchor make it seem like they know when the bomb will drop? idk but birthday boy mother turns off tv real "head in the sand" like • the nat king cole song that's playing though [wondering if the song is mirroring specifically cooper's feelings about barb despite everything hmm] • horse's name is sugarfoot 🥹 • him having to pay alimony... wonder what the prenup? was like... [still think he probably loves barb 😞]

• them calling him a pinko despite him being an architect of vault boy's persona, a quintessential presentation of a "man's man" acting as a cowboy, a real cowboy, a former marine--- wondering if there was a smear campaign after his situation with barb and vault tec, him working children's parties leads me to believe... • did the kid's say the birthday boy's name was boyd? [if so, there's another character in the games with this name and this is also the name of a character walton has played in another series, funny] • weather man show's up again distressed, wondering if we'll get more info about that day • everyone ignoring, cognitive dissonancing their own nuclear annihilation is so prescient if not disturbing and damning

• him teaching janey the thumb thing ☹️ • cooper's voice when he says "let me see if i can't rustle you up a piece" 😩 • janey being the only one to notice the first bomb • the fear in cooper's eyes • cooper being in denial one last time before realization sets in • people becoming animals the moment they realize what's happening--- one guy punches his friend not letting his family into the fallout shelter • people getting into their cars and cooper onto his horse to escape--- wonder how fast they could be since it doesn't seem you could outrun nuclear annihilation

• lucy being raised so well under the circumstances 😔 [hope she never becomes her father] • i haven't trusted steph since episode one • lucy being a teacher [amongst other things] and asking maximus about what happened after the bombs fell makes so much sense [and also much like another person suggested is an interesting juxtaposition to cooper's pre war knowledge] • lucy showing how skilled she is for being a marriage candidate when in reality we are seeing someone fit for the wasteland is crazy on second watch • is lucy not watching a cooper howard movie with her dad? hello??

• them reading "war and peace" in the family book club is rich • lucy [thinking] she's not good at guns, ironic • steph having to step in like a sisterly type because lucy's mom isn't there 😞 • the wedding dress on lucy being ill fitting, tight as symbolism for lucy not truly "fitting in there" and being constrained [foreshadowing] oof • the vault boy sign in the back saying "don't lose your head" lmao • didn't catch the "cousin stuff" until someone mentioned it on tumblr and twitter 💀

• the flashback we see of lucy ending up being almost a false memory, a misrepresentation of her actual memories, that she has been on the surface, in the sun • norm taunting lucy about her future husband being "anybody" and a "cannibal, crammed full of tumours" 😭 unfortunately for ghoulcy, this was some of the heaviest foreshadowing [the raider also could have been one too] • why didn't hank recognize moldaver? • so many things i still don't understand about vaults 31, 32, 33 • the growing realization they are raiders was pretty funny to me lmao

• moldaver having to sit through the disingenuous lies of hank ugh • norm going into vault 32 like they wanted them to know what was up? or is that just how vault doors work? they used lucy's mom's pip boy [that hank lied about burying] • lucy putting norm in a storage vault, she really is so strong • the handed down wedding dress getting messed up • i am curious if the raiders [shady sands survivors?] only mostly harmed vault tec aligners but maybe not • the way hank and steph retaliating a little too well • hank acting like he doesn't know moldaver when everyone really does know moldaver • moldaver telling lucy she looks like her mother is really such a tipoff

• realizing maximus is getting bullied 😭 • dane... might love maximus a little idk • from latrine duty to basically ruling over the brotherhood of steel • they really showed some dude jacking it lmao it's just normal i guess 💀 • maximus being defeated and having a rightful outburst of emotion, poor guy • the poster saying "the outside world can never harm you"--- funny • chet would've died up there 😭 • them not opening the vault back up for her, wondering if the vapourized bodies are from the initial bomb drop or the subsequent shady sands ones • dane almost gets maximus killed three times tbh • maximus joined the brotherhood of steel to get back at what vault tec did, essentially hank's doing, hank has many enemies • knowing the enclave, it makes sense why siggi is hunted • cooper the ghoul's introduction though • the bounty hunter saying his captors dig cooper up every once in a while to cut pieces of flesh off him 😞 no wonder cooper acts the way he does 😔 he's been taken advantage of, no wonder he doesn't trust anybody and is horrible to everyone • "why is this an amish production of "the count of monte cristo" or the weirdest circle jerk i've ever been invited to?" why would he say this 😭 • cooper's... been invited to circle jerks 👀 • does the bounty hunter know the ghoul is cooper howard?

• him not harming the chicken, him healing dogmeat, there's something there, folks • people only digging him up to use him again 😞 • what a coincidence he's dug up just as lucy leaves the vault • "i do this shit for the love of the game" he's a character, he's playing a character, real theatre kid • hence why cooper is introduced as "the ghoul", cooper is long gone • "us cowpokes, we take it as it comes" something about this lineee

[penig]

So we're having a rough summer and I haven't been talking about it because why brood but it's different when you talk about people being nice. So, thumbnail sketch:

We finally (as I've been wanting to do for years) got an estimate on getting the house rewired (pretty sure some of the original wiring installed in 1910 is in use) and partially replumbed (can't use the shower tub because the iron pipes are too clogged), and the paperwork for the loan took forever, and then a high wind came along (on my birthday) and dropped a dead redbud tree on our porch and a large branch on our car, which was totaled, and we had to buy a new (used) car and get a tree service to come out and take care of the fallen wood and trim the trees so no more wood falls, but the cost to take care of the big branch and woodpecker damaged tree in the back yard was more than we could afford with the car business, but that could wait a few months assuming no more high winds come along; and the loan comes through and we get the car squared away and the tree service is scheduled to come and we're starting to breathe again -

And I spy somebody putting what I recognize as a code violation notice on the front gate so I open the door and come out to tell her that if this is about the redbud tree on the porch we've already scheduled the work and she says: "It's everything on the lot. Cut it down to 12 inches. You have ten days" So I point out that most of the tall stuff is legal garden plants that should not be pruned in August, that it's two years since I've been physically capable of doing yardwork of any kind, that the work she's demanding is impossible in that time frame and oh yes, it's August, in Texas, with triple digit temperatures predicted for the foreseeable future and it could very well kill me to try. She thought there might be a local program to help me (No; they're all for structural work) and wouldn't budge. So that was like being shoved back underwater when we'd almost crawled out on shore.

But we put out a call to our friends, and people came over Saturday and did miracles, and almost every day this week somebody has come over (in addition to the people putting holes in our walls and ceilings and arguing over how to run the wires and occasionally turning pale at what they find) to help me in the mornings before the third digit kicked in. We did not, of course prune any of the poor heat stressed legal plants, but great inroads were made on the rest of it, and one friend even cut up the big branch in the back yard and the tree service people hauled it off, along with a collapsed picnic table which they told me, when they quoted the price for this small secondary job, that they would not take.

This morning I could barely move. I'm getting a lot of pain in the good leg as well as the bad leg, and in my back, plus I was just weak with heat and tiredness, and for the first time in almost a year I decided I'd better break out the cane again, at least to take the stairs and walk in the yard to discuss with the friend who came today, the last day before the inspection, where best to put his effort (because it was plain to both of us that I wasn't lifting a finger) in order to convince the inspector that we really had done the best we could and to let the stuff we couldn't get to slide until fall and spring.

And I guess one of the workmen noticed the cane, and noticed that the handrail on the upper staircase had pulled out of the wall on one end (it had been anchored to the sheetrock, not the wall proper; the other end was anchored in paneling and was fine; this happened a couple of months ago and we had bigger worries), and just - fixed it. Because it's certainly fixed now. As is typical in Texas most of the workmen are people I can't even talk to because my Spanish is as bad as their English, so it's not as if we've made friends with them. And I didn't see it done, nor did the foreman know who did it when I brought it up and asked him to thank whoever it was, so it wasn't somebody looking to make points. They just saw a chance to do a small simple thing to benefit a total stranger, and did it.

The point here being that two people - whoever called in the code complaint (seriously, that should be illegal in August, at least for yard code with no clear and present danger) and the city employee who wouldn't listen to reason - went out of their way to force me to focus on the least pressing problem facing us right now at the expense of my own well-being. But they are far, far outnumbered by the people who have gone out of their way to help us, just because we needed help.

So, suck it, cynicism!

[edutainer2022]

UNREQUITED Ch 7

Co-written with @janetm74

Ch 6

AO3 (1-7)

This installment found a place in the tapestry of a vaster story, thanks to the amazing insight of @janetm74, making the implications so much more exciting to ponder and to explore further!

(Page Six)

Ever since Kat Kavanaugh buried a hatchet and wasn't chasing conspiracy theories about them on Global Holovision anymore, watching the news live was a once in a blue moon activity in Casa Tracy. They followed the major world events through John and Eos (maybe a bit of social media on a relatively quiet morning), and they were likely to be part of those in some capacity at least a third of the times. Sometimes a half.

But it was one of those days. A relative lull in rescues compiled with the exhaustion of the previous fortnight streak of disasters bred mildly numb boredom. Batteries too low to pursue their usual hobbies, they gravitated to the lounge.

Scott was ever at the desk with holo screens full of quarterly budget reports, because their biggest brother did stock market numbers for LEISURE, apparently. Virgil was playing, as usual, but the music was slowly fading to a halt. Alan was gaming, or pretending to be while napping, his VR goggles on. Kayo was going through some specs, half leaning on the couch cushions. Even John was in a quiet lull up in orbit, his hologram just bobbing at the comms unit, hanging out with everybody, but not really a part of any conversation.

That left Gordon scralling lazily through newsreels. The sudden yelp sent Alan tumbling on the floor and Scott at least half an inch closer to a cardiac arrest under thirty. A keen observer would have noticed Kayo reaching for a knife in the ankle holster. The piano music keened on an abrupt note and stopped. Several pairs of VERY unamused eyes stared Gordon down.

The Fish was on his feet already, bursting with excitement, sending the news holo to the center of the lounge.

"Did you guys know Fischler has a brother?!?!"

The assorted grumps and groans across the lounge indicated that they not only didn't know, but weren't in the least thrilled by that information.

Only John and Kayo shared a quiet look, because OF COURSE they would know.

Gordon surveyed the lounge in triumph, setting the stage for a punchline.

"He has a brother and he's getting married!"

"Who, Fischler?"

Alan was still scrambling up from his hardwood landing and making a show of rubbing an ouchie. Scott at least looked ready to switch gears to the full "hurt brother!" mode. Gordon was not deterred.

"No, dummy, not Fischer! His brother is getting married!"

"And that's any of our business how?"

Alan was still not ready to relinquish attention from his boo-boo. Not with so many big brothers in attendance. But John, Kayo and Virgil were already sharing concerned LOOKS.

Any widely publicized event with cameras rolling and hundreds in attendance, involving Fischler, could potentially turn into a showcase of his latest "invention", or ten. Which would mean potential casualties and work for IR. They would need to be on the look-out and on standby. Scott waved at the comm to get the volume up.

The holo displayed a close pic of a younger and significantly more polished version of Langstrom Fischler, hair sleecked back, but a weaselly smile just a tad on the manic side.

The celebrity news anchor was gushing about a "dashing fresh face on the World Senate, a philanthropist and patron of innovation, a devoted brother and a consummate athlete, setting off to be a force of a positive change in the world" and "his drop dead gorgeous fiancée, a once Miss Brazil runner-up, who dedicated herself to the selfless life of service, decorated for honor and courage".

The picture on the screen changed to an official GDF snapshot of a tall young brunette in dress blues. The insignia on the collar indicated the rank of Captain and breastplanks - several high ranking awards for valor. The picture switched to a series of candid paparazzi snaps of the "happy couple".

The show host droned on with one corny cliche after another about the "match made of dreams" and a " high profile dream wedding" scheduled to take place on a cozy remote island.

Gordon interrupted the stream of saccharine platitudes:

"Huh? How come we're not invited? Scott, you know like everyone in the World Senate!"

His voice was drowned out by the deafening snap of the metal stylus, broken in Scott's fingers. The sound of the desk chair hitting the floor, as Scott stood up and all but ran from the lounge, was even louder.

"Huh?!"

Gordon, yet again, surmised the bewilderment of everyone present.

Jade eyes squinted a fraction as Kayo watched Scott's outburst and hasty retreat.

Virgil was half out to follow Scott, when a ping came through on Gordon's comm. The sign flashed pink.

"Yay! Looks like I'm going after all! Penny needs a plus one! John, can I borrow your tax?!"

John half waved his brother off, brows furrowed and hands already flying over invisible files, when another pink ping came through. It was Kayo's turn for a "Huh?" moment.

"Looks like Penny needs a plus two, as well. I'm invited".

That deflated Gordon's initial excitement enough to notice Virgil leaving in the general direction of Dad's office, where Scott had locked himself.

Before Virgil reached the door to try and reason with big brother to talk about... whatever that was, John sent two files to his comm.

One - a picture they all saw a hundred times on Dad's desk back in Kansas, but it didn't compute out of context. Scott's Airgroup Wing after a training flight. All hugging and laughing, still in flightsuits. Scott and the girl from the news today - Fischler Jr.'s fiancée - at the center.

The other Virgil never saw before. It would figure since it was a screenshot from, what he recognized with some dread, was Dad's old phone. There was a picture sent to a private chat with Dad of the same girl, in a sundress, and Scott in a polo shirt, apparently both on leave. An almost ten years younger Scott was smiling like he could power up a sun. The message to Dad read "SHE SAID YES!!!".

The date of the message indicated about a month and a half before Scott's mission to Bereznik.

Virgil sank to the floor, leaning on the wall, never going through with the knock on the locked office door.

***

It was such an unbelievable cliché it felt surreal. The thunderstorm, the lightning, the lash of downpour across his face. Then again, it was fitting, as his world was going crashing down around him. Yet again.

There was nothing surreal about the hard edges of Mom's ring she just gave him back.

For about six weeks he was the happiest man alive. Dad's IR project was well underway, and he was to share that dream not only with Dad and brothers, but with the love of his life. He should have known better...

The words were real too - hard and ruthless. About Dad yanking his leash, and expecting nothing but dutiful following in his footsteps and his vision, concealed by his looming shadow, and giving up what they both dreamed about and worked so hard for - test flights, command ranks, career in service.

The echo came back to him often, in one dark hour or another, after his world shattered to pieces yet another time.

Dad voiced his reservations clearly, but did agree to give him Mom's ring. "When you know, you know". Wasn't it how he and Mom got married?

It WAS too soon, they WERE too young, and frateenization within a unit WAS an issue, but with IR lifting off that wasn't to be a problem, once he told her the full scale of the classified project. He should have known better...

He last remembered the ring yanked off his neck with the dogtags chain by a smirking Berezniki guard.

He put up a hell of a fight for that and was beaten within an inch of his life. The first time.

Next time he found it, inexplicably, in Dad's safe on the island, after the search for Zero-X was called off. He meant to ask Kyrano, as he wasn't conscious or coherent enough for the extraction op, or for months after, but the man never returned his calls anymore, sending in a resignation after half a year of following leads on the Hood.

There wasn't much room in his mind or hours in his days to give it more thought for years after. Or more pieces for his heart to break into. He should have known better.

And now she was getting married. To someone bright and promising, changing the world for the better, who wasn't him. The story of his life!

He should have known better as well.

The sound of glass shattering against the wall and a visceral scream finally sent Virgil in, wild-eyed, breaking past the lock.

***

John lifted an eyebrow in a perfect quizzical arch, putting the tablet down, as the "wedding party" poured, or rather, limped into the lounge.

Gordon's tuxedo sleeve was torn clear off, his bowtie, undone, served as a makeshift tourniquet. Parker sported cuts, bruises and a glorious shiner. Penelope's elaborate updo was in disarray, one heel of a golden pump broken. Kayo's slip dress hem was torn, exposing a garter holster.

As John hurried to the kitchen for the first aid kit, he heard her hiss something to the effect of "You should have seen the other guys".

The villa was quiet. Grandma had Alan on the mainland for the weekend. Virgil chased Scott up the volcano. There was a good chance biggest brother and his stormy mood was best quarantined at the Round House for the rest of the day.

John was waiting in the lounge for the fallout, one way or another. He wasn't quite prepared for the sight on display, handing out ice packs.

Gordon hissed too and bit off a curse, as John set about cleaning the bullet graze on his arm.

"Pen, do all your friends whip out a standard issue gun at the altar and read the groom Miranda rights instead of vows?"

Lady Penelope was busy trying to look poised while breaking the second heel off a designer pump, to make them even.

"It was a deep undercover mission to round up a drug and slave trafficking ring. A destination wedding was a most fortunate venue for the occasion."

Kayo looked up from the kitchen isle at that, not pausing to stop extracting a considerable arsenal of throw-knives from her bodice.

"Looks like the Fischler brothers were bankrolled by mafia. The crazy inventions AND the World Senate election. In exchange for some... perks."

Kayo snorted and went back to her inventory of weapons.

Gordon perked up as the anesthetic cream kicked in and forgot to NOT wave the injured hand around to assist his narrative.

"It was actually kinda cool! The bride barked out "Hands up!" instead of "I do"! The bridesmaids all dropped their bouquets and brandished guns. The bridal party were all Organized Crime and Counterterrorism. Well, and us... A little  heads up wouldn't have hurt, Penny. Then all hell broke loose. Rose petals and confetti everywhere. You should have seen Fischler's face!"

Gordon was nearly flailing with excitement, so John's hands pushed him mildly back into the seat. Turquoise eyes found Penelope's line of sight, studiously avoiding Kayo:

"So... no wedding?"

"No wedding indeed."

Up on the Tracy Volcano Virgil's comm vibrated, switched to silent mode hours ago. John's message read "No wedding."

Virgil exhaled a sigh, but didn't yet know how to break the subject with a brother, seated next to him on the sun-warmed boulder, overlooking the ocean. Blue eyes were fixed on a point far away in the distance, or maybe far away in the past, Scott still wouldn't talk about. 

[mekandawn]

Thankfully, They're All Right :D

After nearly two decades of finding new and creative ways to crush their right foot, Caythaes had finally built themself boots with reinforced toes strong enough to survive everything short of having something wedged between the plating and prying them right off. They'd dropped everything they could think of onto the plated bridge of their foot; pikes, metal bars, an entire siege engine… the shape of the plating meant that pointed objects simply skidded off to the side, and the weight of heavy objects redistributed itself over the entire plate and off to the side instead of simply pressing downwards until their foot became crushed.

None of that innovation mattered much when a squad of Nerubians eruptted from the ground underneath Fate and start hauling her downward. Sure, the plating meant they could just dig their toes in and anchor themself in the ground, but instead of giving them the leverage they needed to haul Fate right back, Caythaes just got ripped right out of their boots.

Luckily, they only had one skinnable knee left, and their workpants were just as heavily reinforced as their boots. Unluckily, to the Nerubians Caythaes weighed about as much as a bunch of grapes, and while their attempt to rescue Fate was heroic in intent, the results were…

Sub-optimal.

The minor explosive they installed in their prosthetic foot didn't even leave a dent in the disturbed where Fate had once lain, and now, they were short one arm.

And one foot, but at least they carried a spare just in case.

They didn't have a spare arm, and the way it was sparking where it'd been ripped from the elbow hurt. It had been a long time since their prosthetic arm had been damaged in such a way, the metal struts twisted until they snapped and the elbow joint torn in half. Azerite dripped from ragged tubing, and the wires…

The wires were the worst. The pain signals firing with each twitch and spark sent Caythaes careening to the ground with tears in their eyes as they flailed with their right hand, trying to find the quick release built into the base of the prosthetic. Why had they built it so small? It was just a tiny latch, a shallow indent deep enough for their fingertips to catch it. In practice, they knew it was meant to keep the release from triggering accidentally, but now, as they dragged their fingers blindly over the metal of their bicep, they deep regretted their choice.

Finally, Caythaes found the latch and as they triggered the release, everything from their mid-bicep down went numb and their body felt completely unbalanced. The familiar weight of their prosthetic was gone, leaving their left side feeling roughly 70lbs lighter.

“Fuck,” they swore, kicking at the dirt with their sock covered left heel. “Eternal Sun damn it,” they added for good measure, groaning as they rolled upright. “I don't- I don't know if anyone is- is going to be mad at me for this,” they murmured, digging out their spare foot - little more than a springy bit of metal bent into a question mark shape - and slotting it into place with their right hand. “But I'm mad at me for this.”

With a sigh, Caythaes scrambled to their feet and unsteadily made their way back to their boots, wobbling with every step as they tried to re-calibrate their sense of balance. They'd figure it out eventually, but the thought was little comfort as they made their way towards where the rest of the survivors were gathering. Hopefully, if nothing else, Fate found the lockpicks and the emergency healing potion they kept stored in the forearm.

Or the grappling hook that fired out of the wrist. Or spring-loaded the knives in the knuckles.

(Takes place before Adult Supervision Required. I should go edit it to include the loss of their arm )

[jedidryad]

WIP: Absolutely none of this had been a good idea...

The climactic battle sequence in Champions of the Force involves an abundance of superweapons including a reappearance of The Death Star (I guess The Force Awakens had to get that plot point from somewhere). Mara, Han, and Lando watch in horror as it destroys the Garrison Moon over Kessel. While Han and Lando are experts, this is the first time Mara has witnessed a Death Star in action, and it's tough on her. When they decide they need to fly inside it to destroy it, all does not go as planned...

“She’ll hold together.” Solo insisted although it sounded more like an affirmation than a statement of fact. He agreed he needed to check on the engine and do repairs but we couldn’t do that while actively flying.

“We’re going to have to settle in for the ride.”

“Settle in?” Settle in how, where? Being buried in the middle of this Imperial nightmare was getting to me. I should have done something years ago to stop this thing. What, I didn’t know, but I hadn’t imagined it could do this.

“Don’t get all bent out of shape" Solo continued, misinterpreting my shock as disapproval. He demonstrated his landing claw then and attached us to one of the stable girders so he could power down and go investigate the damage.

Frozen in place, I  gazed down at the power core below us. Everything about it suited Palpatine: ultimate destruction at a whim, the mere tug of a lever.

I smiled tightly. At least this power core had killed him in the end, with some help from his “loyal” enforcer. I’d been no help.

I took a deep breath trying to find my own stability again. Like this ship to the girder, I needed to anchor myself to something. No, I hadn’t prevented the existence of the Death Star, but we could do something about this one now. So long as I held myself together enough to come up with an idea.

Solo seemed far more sanguine about the whole thing than I was.

“We’re secure here for now,” he informed me. He eyed me closely as he headed for the rear, “but if  they plan to go back inside the black hole cluster, we could be in for one wild ride.”

He wasn’t kidding. We were bumped and jostled so much, it made it hard to do the diagnostics and repairs Solo needed the time to do. 

Absolutely none of this had been a good idea. And I had no better ones, just worse ones. I stared out at the reactor core, glowing like Palpatine’s evil heart, infinitely worse ones.

Solo’s news was also bad. The hyperdrive was a mess and the damage to the auxiliary thrusters meant our maneuverability had taken a hit. Even if we did blow the core, we wouldn’t be able to get away from it fast enough or be able to make it back through the Maw.

“Not to mention we don’t know the way out.” I glanced around at the various, unsound passageways around us. Panels had caved in and girders had collapsed with every rattle this half built mess had made, “My Jedi instincts aren’t strong enough for a job like that.” 

And with the damage Solo was talking about, we would need a straight run at it to make it out in time.

“We’ve got to do something.” Calrissian insisted, “If the Death Star’s come back to the Maw installation, it’s bound to be up to no good.”

And that’s when Solo dropped the information that Chewbacca was in the Maw with a Republic occupation team. Instinctively I sent my Force sense out to scan the area and picked up on the presence of not just the Wookie, but also Luke Skywalker. As his presence brushed against mine, I could sense a wave of relief that we were alright.

For now.

His sense seemed to shimmer in agreement.

Great, everyone was in danger and we had no time.

“So it’s obvious,” I said, getting to my feet and choosing the worst of the terrible ideas  that had come to mind in the last few  hours, “we’ve got to deactivate that super laser, as long as we’re here.”

“But the hyperdrive engines - “

I cut Solo off and announced my plan to buy him time by using our portable detonators to destroy the power core. We could place them strategically and then use the timer settings to give us a chance to get away. Classic sabotage. 

It was unbelievably risky and entirely unlikely to work, but we were running out of options.

Calrissian’s jaw hit the floor as I volunteered the two of us to don enviro suits and set the charges while Solo fixed his ship.

“You want me –?”

I swayed my hips just a bit and let my eyes flash as I asked him if he had any better ideas.

He looked me up and down and I suppressed the desire to tug my neckline up again as  he grinned suggestively.

“It would be my honor to escort you.”

[figjelly]

Book Review: We Will Devour the Night by Camilla Andrew

Full disclosure: I received an eARC of this book from the author and this represents my honest opinion. Spoilers for When the Stars Alight are present.

I started We Will Devour the Night while moving across the continental United States. Which sounds crazy (spoilers: it was) but I REALLY wanted to dive back into the world Camilla Andrew created. Set twenty years after When the Stars Alight, the book hits the ground running. So, if you’ve not read the first book yet, I highly recommend doing so before starting We Will Devour the Night. Bonus points if you get to Andrew’s The Sanguine Sorceress.

At the end of When the Stars Alight, a lot had happened. Laila had rejected Darius. Darius had killed his brother. Lyra’s uncle/Laila’s father figure had to be sacrificed to permanently banish Darius’s father. Amira dropped the in-world inequivalent of nuclear bombs on Darius’s home country. Dr. Emika Hariken (minor character, love of my life), uses her chimera monster powers to eat a whole bunch of people. It isn’t important to know that last part; I just really love Dr. Hariken, no matter how many legs she has and I want everyone to know that. (She doesn’t even show up in this book!)

Anyway, that’s where we’ve left off. We find Laila Rose catching stars on the beach and being told her ex-lover has dropped in for a visit (awkward). It’s been twenty years since Mortos opened up to the wider world and Laila’s mom, Amira, is concerned that chaos magic and drugs (we’ll just call it drugs) are being smuggled through to Soleterea. While Darius spends the book trying to suss out who and how stuff is being smuggled, Amira gently “suggests” to Laila that she should go forth and be a good little politician. The Rose legacy is in danger. Without Laila, it dies off and Amira absolutely wants to control control control. Off Laila goes to Mortos because, oof, a major famine is going on. Wonder what caused that shrug emoji and question mark. Absolutely, she and Darius are going to cross paths and that’s dangerous for two-lovers who are star-crossed. We get some new characters who highlight the other side of this world. Mortals get more representation. As a mortal myself, I call that a diversity win. It’s Andrew’s second installment in her Essence of the Equinox trilogy so while we still get richly woven descriptions, there are new things to admire and reflect on. In addition to the familiar environments of Soleterea and Mortos, a rainforest is introduced as an important setting. Elina Panja is our anchor here. We get to experience the rainforest not only as a humid, oppressive sprawl of crushing green but also through her eyes. Elina’s rainforest breathes and embraces her as she acknowledges the power it holds. It reminds me very much of my favorite scene in When the Stars Alight where Lyra’s home in the forest wasn’t just a forest but a part of Lyra. Andrew effortlessly continues to spread a well-constructed quilt over the story and transforms a book into a world. Despite this, I am finding myself wishing we had more orientation. This world is becoming larger and the lack of names for geography, terrain, and water features does take me out of the environment once in a while. For a lot of readers, I imagine that this won’t hinder the overall enjoyment. It’s just a little thing I’ve begun to notice in my own experience. Like the environments, the characters continue to be delightfully constructed. We get new faces but Elina Panja is an easy favorite. She loves her family, is strongly rooted in her goals and priorities, and is effortlessly kind (and this kindness persists even when she is setting boundaries, which I adore). A familiar face from book one returns and Andrew keeps you guessing as to what the actual heck has happened (spoilers: you won’t find out until the very end and oh gosh I internally screamed at the revelation). Since this is the second book in a trilogy, Andrew has the hard work of trying to pick up the momentum of book one while setting up book three. For the most part, it’s successful. There is no shortage of tantalizing threads but I am a little concerned that we’re going to get eleventh hour decisions from Laila (and maybe others but Laila is my primary concern) that don’t match up with who we’ve gotten to know. But Andrew has earned more than enough good will from me to dive in, trusting and exciting

So, the big question: should you read Camilla Andrew’s We Will Devour the Night? Yeah. Especially if you read the first book and enjoyed it. After finishing it, I immediately needed to consume everything else the Essence of the Equinox series had to offer. I couldn’t get enough. I volunteered to read and give a review of this book because I wanted to read more as soon as possible. When the Stars Alight prepared the meal and set the table. We Will Devour the Night serves an extravagant feast.

Come hungry.

Stars: 4/5

TLDR: Messy politics, messy families, and messy love but Andrew balances the hell out of it all while building up to a heart-wrenching finale for everyone.

Click here to order your copy!

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - Solace

Another instalment of An Iron Box! I admit, the bed scene in this is one of my favourite moments, even if it’s so small. 

If you notice any errors, please do let me know! I’ve proofed this after drinking too many glasses of wine so words are no longer my forte. 

AO3 link is here.

_______________________________________________________

It was uncanny that they could sleep so soundly. 

Although I was lying in my bed upstairs in Kuina’s uncle’s furniture store, I could still hear the crackle of the flames in my ears. The Beach had been the one place I wanted to break away from, but seeing it almost burned to the ground was disturbing, even to me. 

We had lit the store with candles and lanterns, however this floor had remained neglected. And now, as I stared up at the wooden slant of the ceiling, I felt that familiar pressure weighted like an anchor on my chest. The blue of night had poured through the window and curled around the room, drenching everything in a wash of moonlight. The bed was cold, the pillow stiff. The other two were fast asleep, their steady breathing rising and falling like tides. 

My eyes traced the eyes of the wooden beams above, a distraction from the conversation I had overheard earlier in the evening, as I had been standing outside our “living room”. 

‘And what about you and Chishiya, hm? I’m guessing you two are besties now.’ 

‘Something like that, I suppose.’ 

What were we? Certainly not something as crass as “besties”, or whatever Kuina had called it. I wasn’t in love with her. No. I would know if that was the case, surely. But how could I define it? This fine string that connected us. 

She was the only thing warm in this world - like a candle in a window, perhaps. I couldn’t find the right words for it, aside from the words she had shared with me long ago. A train whistle. Yes, hers was the only voice that tore through the darkness, and whatever these feelings were, I could neither explain nor control them. All I knew was that she needed to be closer. I needed her to ease this weight.  

A soft gasp interrupted the night. There was a creak, as (name) tossed and turned in the bed beside mine. With a barely audible cry, her eyes shot open, staring fixedly at something on the ceiling which I couldn’t see. She blinked several times until her face slowly relaxed. 

Nightmares?

I should have known. She was naive and emotional, and these games would eventually come back to haunt her. Rolling over, she smushed her face into her pillow in an obvious attempt at avoiding looking at the ceiling. 

Then her eyes lifted, and she looked at me.

Her hair was a mess, and her pillow had left an imprint against her cheek. But there was a softness in her gaze. A want. I knew exactly what she was going to do when she pulled back her sheets, dropping her feet lightly on the floorboards. I felt a cold shiver of air as she slipped under my covers and crawled into the space beside me. 

Although she had left plenty of room between us, I could feel her calm presence just out of reach. She didn’t speak, but it was obvious what she wanted from me. It was what she had always wanted. 

Solace. 

A shiver caressed the back of my neck as her warm fingertips brushed my open palm. Testing the waters, I allowed my fingers to lightly touch hers. 

What am I even doing… 

I must have remained like that for at least half an hour, quietly watching her face as she drifted off into a slumber. How selfish of her. Here she was, using my presence to soothe her own nightmares, while I lay awake unable to relax now that she was beside me, so close but still so far away. 

I couldn’t have slept any worse. Throughout the night, she eventually moved, rolling over until her back was facing me. I took the opportunity to break away, crawling back to the familiarity of my own space. However, even though I slept lightly, I was still highly aware of her body curled up less than three feet away. 

And when the dawn finally rose over the city, I realised that there was no point remaining in this bed any longer. She had claimed it for herself, stretched out across the mattress with her face buried into my pillow. She could have it for now. I had more pressing matters to deal with. 

I extracted myself from the bed, careful not to rouse her. Judging from the empty bed and the faint shuffling downstairs, Kuina must have woken up in the early hours of the morning after I had drifted off. Knowing her, she would quiz me on this… this sleeping arrangement the moment I went downstairs. 

Shuffling into the store bathroom, I discovered a bottle of water that Kuina had placed by the sink the night before. Whilst we lacked bare essentials like toothpaste and soap, I was still able to wash my face. I was covered in soot and my hair smelled like a bonfire, but there was little I could do about it without water. Nor could I change into clean clothes. Most of my existing clothes had burned, my belongings along with them. 

But not everything. 

The scrap of paper that I had found on the tagger’s body. 

I had almost forgotten about it, but luckily I had kept it safe the pocket of my shorts ever since the Tag game. I hadn’t dared to leave in my room at the Beach just in case it fell into the wrong hands. And now, reaching into my pocket and unfolding the corners, I held up the paper up to the bathroom mirror, staring into the entanglement of lines and seeing my own reflection through that mysterious pinprick right in the centre. 

A map. 

That was the only possibility. But a map of what? Although it had hardy been a priority over the last few weeks, I had been mulling it over in the back of my mind. I had a theory or two, but nothing conclusive…yet. 

As I went downstairs, I bumped straight into Kuina, who had been arranging the furniture into a more homely structure and tearing off the price tags. 

‘Oh my god, you’re awake!’ She set down the dining chair she was holding and gripped my shoulders, eyes wide. ‘You have to tell me what happened! When I woke up you two were like a burrito. It was so cute, I only wish I had my phone so I could have taken a picture.’

‘Nothing happened.’  

‘Are you sure about that? Because it looked kind of like you were cuddling.’ 

‘Nothing happened,’ I repeated firmly, shaking out of her firm grip and walking over to the store entrance. 

She stood there, puzzled for a moment. Then she followed after me. ‘Wait, where are you going now? I didn’t mean to upset you, though you were really cute.’ 

The thought of being “cute” was abhorrent to me. I shut down the idea immediately. ‘There’s something I want to check,’ I told her, pulling my hood over my head. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ 

Before she could protest, I left the furniture store quietly and entered into the desolate concrete of Tokyo in search of the nearest subway station. The air still held a crisp chill, but the dawn spilled out onto the cracks and crevices of the streets. It had been a while since I was able to freely explore the city without having a group of crazed gunmen running around after me. 

It took a little searching, but I finally came across the familiar grimy steps of a subway station. The entrance descended into pitch blackness, but luckily there was no need to bother venturing inside. What I required was displayed right here in front of me on the information board; a large map of Tokyo’s main subway lines, threading and interweaving into a messy knot. Standing several feet back from the map on the board, I held up the square piece of paper. 

So I was right. 

It aligned almost perfectly. 

The hand drawn version was a scribble, of course, but the general shape was the same. The punched hole in the page had to be one of the stations, but given its location on the map, I could narrow down the possibilities quite easily. All that was left was to explore the depths of the subway. 

What will I find there?

What, indeed. 

If it was true that there were dealers to each and every game, then perhaps this would lead me to a base, of sorts. After all, the tagger had to be working for them, no? Or was the tagger a dealer herself, and just like the two girls in the Witch Hunt, she had been forced to participate. Did all dealers have to participate in the games they controlled? That was one possibility. But there were so many more. I had to admit, I was rather looking forward to making my discovery. 

However, now was not the right time. The sun was already high in the sky, and I had someone waiting for me back at my own den. 

_________________________________________________

‘What about when you helped me onto the top floor in the Tag game?’ 

Despite everything that had happened between us, I had forgotten just how annoying she could be. From the moment we set foot inside this mini-mart, she had launched a surprise attack; a barrage of questions to work out exactly when I had stopped manipulating her for my own gain. I could understand why she wanted to know, but if she wasn’t careful, she would only end up hurting herself. 

Hovering at my side, she picked up a can of soup, scanning the picture on the label to translate the flavour. I took it from her and placed it in my own basket. If I allowed her to lug a heavy basket around she would only complain later. 

‘That was only because I thought you’d be useful,’ I said. 

‘And when you pulled me out of the safe room, when the tagger started shooting at us?’ 

I shook my head. Of course not. At the time, I had only intended to keep her around for the sake of either using her as a shield, or as a part of my plan. She followed me into the toiletry aisle, and I picked out a tube of toothpaste while she selected a men’s razor. As she moved to drop it in her basket, I swiped it and put it in my own. 

As if I need you to shop for me. 

She hid her surprise well. ‘Then how about the time when that militant guy with the gun was bothering me at the bar?’ 

‘That wasn’t real either,’ I replied. ‘I saw an opportunity and took it.’ 

She was becoming more and more disheartened by the answers I was giving. What did she expect? If she wanted honesty, I would happily oblige. 

Although, I’m not sure I enjoy being on such thin ice.

When her hand gravitated towards a bar of soap on the top shelf, I intercepted, taking the soap. Perhaps if all I could offer her was an empty basket, it would soften the blows. 

She sighed, thinking harder this time. ‘The deal we made, when you came with me so I could get my own clothes?’ 

I remembered it so clearly, that darkness in Shinjuku Gyoen. Sitting in the roots of the trees with her body pressed against my own, startled by how alive she was, and being faced by the coldness of that vast ocean. Even now, my skin still tingled where I had felt her breath skim the surface of my skin. However, that had nothing to do with the deal we made. 

I shook my head. 

‘And what about Niragi?’ she mumbled. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her basket. ‘When he did what he did? The things you left in my room.’ 

Ah…

Even now, despite how they had healed, I could still envision the faint outline of those bruises. It twisted something in me. A certain revulsion? Perhaps. The mental image of Niragi crouched over her, forcing her down until she cried, touching her under her clothes with his face buried in the junction of her neck… It was distasteful. 

I looked her in the eye, ready with the truth. ‘That was real.’ 

And of course, she blushed with the innocence of a schoolgirl and tried to hide her face in the shelves. Idiot. I had already seen. I placed my hand on her head, laughing lightly at her silly reaction before walking away. 

I wandered around the mini-mart, filling my basket with necessities; first aid supplies, canned foods, dry noodles, toiletries, bottles of water. When our baskets were full - or at least, when mine was - we started off back to our temporary hideout. However, as we walked through Shibuya City, bypassing small stores and eateries, I sensed (name) slowing down. 

She tapped me on the forearm. ‘Hey. Do you mind if I stop by somewhere?’ 

It made no difference to me. ‘Do what you want.’

She didn’t move at first, but swayed her half-empty basket awkwardly. ‘You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want. I’d only be a few minutes.’ 

Unless she was dragging me into a lingerie store or a teddy bear workshop, I really didn’t care where she wanted to go. ‘I’ll come,’ I said. 

With a begrudging huff, she led me down several twists, turns and alleyways until we came across a scruffy apartment block. Inside, there were two broken elevators and a dirty set of stairs. She began to climb, and I followed her up several floors, watching as she peered around at the numbers on the doors. 

Let me guess… you were living here. 

As far as I knew, she had been a tourist. So it begged the question as to what she was doing in a place like this. She shuffled down a narrow hallway before stopping in front of a door. And just when I assumed she would pull out a secret key, she chose instead to surprise me by throwing her side at the door in a pathetic attempt to break it down. 

And naturally, when that didn’t work, she decided to batter it to death with her foot, slamming it into the wood over and over until there was a splintering crack and the door gave way. 

A little dramatic, but I suppose it was necessary. 

Whilst I wasn’t exactly impressed by the state of the apartment, I was curious as to what exactly tied her here. Ducking through the doorway, I entered an open plan living room and kitchen. The place was thick with dust. A visible layer coated the ground and shelves, and motes swirled in the light streaming through the windows. In the middle of the living room, a coffee table had been moved aside and a suitcase lay open on the floor. Several bottles of stagnant water, some half-empty, lay beside it. 

There was nothing especially remarkable about the apartment. In fact, it was uncomfortable and stuffy. But I was intrigued. This was a part of her life in the Borderlands that I had not been a part of. The woman who lived here was a shadow of the woman standing beside me now. She gestured to a half-open door in the corner of the room. Inside was a bathroom. 

‘That was where I was, when it happened.’ She placed her basket on the floor, and I followed suit. ‘It feels strange,’ she added, ‘being here with you. It’s like I’ve come straight back to where I started.’ 

This must have been where she was hiding when we had met, all those weeks ago. ‘It’s been a long time since our first game,’ I agreed quietly. 

She went silent, thinking deeply about something. Perhaps trying to come to a decision. 

‘You know,’ she said at last, ‘if we ever get to leave this place, I think I want to stay in Japan. Maybe I can find you and Kuina in the real world.’

Part of me had expected this, but I couldn’t quite decide whether there would be space for her in that world of mine - in the darkened wallpaper of my life. But as she crouched down by the suitcase, sliding clothes into her basket with a strange determination, the answer came to me strong and clear. 

‘The University of Tokyo Hospital.’ 

She lifted her head. ‘Hm?’ 

‘I’m a medical student,’ I said. ‘I do my clinical rotations at the university hospital.’ 

Her face cracked into a grin. ‘So that’s how you knew how to treat injuries! How come you never said anything before?’ 

Because surely it was obvious. 

‘Because the less people know, the better.’ 

She nodded slowly, mulling it over as she folded a pair of jeans and put them into the basket. ‘What made you want to be a doctor, though? I thought you didn’t care about helping people.’

I don’t. 

Every memory I had of my father - his shoulders sloped over a desk - should have been tinged with bitterness… perhaps some rebellion, or even mixed feelings of love and hatred. But they weren’t. I felt nothing. I couldn’t possibly hate a man who I didn’t truly know. But she didn’t need to know this. And so, I dismissed the matter. 

‘Another time,’ I said. 

‘Fine, fine. I can wait.’ She smiled it off, although a flicker of curiosity remained. 

I joined her in scanning the apartment for goods, however aside from one or two bottled drinks, there wasn’t much that we could find, let alone carry. She emerged from the bathroom with even more toiletries than we needed, but there was nothing more for us here. For either of us. 

Except that curiosity of hers. 

The more I thought about my past, the more I realised she was part of a different world. For her to know how I truly felt, this emptiness festering within every crevice of my life, it was a disturbing thought. 

And as we left the apartment, heading back to where Kuina was waiting for us, I noted the small spring in her step, that happy-go-lucky smile that made her look like a fool. It seemed a shame to mar that smile. 

Just how close can I allow you to get?

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Statistical Outliers

More drabble. Fixed it so there's links to the other parts just in case!

Noon drawing near had never been so bothersome. This was about the time he could tempt with cooking channels, game shows for the odd bored soul, and sappy dramas for everyone locked up in their house. It was usually the easiest part of the day, mostly re-runs and making himself something for lunch. Now, all his stolen time seemed to be catching up to him. He has never dreaded that stupid clock more than he did now, and he hated that.

The kid had taken to playing with his sharks. Yes, that’s right, playing. Apparently, sharks could play. They chased him from one end of the room to the other, crashing between themselves when the kid suddenly changed direction. The kid loved stopping short and watching them be suddenly forced to veer the other way. The string of bubbles they made from the effort danced like jellyfish in the blue light.

They want to eat him, he told himself. If he threw him in there, they would eat him. They’re only pretending, only gaining his trust. Like you. It’s all an act, remember?

His internal clock ticked for fifteen minutes to twelve, and by that time he couldn’t take the waiting any more. Just rip the bandage off now while your nerve is still there.

He did one more quick check of his shows, then unplugged.

“Come on. We have to get going now.”

“Okay.” The kid quickly turned back and waved to the aquarium. “Bye, Anchor. Bye, Barge. Be back in a sec.”

The sharks, who needed to keep swimming if they wanted to, you know, breath, stood floating still as the kid retreated back towards the door, next to Vox. Sharks couldn’t look somber, and they weren’t smart enough to understand. He knew that. So why were they holding their breath as the kid left?

“They can swim down to the conference room. It’s just below us.” He explained.

“Really?” He gasped. “That’s amazing! This has got to be the biggest, coolest aquarium I’ve ever seen.”

He glanced around once more, seemingly looking for something.

“But how does it connect? I mean, your monitor floor just kinda drops off.”

“The conference room is…sorta of in the middle of the tank, towards the bottom. You see how far down it drops? If you go down far enough, you’ll see the room. To them, I imagine it looks like a big square bubble.” He explained. Installing it had been a pain, but he thinks it was worth it in the end.

“For a guy with a lot of electronics, you sure do like getting close to water.” He joked.

“I’m a CEO. Sharks are my spirit animals.” He teased back. Wait, stop. Serious mode, remember? The kid grabbed his coattails again as the lift dragged them down.

The main conference room was at the end of a hallway. There were other doors there, for other meeting rooms and certain desk workers, but nothing like the main room. Vox made sure that room had prestige to it the others did not. If someone was invited there, it was always important. More often than not, the Vees would make use of the place as their personal scheme room. Val has tried talking him into finding other uses for the space, even just quickly, but Vox has tried to keep it as professional of a place as possible. Even if he had to pull teeth to do it.

The plan, originally, was to put him in there. But, as they kept walking, he thought about how he’d constantly think of the kid running and cowering in that room while he was sitting and supposed to be paying attention. He’s not sure he’d be able to see the space without considering it and…well, it wasn’t productive to be distracted like that.

He pulled open a different door, one of the other conference rooms he usually reserves for employees going through earnings and whatnot. This place was much more familiar with the concept of people’s suffering, especially by Vox’s displeased hand. Outside, the conference room attendant seemed confused. The rooms were all maintained down to the minute, each project given its own timeframe. Most likely, there would be a meeting in there shortly. He gave her the universal sign for ‘fix that because I’m taking this over’, which amounted to a slight scowl and a dismissive wave.

The kid ran over to the aquarium windows. While not as grand as the view from the main conference room, you could still into the space. Anchor and Barge have apparently chosen not to swim down. He can’t say he blames them, even if a small part of him wished they would show. What’s the matter boys? You can’t tell me that now you suddenly don’t want to see a little blood.

Lacking the bigger fish, the baitfish came out from hiding. Little glowing techno eyes were infatuated with the kid’s twirling fingers.

“Do they have names?”

“I don’t give names to feeder fish.” If you name it, you might mistakenly get attached to it, a problem Vox was getting too familiar with.

“I dub thee, Nemo.” He said, mimicking a sword with his pointer finger and tapping where their shoulders might have been.

“Really? ‘Nemo’? It’s not even a clownfish.”

The kid looked at him, very confused.

“…why would it have to be a clownfish?”

“Because Nemo is a clownfish.”

“What are you talking about?” Why was he looking at him like he was crazy?

“The fucking fish from that animated flick, Nemo!”

“…um, Nemo is the captain of the Nautilus. I’ve never heard of clownfish named Nemo.”

A quick search jumped across his head. Oh. That movie didn’t come out until after the kid was dead and buried. And Hell wasn’t exactly known for playing kid flicks. To be honest, the only reason he watched it was because Velvette said he would like it.

It was perhaps the one time she recommended a good movie. It just also happened to be a kid’s movie. So Vox could never watch it again. Unless he had an excuse. Which he now had.

“Note that under things you need to watch later.” He logged to himself.

“You…want me to watch a clownfish? A clownfish named Nemo?”

“Trust me, you’ll understand later.” Assuming the kid ever spoke to him again.

Which he would. He was stupidly trusting and forgiving. Sure, this was personal and, well, he’d be lying if he’d said he wasn’t completely taking advantage of that trust. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t deceiving the kid. That…that what he planned to do to him wasn’t going to make Vox feel like he got stabbed in whatever was left of his black heart.

He just kept smiling. Naivety has never looked so cursed. At least suspect something, anything!

“Okay, I trust you. If you say it’s worth it, I’d think you’d know better than me.”

That was the end of his rope. He couldn’t be here right now.

Faster than he meant to, too quick to look normal, he turned to walk out.

“I’ll…I’ll be back in a minute. Something just came up. And…and then we got to talk about something else.”

“Anything I can help with?” Concern crept into his voice, and he moved just slightly closer. You might as well have poked him with a hot fire pick, because he overreacted. His whole body flinched. The kid recoiled like it was his fault, and he pulled his hands up to his chest. He kept them so close, you’d think he was trying to protect his heart.

He didn’t know the feeling. Something worse than feeling empty inside started festering behind his ribcage. It was messing with his breathing, like it infected his lungs. He almost wished he could cut himself open and pull it out with his bare hands.

“No just…just stay here. I’ll be back.”

Obedient, stupid kid watched him the whole time, standing there in the middle of the room like he wanted to reach out towards him. The door shut, and the kid was gone from direct view, but there were eyes everywhere. He could see him fidget, make like he was going to go after him, then freeze. He knew something was wrong. He knew it.

“Mr. Vox, sir? Any specific instructions for your men?” His assistant asked. How could she act so calm? Did she not see the kid? Did she not care?

For once, she was dressed appropriately, or what amounted to appropriate. Sure, her heels were a little high, and her eyes batted a little too invitingly, but it all seemed to be covered in haze. Like there was privacy glass drawn across his eyes. It was all too fuzzy, even for him to be annoyed.

“They stop the second he says he’ll sign.” He said, not trusting himself to say too much. “If they lay a finger on him after he says it, they will wish they were dead. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.” She said with a nod. She talked into her headset, instructing a unit to get ready. Inside, the kid’s patience wore out. His worry made him grab for the door, only to realize it was locked. He started tugging, fighting with the lock. It didn’t budge.

He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t stand here. He’s not sure he’d physically be able to stand aside if he was here.

“Sir?”

“Keep me posted.” With that, he floored it back to his monitors, back to his distractions. Except, when he got there, he was reminded that he was never truly turned off from the rest of it. It didn’t have to be on screen. He could see the kid freaking out on camera, banging on the door. He even called his name. No response, obviously.

Outside, his grunts gathered. He’d not really been too keen on picking anyone out specifically. He’d just told his attendant to put together a scary group of thugs, dogs that looked mean enough for whatever needed to be done. He’d called it throwing him to the wolves. It felt so literal now. The smallest mutt there could fit the kid’s head in his jaws. Their teeth were bigger than his fingers and sharp. Canine teeth were meant to grasp, shred, and tear the flesh. The kid had them too, but his were so small. He’s not sure he’d break skin if he tried.

The kid abandoned the door for the camera. He shoved over a chair and climbed up to it. Voice panicked, he still kept asking for him. He’s never had such a close-up view of his eyes before, splintered green irises surrounding those oversized pupils. Green was a rarer color down here, because green was the color of the world above. Unless it was money green or emerald green, it didn’t belong down here. Unless there was some monetary tie to it, it shouldn’t be green.

There was an iridescence to his eyes that you didn’t see unless you were this close. It was delicate, the only things his database could compare it to were hummingbird feathers or a butterflying’s wing. They were small and frail things, things that were easy to break.

“Can you hear me? The door is locked.” He said.

Vox didn’t answer. How could he?

Oh, Vox. What did you do?

You did what you had to do.

Really? You had to do this?

The wolves hyped themselves up. They caught the scent of fox, apparently. Some of them started to drool. The kid cupped the camera still trying for a response. He was wasting his time.

He didn’t want to watch this.

You did this. You better watch it. Suck it up.

“Shut up.” He hissed.

Why? Too afraid to look in the mirror?

Red eyes blared back at him, teasing him. He wanted to strangle the life out of them. His hands tremored, fighting against his instinct to do just that.

The world is a stage, Vox.

They laughed like hyenas right before the lunge. The kid abandoned the camera for the table. A knock on the wood was loud, vibrating plenty to hear. Then, a series of taps: Loxley to Bogie. Come in, Bogie! Signs are reading Red! Emergency, respond!

He didn’t answer.

And the stage is a world of entertainment.

His assistant pulled out her cardkey, and an electronic beep opened the lock. The kid was already in the corner of the room. He was still tapping, though on the walls. His back was to the tank glass, projecting a shadow over his face. Over and over, it was more of the same: Come in, Bogie! Respond! Bogie!

Then, after a moment, it got more desperate. The taps were faster, its message simple and shaking him to his core: Vox, where are you?

Isn’t this so much fun?

“Shut up!” He screamed.

He dragged his hand back and punched a hole through his main monitor. Pieces of it got stuck in his hands, turning them red. His claws dug and ripped the cables from the back of his head. Live wires sparked in protest and his system’s redundancies kicked in. In his head, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The feed wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t escape it. It danced even behind his closed eyes: teeth bared and the doors swinging open.

Make it stop! It had to stop! He didn’t want to watch this!

He screamed again, though it sounded more like it came from everywhere but his own throat. Lightning sprang up in bolts and flooded the room. Safety measures failed. The insulators were exhausted. The system overloaded. Too much went into it, and it couldn’t take it anymore. Everything around him sizzled and shuddered out. The lights shattered, glass falling down from above. The screens around him dropped like dominoes, each successive one glitching out and going dark. The cameras hung down, as if tired from holding their heads up, the little red lights of recording fading. Without Voxtek maintaining it, the internet shut down. Hell, the city could’ve gone dark for all he knew. Vee tower itself blacked out.

And it was finally quiet.

He leaned back in his chair, catching his breath.

Coward.

It was gone now. He couldn’t see the footage. So why was it still playing in his head? Things that he never saw happen plagued him still. His own mind was fighting now, replaying events from a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, right? He never saw it happen.

That didn’t make it any less real. Right now, the kid was screaming, flailing, kicking, and, worst of all, probably still under some misguided idea that he was going to show up and put a stop to it.

Maybe…maybe he could do a hard reboot. Just turn his fucking brain off for a couple of hours.

Emergency power restarted the system. It was an added thing, a necessary extra, once Vox realized that an over surge could take out the city’s system. Whether because he just lost it, or because Alastor messed with it, Vox had been unwilling to take the chance of everything being down for too long. Especially because Alastor was back.

The Wi-Fi sprung back first. Velvette had insisted on that being among the first things. Yeah, it might seem dumb for that to be among them. Why not the security? Honestly, she made a good case for it at the time. No one could beat them while they were together. They were the Vees. When they worked as a unit, no overlord in hell stood even a sliver of a chance in that fight. If the tower went down, then something was wrong with Vox, obviously. Therefore, it was in the best interest of the other two to know where he was and possibly get in contact with each other. In the worst case, they could track each other down to the exact location. Yeah, of course he had tracers on them all. And yes, it came quite in handy when Val got drunk and lost.

Either way, the idea was if the Wi-Fi was back on, then they would know where the others were, if they were okay…and, though never explicitly said, if Vox was dead. His signal wasn’t programed into a phone. His was in his head. If he wasn’t transmitting after a surge…he was dead. Simple as that.

He was tempted to turn his locator off though, just this once. He just…couldn’t handle reining them in right now. He couldn’t juggle Velvette screaming about her blog and how Vox nearly ruined it with an outburst alongside Valentino throwing a hissy fit because the lights turned off and he couldn’t see a damn thing.

All of that on top of having to negotiate terms with the kid, between tears, a torn up face, and god knows what else.

He put his head in his hands and leaned forward. God, he didn’t want to handle this.

The security measures jumped on afterwards, emergency lighting and all that. The automated doors clicked ready for use. The safety shutdown system stood at attention. That one was used more for angel attacks than anything else. Obviously, they had little use for it recently.

A ring sounded. His assistant was calling. The cameras weren’t up yet, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out why she was calling. Come on, Vox. You’re on air. The audience is waiting.

He answered.

“Yes?”

“S-sir! I-I-I am so s-sorry!” She was sobbing, flipping out. Half of what she said wasn’t understandable. The other half was making Vox sit straight up.

“What happened?”

“I-I-I was d-doing a-as you asked and w-when we walked i-into the room…S-sir, y-you have to understand, it wasn’t my fault!”

A horrifying dread clawed his throat open.

“The kid. What-?”

She talked over him. Something was very wrong for her to do that.

“B-but then the p-power w-went o-out and I d-didn’t see it and-”

“What happened?” He yelled, feeling like he was burning out his speakers when he said it. They’ve already had a trying day. Hell, his fans were working so hard that he could hardly hear anymore.

“The c-child, h-h-he’s, I-I couldn’t tell with the lights out, s-sir and-”

Dead, his imagination filled it out for him. The kid was dead.

He risked combusting right then and there. His body was ready to tear itself to pieces, to turn into banded bright fury and collapse on those fucking dogs. He’d fire off every receptor of pain. He’d rewire the circuits in their heads, ripping pathways open by searing heat. He’d have them screaming, begging for death, and having them completely unable to move. For the rest of fucking existence, they’d be nothing but screaming inside of their own heads, for murdering that kid.

But…but that wasn’t the truth, was it?

He did that. He let them do that. He told them to.

That stupid, useless kid trusted him. Up until the very end.

And Vox had him killed.

“I-I’m sure h-he hasn’t gotten far, s-sir.” She stammered.

Wait. The cavity that craved its way into his chest suddenly felt a little less empty. Now, fear was crawling inside it.

“…you lost him?”

“Y-yes, s-sir. When the power when out, h-he…what I mean t-to say is, um-”

“There’s nothing in that room.”

“S-sir?”

“That room. There’s nothing in there but a table and some chairs.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“There’s only one exit. One. Which had you and ten giant fucking dogs in the way.”

“Y-yes, sir.” She confirmed.

“And you mean to tell me that he’s gone?”

Alastor. His shadow could do that, drag someone from the darkness like that. It’s also usually not too far from its owner.

Vox enacted the security shutdown right then. All around, titanium screens closed shut around the windows. The vents were sealed and pressurized, making a whisper of rushing wind around the tower. Interior lighting didn’t quite go back to normal, but the emergency bulbs replaced their broken counterparts. Any and all exposed areas had nets over nets filing in, until filled with a metal cover that would survive a nuke. He’d know. He tested it.

Areas inside the tower started sectioning off themselves. It was another feature, meant to keep everyone who wasn’t a Vee in their rooms. They didn’t need the chaos from a running, panicking crowd. Val’s studio, with mostly editing employees there today since Val was still in his room, closed up. The windows barricaded themselves. Fibers of angelic steel morphed into the framework, giving the shutters a glistening look. Similarly, Vel’s pad locked tight. Since hers was more interior to the tower, the elevators plunging down into default mode in the basement was much more noticeable. It probably looked and felt like a deranged carnival ride, not that Vox has given it a go. The lifts themselves had specialized locks on both the interior and exterior entrance doors to the different floors. You’d have better luck trying to break into a military hanger than crawling up the levels of Vee tower.

Nothing short of Lucifer himself was going to get through all of that.

Slowly, the cameras started blinking back on. Val was pacing the room, a strong drink in his hand. His bot was there too, carrying around a tray for him to put it down on. He didn’t. In fact, it looked like he couldn’t decide if he was going to drown or smoking himself to death first, given that Vox has only just gotten access to the room and he’s seen Val puff through two cigarettes already.

No sign of the kid.

Val noticed the camera on. Nerves were replaced by ire in an instant.

“Vox, what the fuck?”

Vel’s pad came on next. Her designers had taken cover. It looked like her lighting suffered worse than Val’s. The overheads that were still in one piece flicked menacingly. Vel herself was yelling orders, keeping her employees’ attention on anything else but what was going on.

“Elisa, stop being a bitch and get those fabrics away from there! Do you know how much they’d cost to replace? And Beatrice, who the fuck told you to hide under the table? You think a fucking table is going to keep you safe from me?”

She, like Val, noticed the camera about then. She didn’t yell, but she did start texting him a stream of insults, arguments, and, once, asking if he was okay.

The kid wasn’t here either.

The anxiety kept rising in him. The cameras would only turn on so quickly, only after they had time to run diagnostics and reboot. Every time a new view showed up, it felt like a small victory, only to quickly drag him further into alarm. Because every single time, the kid wasn’t there.

Alastor grabbed him. It was the only thing that made sense. Alastor was hiding somewhere in the building and he grabbed the kid. Imaginary red eyes started teasing him in the peripheral of his vision, just where monsters liked to hide. It was right where a glance would make them disappear, and to take your eyes completely away was akin to giving up the ghost.

His assistant was taking those dogs around now, trying to sniff out the scent. Unfortunately, they seemed to hit a roadblock. According to all the yelling, the scent was coming from everywhere. Which is impossible. Unless a shadow demon grabbed you and raced across the wall, he imagines. That would do it.

His phone was blowing up. Val and Vel were losing it in the group chat. Mostly yelling. But his nerves were so frayed they were sparking at the ends. He did text back though.

Alastor grabbed the kid.

Silence.

He’s in the building and he grabbed the kid, he clarified.

You saw that? Valentino asked. How the fuck did he get in here?

I don’t know. I didn’t see him. He answered.

Vox, are you sure? Vel added.

He was in the conference room, Vel. Now he’s gone. There’s no other way he could’ve gotten out.

Just then, the nightmare crawled out from where it was hiding. Around his room, he could hear metal grating, something knocking about in the walls. It sounded like something with claws was reaching out toward him, an echo vibrating through the whole room. His sharks could feel the vibration, and they scattered at the noise.

He’s here.

Vee, what are you talking about?

He’s in here with me.

Vox! Open the fucking doors! He could see Val chewing his tobacco stick right through. His wings puffed out as he tried to break down the lift doors.

Vee, I’m right downstairs! But I can’t get out unless you unlock the pad doors! Velvette pulled off her heels and smashed the hinges right off the first set of doors with the spike.

The clawing sound got closer and closer. He still couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Here, in his own throne room, where the seat of his media empire sat, he was blind. And alone.

But he was not going down without a fight.

A vent cover popped off, right there, next to the door. It was an exhaust vent, one of the ones he uses to make sure this room stays cool. The opening was small, hardly enough for a rat to crawl through. Or so he’d thought. No sooner had it flung off than two stupidly large ears popped out from the opening. In the dark, his eyes seemed to glow, like all nocturnal animals did. He was covered in dust, some cobwebs, and his hair was frayed like he got into a fight with a hairdryer.

Abject panic was strewn across his face, and the second he made eye contact with Vox, he burst into tears.

“You’re alive!” He screamed, squirming the rest of himself out from there and booking it towards him. Vox hadn’t had time for anything to start making sense, and the kid had already grabbed him in a tight hug. “Don’t scare me like that!”

How? Just…just how?

“You…you thought something happened to me?” His mouth ran ahead of his brain.

“Of course I did! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” The kid protested. “You were all sorts of upset when you left! Then the door locked. Then, you didn’t answer when I called you! And then the tower blacked out! And then the whole place locked down like it was Alcatraz or something!”

The kid’s voice curled off, broken and weeping.

“I thought…I thought…” He couldn’t even finish what he wanted to say, like it was too horrible to put into words.

Stop it. This needed to stop, right now.

“No one can kill me!” He snapped. He grabbed the kid by the lapels. “You understand me? I will never be in trouble because there’s not a goddamn person down here that’s stupid enough to try it. I would crush them all, understand?”

The kid didn’t even care that Vox’s nails had ripped through the collar of his shirt. His face immediately went to the destruction around that Vox himself caused.

“Then, why-?”

“I locked you in the room!” The truth came pouring out. Like the dam was too full and just flooded. “I sent my men down there to make you sign the damn contract!”

He held the kid off the ground with one hand, his other grasped the air. A written form appeared from thin air, a paper with long words and airtight language, not unlike the contracts he had with his other employees. At the bottom, there were two signatures required on dotted lines. His own was already filled out. The other was just waiting.

He sat the kid down in his chair, slamming the contract in front of him. A pen materialized from nowhere, its ink strangely filling the room with a coppery smell.

“Sign. It.” He was livid. He never knew he could get this mad.

And the kid still had audacity to have water streaking down his face from before. He looked down at it though, apparently reading it. As if he could understand that. Even his lawyers hardly understood-

“I can’t sign it.”

“You’re going to sign it, or I swear to god-”

“Vox, even if I wanted to, I can’t.” He pointed to a paragraph, a stupid couple of lines detailing how Vox had the right to every and all communications among other things. It was basically just them waiving their rights to privacy, which, well, wasn’t too different from what Vox usually did anyways. None of them even looked twice at it.

“What? Something you don’t want me to see? You know I see everything, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it violates my NDA, so I can’t.”

The whiplash was jarring. It hurt his head to try to wrap his mind around that little tidbit. How does a kid even know what an NDA is? Much less, how does a kid sign an NDA? Who makes a kid sign an NDA?

“NDA? You have an NDA? I thought you said you still owned your soul?”

“I do. I still work.” He said, like it was obvious. “My boss is very particular about his privacy.”

He knew the kid drove a car, a fancy car. He assumed he worked as part of a service, just one cog in the machine. He was just starting to realize that the ‘boss’ wasn’t the guy in charge of a limo service.

“Who’s your boss?”

“Um. I did just say I have an NDA. I can’t tell you who my boss is. Look, I’ll prove it. My boss’s name is-” His mouth moved but no sound came out. He just gave Vox a shrug. “See? Can’t say it.”

“But you still own your soul?”

“’Course. It’s a standard employee contract. I get paid every week for, ‘services rendered’. It’s basically just a fancy way of saying I drive my boss around in the car. There are the little additives he put on it, just to make sure stuff doesn’t go wrong. Like the ‘no saying the name’ thing. And the ‘mind control’ thing, that too.”

“…what ‘mind control’ thing?”

“I dunno. Some kind of spell. Makes it so I can’t get mind controlled, I guess, so he can protect his secrets. Your hypno eye still gives me a headache though.”

Was he serious? He can’t be serious. This whole time, Vox’s suggestions haven’t and didn’t work? The most he accomplished was making him want an Advil?

“That’s…that’s some NDA.” Who was strong enough to even do that? Vox didn’t even know you could do that. Oh, this was a grapevine he was going have to follow to its source. This could seriously mess his plans up later. “And your boss he…he really doesn’t want people to know where he goes and who he talks to?”

That’s something either the paranoid or the scheming get up to down here. Either one with that much power was a concern, to say the least. An overlord, perhaps? Off the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t think of any that was in close connection to the kid. Then again, now that he’s relooking the footage, he…can’t see anyone in the car. He doesn’t see anyone get out of the car either. All he sees is the kid driving around and, occasionally, opening and closing the door like he was escorting ghosts. This wasn’t like Alastor’s distortion, where he knew he was there, he just couldn’t see the whole picture. This was something else entirely.

“Like I said, he likes his privacy. Can you let go now?” He asked, nonchalant.

Vox had the contract disappear, but questions still lingered. He still caged him in the chair.

“Why aren’t you mad at me? I was going to feed you to my dogs. How the hell did you even get out of there?”

“Um, first, who says I’m not mad? Don’t feed your friends to dogs. Second, I climbed up the vent. I thought that was obvious.”

There was a vent in there, as he said, to keep the computers running well. That would also explain why the dogs couldn’t track him down. If he was in the vent when the shutdown happened, an air current would’ve pushed the scent across every room interconnected with the one he was in. While he’s a little surprised the kid himself wasn’t pushed out, he can’t say the system was ever meant to force something as big as a child with the power of air alone.

“You don’t sound mad.” He commented.

“To be honest, I’m just glad you’re alive. You really scared me.”

With that, Vox had enough data. Calculations spat out conclusions slowly. His supercomputer brain was just a fumbled mess right now from the emotional rollercoaster. But, it came up with a few things. One, he was never going to get the kid under contract. Two, there was very little he could do to make the kid hate him now. Three, he’s too attached to the fuzzball to want to make him hate him.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Odds are, he was talking to himself as much as the kid.

“You’ve told me.” He nodded.

The room tremored like a hellquake was happening. The doors to his room were pried apart by giant nails. The four bedazzled guns of Valentino bounced the light from the screens around, making the place shine like a disco. The moth himself spewed smoke in like a factory, poison dripping from elongated fangs. His wings were spread out, an almost eye like pattern piercing out from the scaling. He only got scarier as his true demon form started ripping out from his body. It was a demented, twisted version of an emerging from a cocoon, as if Val’s body was just barely holding back an even more terrifying beast underneath. He’s seen Val molt before. Had he not seen that, he might’ve assumed that Val was secretly a fucking alien emerging like that.

He pointed the guns about, at every shadow hiding around the room.

“Hands off my fucking man, you son of a bitch!”

“Val-”

The sound of porcelain grating against itself put him to pause. From the plummeting depths of the room, Vel crawled her way up the monitor’s island. Her face looked like cracks against a glass plate. Inky blackness trailed those lines and dripped from her eyes and mouth. He was reminded of the story of Bloody Mary, a spooky tale for children, where the ghost emerged if you said her name too much while looking at a mirror. This too he’s seen before, but to date he can name the number of times on one hand. Still surprised him, every time.

“I’ll tear you apart! You hear that fossil? Don’t you fucking dare touch my boys!”

The kid and him shared a look as his fellow Vees came charging in, guns literally blazing, ready for a fight.

A grin spread across the kid’s muzzle.

“‘I don’t have friends’, he says.” His voice made a sound like an imitation of Vox’s voice, if Vox had swallowed a squeaker. He kept teasing. “‘It’s different with Val and Vel’, he says.”

“Kid-”

“Let me guess. Shut up?”

“Exactly.”

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

[justsome-di]

The Fairest of All Stars: Chapter Five

Andy didn’t mean to become a pirate captain, but after killing the captain of her ship, she finds herself thrust into the role. Years after the incident, she is fierce and feared and recovering from a tropical fever that wiped out half her crew.

Just as they’re about to dock, they find an injured siren left behind by her choir. Andy, drawn to her, pulls her onto the ship and decides to keep her there until she recovers. But with the Navy hunting for both pirates and sirens, Andy has just made her ship an even bigger target for an iniquitous captain looking for revenge.

Warning for suicidal thoughts and violence. Will contain mature scenes.

Also available for free on Patreon (paid members are five installments ahead and will get exclusive bonus stories) and on AO3. If you enjoy reading Stars please consider leaving a comment on AO3, Patreon, or reblogging these chapters! Follow for more updates!

*Fun Fact: fainting during bloodletting was considered a sign that the treatment was working.

Joseph propped Andy up in her bed, ignoring her cries of pain. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. It might as well have been a hammer slamming into her. The pain made her head spin, and her stomach churn. For a moment, she saw white spots dance in front of her vision.

Joseph was quick at least. She had to give him that. The burning in her bones didn’t last long after she was settled onto pillows against her headboard. She could catch her breath and blink until her room became clear in her vision again.

She knew what was coming, and she tried pulling away. Her muscles were useless, though, and she had no strength compared to the men standing in front of her.

Joseph pulled her arm out and held her wrist away from her bed. Pinkey held a bowl under her arm.

“Ready?” Joseph asked Pinkey.

The bastard didn’t even bother to ask Andy before he flicked his scalpel on the inside of her arm. Blood immediately welled up and then dripped down into the waiting bowl. Pinkey held it steady. He caught every drop.

Andy hated being bled. She hated the sting of the scalpel on her arm, cutting through her skin. It was worse that Joseph was a sadist and always waited until she had fainted before he stopped. She always woke up cold and shaking while he carried her blood away, parading it around the whole ship. And for days after, she remained weak. She was a captain for Christ’s sake. It was undignified to be laid low for so long. No one respected weak captains.

Not to mention she didn’t trust Tobi to make good decisions while she was in her bloodless daze.

Sweat broke out on Andy’s brow and then the back of her neck and then all of her. She tried taking a deep breath.

“Stop,” she said.

Deep in her stomach, she felt the usual cramping and nausea rising. Her chest ached as it spread upward. 

“You’re almost done.”

Joseph mopped the sweat from her forehead. She made the most pathetic sound. Her lips were numb. Her limbs were cold. Blood rushed into her ears, and she heard the ocean roaring inside her head. She tried taking another breath in through her nose. She needed air, she needed something to get to her brain and her limbs and anchor her body down to the bed.

Andy wanted to beat Joseph with her fists, pound on his arms to make him stop. She wanted her blood back. She wanted to scream at him that she understood why he was a disgraced surgeon, why no one ever wanted him to treat them. He was a shit physician. He was disgracefully terrible at his job. When she was well again, she was going to kick him off her ship and put him right back in the bar she had found him in. She’d pray for the first time in years. She’s pray that he would drink himself to death.

She breathed in, deeply, desperate for the air like a starving man desperate for a morsel of food.

She must have fainted before the exhale.

The next thing she was aware of, her head was lying to the side and her body felt more present. Not entirely back with her but at least in the same room as her head.

She opened her eyes, blinking until they stayed open. Her eyelids were almost too heavy to lift.

Right in front of her sat the siren.

If she had the energy, she would have jumped, but as her body was more like that of a corpse, she stayed still. She stayed still, staring directly in the face of the siren.

The siren’s eyes were dark. Andy was lost in them. Maybe on a different day, Andy would see something behind them beyond the raw exhaustion that haunted them. They looked to hold nothing warm or happy. She was a monster, after all. Maybe that was how she looked when she wasn’t singing to lure in her prey. Maybe Andy was wrong to look for something human in them.

The siren leaned forward until her face was only inches away from Andy’s. For a split second, Andy thought she was leaning in to devour her. But the siren’s mouth was gagged. Someone was treating her like a prisoner. And in all fairness, the siren was able to get up and walk around now. Her legs had seemingly healed. Her strength returned much sooner than Andy’s. Everyone who still feared her had to be careful.

Andy saw that her wrists were bound when she raised them above the bed. Her fingers were nearly forced to intertwine, but she managed to extend one of her index fingers above the rest. Slowly, she lowered her hands to Andy’s cheek. Right above the cheekbone and right underneath her eye. Her finger brushed against the skin, so light that Andy would have felt the touch of a ghost better.

She stroked her finger down Andy’s cheek until she reached her jaw. She pulled her hands away and then lowered them to her hair. Between a few fingers, the siren rubbed a lock of hair. She pulled away again.

All of the siren’s movements were so slow, so calculated, so curious. Andy felt like an animal being pet by a small child.

The siren tilted her head. Her eyes, shadowed by dark circles under them, were curious now. There was something in them that put Andy at ease.

“Captain?”

Andy turned her eyes to the doorway. Pinkey and Joseph stood in the doorway again with the bleeding bowl now empty. They stayed still, frozen, unsure if they should take any sudden movements lest they startle the monster.

Andy couldn’t respond. She couldn’t say that the siren wasn’t any harm—that she knew so deep down. It was her gut feeling. Her instinct after fighting so many people. So many humans.

“Miss Siren.” Pinkey put his hands on the siren’s shoulders and gently urged her up. “You should be resting still.”

Joseph eyed the siren and Pinkey suspiciously. He turned to Andy with a worried eye.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

With no strength left, Andy’s eyes closed.

—

Andy slept through the next three days of her fever. Whenever she briefly swam to consciousness, she swore that the siren was watching her. All she could make out with her foggy brain so clouded was her piercing eyes. At night, they reflected the light of the moon and candles, silver and startling. In the daytime, they were dark and hollow.

Joseph assured her that the siren slept just as much as she did when she deliriously babbled to him. She wasn’t watching Andy. She was ill herself, her injuries draining her. She was weak. Her rise from the fainting couch was only a fluke. A rush of adrenaline, fueled by her confusion.

“We can take her out of here,” Joseph offered. “If she’s bothering you. Tobi has a cell for her in the brig already.”

Andy shook her head. She tried wetting her dry lips with her tongue, but her whole mouth was as dry as a desert. All it did was scrape against the mounds of dried, scratchy skin. “She stays.”

The three days felt both long and short. The minutes seemed to drag on when Andy stared at her ceiling, trying to find one spot to focus on that wasn’t spinning around her. The hours went by quickly when she lay through them, unconscious and unaware of everything around her.

Joseph rubbed her joints with balm. He massaged her muscles. He flipped her around on her mattress despite her groans of pain to avoid bed sores. Andy remained ungrateful through it all—through every temperature check, through every towel that wiped away her sweat, through every finger pressed against her pulse point.

On the fourth day, her fever broke.

She woke early in the morning, before Joseph’s first visit of the day. The sun was just rising. Her room was filled with the warm light of sun rays falling through the window and over her bed like an extra blanket. Summer was approaching.

There was little pain. The deep, splintering pain all over her body had been replaced by a dull throb. When she breathed, it no longer felt like glass shards lined her lungs. Her joints could bend with some ease. There was only a small protest from her body when she rolled over on her mattress.

In her line of vision, just as she had been, laid the siren. She stared ahead at Andy. Her mouth was still gagged, her hands still bound. Only a blanket covered her body. Her bare shoulders were exposed.

They locked eyes and didn’t look away.

"If you come over here, I’ll untie you,” Andy said. Her voice was gravelly, and her throat ached at every syllable.

The siren stared.

“Do you speak human languages?” Andy asked. “Do you speak English?”

The siren nodded. She pulled her blanket off of her and gingerly set her feet on the floor. It looked painful for her to stand, but she managed it. Her steps forward were slow.

“Wait,” Andy said. “Hold on.”

The siren was naked. Andy could see scarring along her legs where the fishing net had been wrapped around her tail. Each scar was pink and inflamed but definitely healing. They wrapped around her legs and to her waist and just brushed her stomach. In places, the flesh caved in. Some wounds were still scabbed over, dark and tight and puckered up. There was little untouched skin on her legs. The fishing net had been more brutal than Andy remembered.

“Get that coat.” Andy gestured to the coat that she had been wearing the night she pulled the siren from the rocks. It laid over her desk, covering a mess of books and journals and maybe an old meal. “Cover yourself with it.”

With her hands still bound, the siren couldn’t do it yet. But she carried it with her to Andy’s bed. It dragged on the floor beside her. At the very least, as she held it in front of her, it covered her genitals and legs.

Andy reached for the ropes around her wrist. The siren’s skin was rubbed raw from them, though they looked to have been treated already with some sort of balm. Andy’s fingers rested on the knot.

“If I take these off, will you eat me?”

Andy knew, deep down, that the siren wouldn’t hurt her. There was no need to. It would have happened by now, Andy thought. If she were strong enough, if she were malicious enough, she wouldn’t have sat in that room, on that couch, for so long.

The siren sneered as best as she could. Her nose wrinkled, and her brow furrowed. She shook her head aggressively. It was as if she was disgusted by the idea of eating Andy.

“Okay, Christ.” Andy worked on the knot. “You don’t have to be appalled.”

The knot fell away easily. Whoever tied it mustn't have thought she was a major threat. Andy unwrapped it from the siren’s wrists. Someone had taken pity. The same person who had treated the rope burns.

“You can do the rest yourself.”

The siren reached behind her head and untied the gag. She grimaced and touched her cracked lips. The corners of her mouth were dry and red. Very irritated and on the verge of bleeding.

Andy could see now that the siren looked a little more human and a little less dead. Her face was covered in healing, small scratches, but it had recovered a healthier pallor. Her eyes, most importantly, no longer carried that haunted look. There was some clarity to them now.

“Can you talk?” Andy asked.

“Of course I can fucking talk.” The siren pulled the coat over her shoulders.

“Oh! And what a foul mouth you have!”

Andy was pleased to hear foul language come from such a beautiful mouth and voice—which was deeper than Andy would have expected. She spoke clearly with some sort of inflection that sounded like an accent a human would have. Something similar to Andy’s father’s.

In her head, Andy suspected that the siren would be passive and helpless. Andy had imagined herself as her hero and that the siren would be grateful for her. But she seemed to be in a bad mood. She was much different than the siren that had touched her cheek nights ago. Definitely different than the one writhing in pain on those rocks.

Andy didn’t want to stop talking.

Part of it was because she was a siren, and Andy was curious. Another part was because she thought the siren was very beautiful and talking to her would let Andy look at her longer. It was as simple as that. Andy liked pretty women, and that was apparently not limited to human women.

“I was told a story once about a siren," Andy said. She wanted it to be clear that she knew a thing or two about sirens. Or that she had at least heard about them. "Apparently, she was beautiful. But she ate someone. She has three rows of teeth."

The siren stared at her, mouth opening to form a response but then closing again. Finally, she settled on, “I think that was just a story.”

“Probably was.” Andy leaned back and sighed, trying to make it appear that she wasn’t bothered by the siren’s dismissiveness. “The man who told me wasn’t the most trustworthy, but you can never tell what’s right or wrong at sea.”

"Does it look like I have three rows of teeth?"

"Well, not right now."

“Maybe that man was lying because he was the one who killed and ate that man.”

“Humans don’t eat other humans,” Andy said. Then, she quickly corrected herself. “Some humans do. But not this one never did. Or, well, not that I know of.”

There was really no reliable information on sirens. With excitement and pride, Andy realized that she must have been the first person to get so close to a siren and live. She was actually having a conversation with one.

“I know other stories,” Andy said.

“I don’t want to hear them.”

“You tell me a story about humans then.”

“Humans nearly killed me a week ago. The end.”

Andy hummed. “Not much a storyteller, I see. That’s fine. We’ll practice together.”

The door to Andy’s cabin opened. Pinkey walked in with a jar of thick, yellow salve. He looked startled to see Andy and the siren sitting next to each other, the siren unbound and ungagged.

“Captain, you’re awake,” Pinkey said. “You’re both awake.”

The siren held out her hands for the jar. “I’ll take that.”

Pinkey’s eyes widened, and he held out an accusatory finger at her. “You’re talking! Has she been talking to you, Captain?”

“Of course.”

The siren glanced between Andy and Pinkey. She waved her fingers for the jar.

“All the times I’ve just sat and chatted at you, you knew exactly what I was saying?” Pinkey asked.

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you try to say anything back? I would have taken that nasty rag from your mouth if I had known.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Pinkey handed her the jar. Andy could see that he looked disappointed but still awe-struck. It took a lot to get Pinkey down.

The door opened again. Joseph let himself in and immediately cast a dark look at the siren and Andy.

“What did you do, Andy?” he asked.

“Fill me in on something,” Andy said. “When did I give my crew permission to enter my rooms without even knocking?”

“When your brain was boiling with a fever. I think what you’re trying to say is ‘thank you.’”

“Well, I was having a conversation with our guest before you rudely interrupted. I’m doing my best to be a good host.”

“I was done with the conversation,” the siren said.

“I bid you adieu, then,” Andy sighed. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

The siren looked like she really didn’t want to smile, but Andy caught just a little bit of one anyway. She turned her head away quickly.

With too much confidence, the siren stood. Her legs shook, and she pitched forward. Pinkey caught her.

“Be careful, Miss Siren,” he said.

The siren let him help her back to the fainting couch.

“So, she talks?” Joseph asked, sitting at Andy’s bedside.

“And swears like a sailor.”

Andy rolled her head over to watch Pinkey help the siren sit. She pushed Andy’s coat off of her legs and examined her own scars. Her touch was gentle and tender as she accessed the remaining damage.

“She healed fast,” Andy said. “Her legs are fine.”

“They’re not,” Joseph said. “I suspect there’s some underlying permanent damage. Her wounds went deep. There could be lasting weakness or pain.”

“But, I mean, the wounds are healing. It would take ages for my flesh to grow back like that.”

Joseph went through his examination of Andy, checking her joints and temperature and pulse. She let him poke and prod her but deliberately did nothing to help. She let her body stay limp while he tried his best to bend her arms and legs.

“My hypothesis is that sirens heal faster than humans. Sea creatures can do remarkable things to mend themselves. Such as starfish. They can grow their limbs back after they’ve been severed.”

“She’s not a starfish.”

“That’s an outstanding observation, Captain.”

Joseph pulled Andy’s blankets back over her body. She was at least dressed. At some point, Joseph had wrestled her into a shirt.

“Why didn’t you give her any fucking clothes?” Andy asked.

“She couldn’t stand them,” Joseph said. “We swear we didn’t keep her naked for our own amusement.”

“Mm.”

Pinkey was covering the siren with her blanket. She didn’t seem to mind that she was naked. After all, she was naked in the sea all the time. Unless there were underwater tailors that Andy didn’t know about.

“Rest,” Joseph told Andy. “If your fever doesn’t return, I’ll let you get up tomorrow.”

Andy didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want to have Tobi in charge more than he had to be. But her body was still quite heavy and sore, and her eyes were itching to close.

“Do you want us to bind her and gag her again?” Joseph asked.

“No.” Andy shook her head. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

If the siren ended up killing her in her sleep, then so be it. It would at least be an exciting way to go.

“Pinkey has been standing guard at your door. I’m not sure if it’s for you and the crew or her.”

Foolish man. A great gunner but awful emotions. 

“Tell him it’ll be fine,” Andy said. “He should be doing his job, anyway.”

Joseph and Pinkey left, and the room was silent. Andy tucked her hands behind her head and looked up at the ceiling. She’d interrogate the siren later, learn everything about her species and why she was so tame. If she really wanted to, Andy thought, the siren could definitely kill everyone on her ship. So why didn’t she? Was there some code among sirens to only kill troublesome humans? Or to spare the ones that helped?

She needed to learn more.

“Hey,” Andy called. “You have a name?”

The siren opened her eyes and looked Andy over.

“Syan.”

“Syan,” Andy repeated. “Mine’s Andy.”

She liked how Syan felt on her tongue, how it pushed itself out of her mouth. It took command. Sharp. Just like the woman herself, it seemed. Commanding. Dominating. All the things Andy loved.

Andy wanted to say it again and again and again.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Shadows Dancing on the Walls

After a spate of reunions, discoveries, and adventures aplenty, the crew has earned some well-deserved shore leave.

They take advantage of the peace and quiet to lay the past to rest and prepare to navigate a new future together.

Part 5 of Lift a Sail

Chapter One: The Brothers

. . . . .

Summary: On a quiet morning, Din reflects on the months gone by, all that’s changed and all that is still to change…

Rating: General

Words: 3225

Characters: Din Djarin, Ezra Bridger

Relationships: Din Djarin & Ezra Bridger, Din Djarin/Sabine Wren (mentioned)

Note: This will make a lot more sense if you’ve read the previous instalments, but I ain’t the boss of you. I mean, I’ve jumped in and read later parts of series and ended up loving them, so… you know… *shrugs* each to his own.

This doesn’t comply with Mandalorian season 3 or the Ahsoka series.

[Read on ao3]

. . . . .

We were born beneath the same endless sky

And I left California far behind

‘Cause in a dream I grew old in your eyes

And I’ve been trying to find you all this time

—“Shadows” by Ed Prosek

. . . . .

Dawn crept soft and shy on the horizon, polishing the water’s surface into a mirror while dabbing the faintest of shadows in the dimpled sand of the shore.

Brisk air kissed Din’s skin as he jogged, the sun still too far, too slow to chase the night’s chill away. The exertion had brewed his blood warm and worn the sleep-stiffness out of his muscles, his heart pumped full and hard and healthy, but his lungs constricted against the cold air and reluctance tugged in his stomach when he looked out at the shallow sea.

Winter was close.

At this same hour just a few weeks ago, the sun had already crested the eastern hills; now, it was like it was too tired to wake.

Din knew how it felt.

He enjoyed these early morning excursions: jogging up and down the beach then jumping into the water, swimming out to the floating dock anchored in the middle of the estuary, lounging for a while before swimming back and heading home to wake Grogu, help Marida with the breakfast, and get the day under way. But the routine that had been envigorating two months ago now wobbled on the border between unpleasant and downright unbearable.

He would rather have stayed in bed, warm and lazy until Grogu bugged him to get up.

And he would have… had it not been for Ezra.

He jogged alongside him. His younger brother could lap him, easily, but he purposely didn’t; he matched his pace and stuck to his side so they could either talk or share the silence.

This routine was theirs together: a sliver of the day where it was just the two of them. This was the time they talked, the time they caught up with all they had missed of each other’s lives. Din strove to make it happen every day and he guarded it just as jealously as Ezra did.

After a lap up and down the shoreline, they stopped and stretched. Then, as had become custom, Ezra pulled off his shirt, dropped it on the sand and rushed into the water, plunging in while Din waded hesitantly up to his knees before bracing and then diving in.

The water had a harsh bite to it that shocked his system. His muscles locked against it and his heart pounded as the electric ice leeched into his limbs. But the instant and complete immersion forced tolerance and fuelled a nice adrenaline rush.

Mechanically, he swam.

With sleek strokes and kicks precise and powerful, he pulled and pushed himself through the water. He turned his head to suck in a breath before ducking, exhaling under the water, and pushing another stroke forward, never losing momentum or rhythm.

His mind was silent for those few moments that it was just the water and the goal. He poured his all into it but still he couldn’t reach Ezra’s side.

He took off like a shot and charged across the channel inhumanly fast.

Even at full health, Din couldn’t keep up with him, and it wasn’t merely for the fact he was eight years his senior: no one could keep up with Ezra.

It was a Force thing, apparently. As well as the extraordinary powers the Jedi possessed, the Force enhanced their natural abilities. Ezra was faster, stronger, and more durable than a human should be.

On a purely creature level, Din envied that.

It had taken him all these months to rebuild his strength and stamina after the fight with the Darktroopers and Gideon and even today he felt the effects still. Something in his back had never come fully right and probably never would, and when it flared up—either from something understandable such as over-exertion or something mundane and frankly irrational like a change in weather—he could have anything from mere hours of discomfort to all-out days of pain, stiffness, and numbness. Ezra, however, had recovered from his afflictions in full (though, to be fair, their injuries weren’t identical: Din had been brutally and bluntly beaten whereas Ezra had been severely malnourished and blood-drained—neither condition had been pleasant but the recovery road was somewhat different).

Just looking at Ezra, one couldn’t see what he had gone through.

He looked well, he looked happy, life carried on and he was here, he was home.

But Din saw the scars, as did the others.

Ezra enjoyed being around people but there were moments where he seemed to hit some kind of limit even he didn’t register until, suddenly, it was all too much; suddenly, he had to be alone. Then he would excuse himself—usually silently—and slip out, vanishing like a shadow. He would wander the shoreline or haunt the plains; often times, he absconded to the old LothNet Comm Tower: Sabine’s former residence which had since become something between an unofficial memorial and a storage unit.

Once, Din had found him, at Kanan’s suggestion, in a cave.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ezra had said before Din spoke, his confession spilling out and echoing lowly off the stone walls carved and painted by hands long dead. “I didn’t want to, but… I’ve become a creature of solitude.”

Din never felt as much of a kinship with his brother as he did in that moment.

The others understood.

But they didn’t know…

They knew what it was like to divorce yourself from society, to become an agent, a purpose, a role, setting aside not just wants and aspirations but even your own identity to achieve a goal. They knew sacrifice, they knew exile, they knew facelessness, but they hadn’t had to do it alone—completely, totally, irrevocably alone: no Rebellion, no crew, no partner, no friends, no company, no connections, no one to reach out to, no one to rely on, nothing to come back home to—for years on end.

Din knew.

He knew because that was the very thing he had done to become the Tribe’s beroya.

It was the reason he was such a good beroya.

So he hadn’t said anything, just sat down on the cold ground beside his brother and kept him company while they both quietly, privately grieved themselves.

A Jedi who had wandered and patrolled Wild Space and a Mandalorian who had trudged through the fringes of the Outer Rim, both alone, both providers and protectors in their own ways, neither a person themselves. It wasn’t an easy thing to climb out of, to reclaim your name and plant roots and weave connections, to hold on… to keep holding on.

So, yes, Din supposed it would be nice to heal quickly.

But even a Jedi couldn’t heal themselves…

By the time Din reached the dock, Ezra was already up there.

Treading water, Din drew a breath and blew out sharply as salt water streamed down his nose into his mouth; tersely, he scraped a hand over his face and pushed his hair back out of his eyes.

Reluctance sank within him as he craned his neck to peer up the ladder bolted to the side of the bobbing platform. Climbing up would mean leaving the water which would mean exposing himself to the air and losing what little, relative warmth he had tricked his body into trusting existed here, below the surface.

With a silent, deflating sigh, he reached up, grabbed the lowest rung and hauled himself up, careful not to plant his feet on the submerged portion of the dock, having already sliced his foot not once, not twice but three times on the barnacles.

Water cascaded off his form as he climbed and the cold didn’t hesitate to scrape at his skin.

The rungs were already painted with streaks of icy seawater. The culprit lay on the platform on his back, legs dangling over the side, hands threaded under his head as he sunned himself like a smug little lizard on a nice warm rock. The fact his hair had already begun drying was almost obnoxious.

He didn’t open his eyes as the dock swayed from Din’s arrival but a corner of his smile stretched and deepened.

(Din didn’t know where the impulse arose from but for a few seconds he highly considered rocking the platform on purpose, finding the prospect of seeing Ezra tumble back into the cold water highly appealing.)

(He didn’t do it and he wouldn’t.)

(Not without just cause, of course…)

Din climbed up and stood.

He twisted the hem of his shirt and wrung out as much excess water as he could without taking the thing off. It probably would’ve been better to leave it off entirely but he was uncomfortable enough as it was with the sleeves stopping before his elbows, to say nothing of the shorts he had had to compromise on.

He leaned slightly, enough that the water streaming from wringing out his shirt fell just beside Ezra’s head, splashing and spitting on his face.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, turning his head away and shielding his face with his hands, the indignation ruined by a laugh.

“Sorry. Didn’t see you,” Din said without even an attempt at an apologetic tone.

Ezra wiped the stray drops of water off his face, flicked the drops at Din and then resumed his relaxed position.

Idly, Din hitched his hands on his hips as he swept his gaze over the water, the sun faint and gentle on his back, his core working to keep his balance on the swaying platform.

The Azadis’ house—the house he, Ezra, and Grogu had taken residence in since their return—lay behind him, everyone inside still fast asleep. Before him, on the horizon, the city rose into the pale sky, white spire buildings growing up, catching light then tapering down towards the gilded plains in clusters of homes that spread out and away from each other the further they travelled.

His sights lingered and wandered but fell, inevitably, certainly, on one house in particular.

Visually, it didn’t stand out from its neighbours: warm sandstone walls, a flat roof rimmed with a parapet and topped with a slanted, cloth shade, sun-coloured spire roses climbing the sides of the house as well as the fence. It had direct access to the beach like all its neighbours, like the Azadis’, but unlike the Azadis’ home, the yard was much bigger, much more level, and it kept a pool.

“You gonna go?”

“Hmm? Say something?”

Lazily, Ezra batted Din’s calf with the back of his hand, his eyes still closed. “I know you heard me.”

Din said nothing.

He glanced one last time at the house on the other side of the shore and smothered a bloom of irrational disappointment when he couldn’t glimpse anything but a quiet house. He shook his head as if to reset his thoughts and clambered down onto the dock, coming to sit beside his brother, facing the open sea.

He didn’t know what he expected. It wasn’t like he had any reasonable foundation to believe he’d see some kind of hint, some sign, a message, an answer…

“Could swim over. Go have a cup of caf, warm up, then swim back,” Ezra proposed, idly. He left a space open for a response; when none came, he cracked his eyes open and glanced to Din, eyebrows lifted. “Or I could stay right here and you could swim over, go have a cup of caf and warm up… with Sabine.”

Unbidden, Din found his head turning, his gaze drifting back to the house across the water.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t tempted.

The prospect was a hook—invisible but curved just so as to catch, to snag, to dig in deep and hold his desires. The string lay over the distance, undaunted by obstacles, and the other end resided now permanently in her hands.

They had talked.

They had to; something had shifted between them and it wasn’t the kind of thing either of them felt right ignoring—though inexperienced, they were neither of them fools and they weren’t the kind of people to leave something so important unnamed.

The first time was a few days after their return from Wild Space. The celebration had finally calmed and life and routine was beckoning but before they fell into any of that, while they still dwelled in that sliver of wonderful unreality wherein bravery came naturally, they went for a walk. They set out late noon and didn’t return until well into twilight.

She had asked, point blank, if the keldabe they had shared in the galley after the mission on Lyris meant anything.

His heart both plummeted and raced.

It had meant… it had meant so much more than he ever knew he had the capacity or right to experience. He thought it was the moment he declared (albeit without words) that he loved her in a very specific way—a way he never believed he would get to love anyone. But just because it meant all that to him did not mean it meant the same to her.

He didn’t know how to say that; just having the question raised confronted him, running his voice off.

All he could say was a plain and simple “Yes.”

And he didn’t breathe until she nodded and smiled like he had chased a hurricane away. “Good,” she said. “I thought so.”

Once sure they were on the same page, it became easier to write the rest—practically effortless. The case wasn’t so surprising as was its succinctness.

He loved her; she loved him.

But too much had happened in too little time; too much was different, too much had yet to settle. Not only had Ezra come home but so had Kanan and he and Hera faced the challenge of reformatting their whole life together with not just Jacen but now little Depa to factor in, too. Besides all that, Din still had to establish normalcy and routine for Grogu.

So they decided to wait, let things between them breathe while everything else around them grew into shape.

And, gradually, that had happened.

Kanan and Hera had decided to put the Ghost in storage and put themselves in a house (rented, of course; planting roots wasn’t something either of them were confident in). They chose a spot closer to the sea and the fields than the city proper: as a Nautolan, Depa was amphibious, and while her species was comfortable enough on land, water played a major part in their development; and the fields served perfectly as practise space for Jacen whose long-awaited training had now officially begun with his father and Ezra as his teachers.

Sabine lived with them. No one forced her to, no one insisted, but everyone was glad she had accepted Kanan and Hera’s offer to come and stay with them.

Grogu had no shortage of babysitters and teachers and friends—their crew initially, yes, but it wasn’t long before he fostered acquaintances with the neighbourhood children as well. It was through those acquaintances that Din had inadvertently found work: it began with one neighbour’s broken speeder and spiralled until the Azadis’ garage had become something of an unofficial repair shop. Now he had a steady stream of odd jobs fixing everything from vehicles to caf machines—anything people brought him.

Life had a very comfortable semblance of permanency now.

But Din knew it wasn’t set in stone.

The shape of things at present allowed for a change but obligations and duties, prior engagements and unfinished business loomed on the horizon, lurking further into view each day—they still had to find the Tribe, make sure they were okay, do whatever necessary to make things okay for them, and the New Republic wanted them to help in their mission to clear out Imperial remnants infecting the Outer Rim. It wouldn’t be right to avert their gaze and cover their ears, ignore the demands of duty just because they wanted this storybook life to continue indefinitely.

Still.

He wanted it.

He wanted to be with her.

They were already family in the way the Azadis and the Jarrus-Syndullas were their family but he wanted something more than that, something different, something… well, permanent.

He had searched himself long and hard, he had thought and considered and weighed the matter as carefully as any pivotal, life-changing decision warranted, and he was sure—he was as sure as when he took on his armour, he was as sure as when he adopted Grogu as his son.

He was sure… but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.

“You’re rather unquiet this morning,” Ezra observed.

Din sighed, his breath falling out longer and heavier than he expected, bowing his back and dragging his shoulders down. “Just… working things out,” he muttered.

“Yeah? And you getting anywhere with that?”

“Not as far as I’d like.”

Ezra hummed; Din felt the gentle reverberation rather than heard the sound, just like he felt the water lapping at the platform or the crisp morning breeze but didn’t hear them. The only thing he could hear clearly were the seabirds squawking to their brethren as they floated by overhead in a scattered formation.

A single seabird peeled away and spiraled down, coming to land on the dock.

Din turned his head to track it. It looked like an ornament for a moment as it just stood there, still and silent, black gem eyes unblinking. Then its head twitched and cocked to the side, getting a better visual of Ezra before scampering over.

Ezra knew it was there without opening his eyes. He moved his hand out, fluttering his fingers softly and the seabird hopped closer, bright orange webbed feet splashing in the shallow pools of saltwater littering the deck. It twitched its painted head as it looked from the proffered hand to the serene face, then, without deliberation, it ducked its head and rubbed its crown against Ezra’s knuckles.

This was a daily occurrence, Din had discovered. And not just birds—everything from Loth-cats to livestock, mounts to mice were attracted to Ezra. He couldn’t walk down the street without some critter popping out and trailing after him like he was some sort of celebrity amongst the animal kingdom.

Content with the attention granted, the seabird flew off, leaving the brothers be.

Taking and releasing a breath, Din laid down on the dock just as his brother had except his arms rested one at his side, the other slung over his middle. He gazed up at the sky until the soft, hazy hues of lavender painted over his thoughts.

There were no clouds or stars decorating the sky anymore, just the twin moons—they had done their job, lighting the world all through the night, now they could rest from their vigil and enjoy the day.

The sun had finally made it over the buildings.

In the distance, a sailboat veered away from the jetty, bow aimed towards the channel opening. Absently, Din wondered if they were leaving or coming home… or that inexplicable but not uncommon blend of both at the same time.

He closed his eyes, pulling curtains over everything but the untethered sway and jolt of the water, the smell of sea and salt, the pale warmth of the sun, the calm presence of his brother and the no longer unpleasant chill in the air.

Author’s Note

And we’re back!

This instalment of the series is meant to be softer and slower (and shorter); more character-focussed, less plot-driven. We’ll be giving the action a break for a bit because I’ve got a bunch in store later but, for a little while, the clan and crew shall get their well-deserved break.

Mando’a

Beroya — bounty hunter

Keldabe — a tender forehead touch; Mandalorian equivalent of a kiss

🎶 chapter playlist 🎶

Shadows — Ed Prosek

West Coast Friendship — Owl City

Horizon — The National Parks

Hollow Sound — Satellite Station

You Say — Vertical Horizon

Find Yourself — Brad Paisley

Somebody Like You — Keith Urban

. . . . .

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