#extra thanks for reading and following along this year because i have been running on fumes

[w2sology]

omg hi I saw your requests were open and I loved loved loved ‘all of the ways’ could you please write something about readers reaction to Harry’s goal at the charity match? Thank you!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

this was from last year omg... how did i not see it 😃 and also as a west ham fan this was absolutely beautiful to write 🤭

the real deal, harry lewis.

summary: you attend the 2023 sidemen charity game and just to your luck, harry scores his first goal.

warnings: not proof read!

walking up the steps that led to the top of the lower blocks in the london stadium, you smiled, unable to contain your excitement for the game that was to follow.

the sidemen were having another of their charity football games, and as you always were, you came along to support harry.

arm in arm with freya, the two of you, along with faith and a few others of the sidemen family, walked towards your seats, your eyes flickering around as you took in the large amount of people who came.

it was a hot day, and despite feeling the material sticking a little to your body, you didn't regret wearing the black 'wroetoshaw 77' shirt, proud to show off your boyfriend.

leading up to today's event, harry had been moaning and groaning about not yet scoring a goal since the first charity match, but he was just happy to be out there with the boys.

"well, when you score your first," you'd told him, hand cupping his cheeks as you pulled his face towards you. "i'll be right there with you to celebrate."

that was more than enough motivation to give harry his end goal of the day ─── score a goal just for you.

collecting olive from ethan as they walked out onto the pitch, faith sat back down with the babbling bundle of joy, nervously tapping your thighs. "gosh, i can't wait for it to start already!" she squealed.

and you shared her excitement equally, a bright smile on your face as you watched harry looking around the block for you, blowing a kiss and waving your way when he spotted you.

you gladly returned the gesture, fanning yourself with the matchday program and shielding yourself from the burning sun.

as the match went on, you grew more and more interested. of course, it was for charity as well as for shits and giggles, but being with harry for such a long time, you become immersed in the sport that he loved so dearly.

with the first half over, freya had gotten you a drink with some extra ice cubes, and as you say with it, harry and the rest of the boys walked into the tunnel for their half time break, your lover giving you a wink as he walked past.

it didn't matter if he was sweaty or not; the sight of harry alone was enough to make you want to jump his bones.

holding onto that thought, you managed to make it to the second half without asking any questions like you usually would when watching football with harry.

"well, i don't get why they can't just run towards the other goal and kick it in then, if they're allowed to use their hands." you'd say.

"because... because that's just not how it works!"

and now there you were, stood on your feet as you watched vik pass the ball back towards harry instead of taking the shot himself, and your boyfriend didn't miss a beat; he kicked the ball beautifully into the back of the net.

you screamed so loud you couldn't even hear it, turning next to you to grasp freya's arms as faith turned her camera towards you to capture your reaction.

"oh my god!" you yelled, hands over your cheeks as you watched harry and the boys huddle together to celebrate his first goal for the sidemen.

breaking apart, harry turned to where you sat and held up a makeshift heart with his hands for you, albeit it looking like a circle at the first few seconds.

there was so much pride and love in your what for him, that when the game ended and he had his winner's medal and all on him, you couldn't help but smother his face in kisses, outwardly expressing your happiness for him.

"i told you you could do it," you whispered against his lips, his hair tickling your forehead.

"yeah, you did, didn't you?"

pressing his lips to yours briefly, harry pulled back to smile at you, his girl, and his number one supporter.

"looks like the wag life is about to become reality," he joked.

"oh yeah," you laughed. "the real deal."

[nthspecialll]

why do you ship jovier?? i know its common but i swear they barely interacted at all

Well, let me explain to you at least why I ship them, but also thank you for asking! It is an amazing excuse to yap about them.

To me, it is the absolute tragety that they are and the care that they have for one another that we don't always see them show towards others. Take the very first mission with them for example, John is missing, gone, possibly run off and Hosea knows to ask Javier to go find him because Javier will go and he will not complain like Bill or Micah and he is willing to go the extra mile unlike maybe Lenny or Charles and even Arthur.

In this mission we hear the first of John, he is unreliable, he left the gang, his "wife" and his child and everything for an entire year and it also becomes clear that Arthur who has known him for years still doubts him and believes it is possible that John left. Meanwhile, we have Javier who has not known John that long yet he stands certain and defends John saying "he wouldn't do that" even though he would and has. We also see Arthur willing to give up as soon as the trail in the snow becomes semi-hard to follow yet again, Javier pushes on saying "just a bit more." If it has just been Arthur John would have died on that mountian.

And now in chapters 2-6 we get to the "problem" with Javier, he is not in a lot of main quests so to get to know him you have to be around camp because he actually has a lot of camp interactions, and a few is with John, so let's go through them.

While John is reading the newspapers Javier comes up to him and says "scar looks pretty", John replies with "yeah, ruined my fine features" followed up by "thank you, for saving me" to which Javier says "of course, I know you would do the same for me" and then in the end John "I owe you, for life." This interaction generally just shows a form of appreciation as well as softness between them, it isn't a lot of other times you see any other male characters thank another.

You have when they are sitting and eating and they start talking about Mexico where John says "I would like to go to Mexico one day" and Javier replies "maybe you will." It is just a heartbreaking foreshadowing.

Possibly my favourite interaction between them, Javier is drinking and John is standing nearby so Javier says "come join me brother, have a drink," John looks over and replies "no, I will sit down and have several" so they just sit and drink, John quickly becoming drunk and poetic and Javier shows obvious signs of concern to the point where even John comments on it saying something along the lines of "why not give me another?"

Now, in chapter six, the end is nearing, people are falling apart and things are going to hell. I have before made several posts about this but Javier is desperate. He built his entire personality around ideals and he joined Dutch because of ideals, should it come to the fact that Dutch is not correct that would mean everything Javier was and everything he made himself into was also wrong, not to mention he wouldn't be able to stay in America nor be able to go back to Mexico because of his family. He is frustrated, and as any other person when frustrated, he becomes agitated and hot-headed, he needs Dutch to be right so he acts out. His "anger" is nothing more than fright.

We see Javier yell at John, yet we also see him defending John. Bill comes up to Javier and starts talking about how John has to be the rat, how it is the only thing that makes sense, Javier replies "that doesn't make much sense either," clearly standing up for John when he needed to. That is until it is Arthur, when it is Arthur he turns on a dime and says something along the lines of "maybe it is John" but that is simply because he is "hating" Arthur on principle.

Now, the final gun stand, whatever you wanna call it, I have made a whole post on this, but in short, Javier pointed his gun on John but he was hesitant because he didn't actually have a hatred against John, he didn't see him as a traitor, he saw him as a brother. Also as soon as the gun fight is over Javier is gone, you can find Dutch, Cleet, Joe, Micah, but Javier and Bill are gone.

1911, the two have not talked for ages, yet Javier knows John has several children, clearly keeping some form of interest on him throughout the many years. Also their meet?? Their entire meet, both had the chance to kill the other but didn't.

Javier could have chosen to shoot John and get it over with instead of jumping out of the window, securing his own life's safety, but he didn't. John could have chosen to shoot Javier immediately and save himself the trouble, but he didn't.

Also, John's talk about Javier to Abraham. "When Dutch started fallin' apart, it hit Javier harder than any of us. He went crazy. It was like the one thing he'd ever believed in turned out to be a fraud." John knew Javier wasn't thinking straight and I personally see it quite obvious that Javier was never angry at John either.

I think in the end that John didn’t hate Javier, not when he killed him either, he just loved Abigail more than Javier and chose her over him, but in any other situation where they stood face to face i think John would have just walked away.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

requests are open right? You don’t have to do this LMA0

just David being comforted that mf needs a hug and a good cry methinks

This one has been stuck in my head - there are so many scenes and opportunities where this idea would fit and omg - thank you for requesting this because I didn't know that this was something I wanted to write/read! I hope you like this 💜

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

For the first time in decades, the cave was quiet. No distant chatter, no music being played in the background. Even the crickets and bats kept quiet, almost as if they felt their silence was necessary.

The only one present in the cave was David. He had made a mess of things, or at least, that's how it felt. Where he had tried to turn Star, he had failed. He knew the girl was stubborn, but to ignore her own nature like that - the way she ignored her hunger, the need to feed and lure victims away so she could do so? David shook his head. He had underestimated the girl, that was for sure.

That seemed to happen a lot, lately. Underestimating outsiders. He didn't even know exactly how that had happened. Was it because he and his boys had gotten too relaxed, believing they owned the town? Was it because Star had been begging him to let Michael in? Was it because of Max' foolish plan? He sighed as he lit his - final, he realised - cigarette. Things had gotten wrong.

In the back of the cave, far away from the deadly sunlight, he kept the bodies of his fallen brothers. Every night, he fed them fresh blood, slowly but surely healing them. Marko was close to waking up again, but both Paul and Dwayne took more damage and would take longer to heal. The only reason he had even gotten out of that damned house and managed to bring his brothers along was because of an old friend of theirs.

Charlie had saved them - had saved him. Charlie had pulled him off those antlers, feeding him blood until he had healed himself. Charlie, who had a habit of running off and exploring, taking "make the most of your life" more literal than most. Charlie, who had run away after the five of them had been turned back in 1906, and only ever stopped by once every seven years before disappearing again, that Charlie - she had saved them.

"I've got some extra bodies if the boys need more blood."

David looked up, startled by the sudden interruption of the silence. He looked at her, nodded, and refocused in his cigarette.

"You can't continue down this path."

"What path?" His voice was colder than intended.

"This. This self-pity. Stop blaming yourself. You didn't do this to them."

"Sure feels like I did."

"You didn't ask for those wannabe vampire hunters to barge in here. You didn't ask for Marko to be staked. You didn't ask for them preparing for your revenge, and almost succeeding because of dumb fucking luck, did you?"

"No."

"Then why do you blame yourself?"

David was quiet for a moment, dropping what remained of his cigarette. "I'm their leader."

"On the boardwalk, maybe. In here, you're their equal."

"They followed me, because I wanted to get revenge."

"They wanted revenge too." Charlie had walked closer to him. She stood in front of him, sighing softly. "You don't have to do this alone anymore."

"I know you, Char. Within a couple of days, you'll be off to your next adventure, and I'll be here waiting to see if the boys will wake up."

"I won't leave until I know they are fine." She said, determination clear in her voice. "This, all of this, is not on you, your leadership or your actions."

David didn't respond. He just stared at the floor, trying his best to ignore her. Deep down, he knew she was right, but he didn't want her to be. Right now, he had someone to blame. Himself. He was never one for blaming himself, but this time, it felt right. All the others that were responsible were dead, anyways, and he couldn't blame them, now, could he?

"David."

David looked up, freezing when suddenly he felt her arms around him. She held him, not saying anything. She just held him, and before he realised it, he felt some tears running down his cheek. Charlie still didn't say anything. She just sighed softly, looking at him with a sad smile. She wiped away his tears.

"I won't leave you. Not until I know you are fine," she whispered finally, giving him a soft kiss on his temple.

[mcsm-confessions]

WELCOME TO THE MCSM CONFESSIONS BLOG. THE INBOX IS OPEN.

~~~

Hello, strangers of the internet. I have decided to open up a Minecraft: Story Mode confessions blog because there hasn't been an active one on here in two years. This confession account is not run by the same person who ran the first one. This is also run separately from the confessions account on Instagram. We are different people.

~~~

Some rules that must be followed for your confessions:

1. Your confession must be related to Minecraft: Story Mode.

2. You confession must be in English, for moderation purposes.

3. Discrimination will not be tolerated. This includes (but is not limited to): homophobia, racism, and ableism.

4. No NSFW or suggestive content.

5. No purposfully inciting drama or discourse. (Introduced May 29) As of July 13, I am also specifying that this blog is not a place to host your beef with specific people in the fandom. And as of July 28, I will extra specify that anonymously bashing people (or their content) is also not okay. As of September 18, please note to avoid using a phrase along the lines of "I want to start discourse."

If your confession fails to abide by all of these rules, it will not be posted.

(Note: I do occasionally make mistakes and poor judgements on these. I am human, but I try my best.)

~~~

All confessions will be tagged as #mcsm confessions, #mcsm, and #minecraft story mode. If any characters are mentioned, they'll be tagged accordingly. Same goes for any ships (for rarepairs, please share the ship name and characters as I may not know them).

I will also add "neg" to tags for posts that are negative against certain characters or ships.

Ex. #mcsm jesse neg

As of May 19, there is a new tag that I'm introducing (and will be adding to earlier posts): #mcsm fandom criticism

because many confessions are addressing things they dislike about the Minecraft: Story Mode fandom.

As of May 21, I'm introducing its opposite: #mcsm fandom praise

for the confessions highlighting things they love and appreciate about the fandom specifically.

As of May 30, I'm introducing the tag:

#mcsm criticism

for confessions that are specifically addressing issues had with Minecraft: Story Mode itself. This includes the writing.

~~~

If there's certain drama or discourse that goes on for long enough, I'll give it it's own tag. If you don't want to see it, block the tag. If you do want to see it, you can just read through posts tagged with it. Here's a list of said tags:

#mcsm petra discourse

#mcsm discord discourse

#mcsm romeo's fate discourse

#mcsm petra sexuality debate

~~~

Sometimes, there's a series of confessions that have a running theme or trend. If there gets to be enough of them, I'll try and tag them too. Here's the list:

#mcsm rip character you would've loved x

#mcsm petra is someone's gay awakening

#mcsm soundtrack appreciation

#mcsm real world objects discussion

~~~

Thank you for reading the rules! Happy confessing!

[tsukarysgrimoire]

Ranting of the day

Beware loooong rant ahead.

There are many things I can't understand, not because I'm stupid, far from it, but simply because I don't think like most people.

All my life I've felt strange, isolated, as if I didn't belong in the world around me. I still do, but at least now I know why, and that's been a great relief. I remember the first time I went to see my psychiatrist, I said to him 'Doctor, I'm not normal' and he replied 'What's normal?', which is a good question, because thanks to him I understood that there isn't a right way of thinking and a wrong way of thinking. We can't control how our brain, our mind, reacts and works. After more than fifteen years of therapy, I have an explanation for why I feel out of step, why I don't think like other people. It's called HPI, which, I've learnt from a little research, doesn't mean that I'm more intelligent than others, but that I'm intelligent in a different way. That my way of thinking doesn't follow the same path as 'normal' people. If a 'normal' person's way of thinking is a highway, then mine is a country road, slowly winding, with many stops to admire the landscape, the trees, the fields… And a lot of junctions leading to other places, other things.

Add to that the fact that I might also be borderline Asperger's and you can see why I'm not cut out to understand things like most people. I react differently to many things. For example, a situation that would move most people can leave me indifferent, and conversely, a situation that most people would ignore can send me into a state of incredible depression or distress. When I was little, my mother used to say to me, 'You'd cry over a dead leaf'!

Probably because of all this, or the fact that I was bullied throughout my schooling for being different, I've also become a hard person who doesn't forgive easily, either myself or others. Loyal to the bone, I can't stand betrayal, or at least what I perceive to be betrayal. And like many people in my situation, I can't stand injustice, or what I perceive to be injustice.

Of course, it's not just about my everyday life, but also about how I perceive the media.

That includes, of course, the show we all love, The Bad Batch.

When they first appeared in The Clones Wars, I can't say I was impressed. Their team was so full of clichés that it was a clichés in itself: the cheap Rambo, the nerdy guy with glasses, the big bully with big arms and a big heart and… the lone sniper. While I was indifferent to the first three, I was drawn to Crosshair, his design, his character, his outspokenness and the fact that he was a sniper. The world saw him as a selfish, proud, indifferent prick, but I saw someone who dared to speak the naked truth, the truth that no one wants to admit, but which is very real. I've read a lot of reactions applauding the fact that Rex punched Crosshair in the face for being so insensitive. But as I see it, it's not Crosshair's fault that Rex is so weak-minded that he can't handle the truth as it is. What Crosshair says may be brutal, but it's the truth.

Crosshair isn't a perfect character, far from it, and that's why I loved him. I'm bored with nice, fearless heroes who can do no wrong. … Even when I was a kid, I liked the 'bad guys' more than the 'good guys'. I seem to particularly like the dark characters, the ones who aren't afraid to do what needs to be done, even if you end up hating them for it.

I hated the first two seasons of the show for that reason. The good heroes running away from the evil empire for no real reason and thinking they're better than they are because they didn't fall into the trap… lol.

Not to mention that I had absolutely no interest in the kid they picked up along the way. She was just an extra we could have done without.

The only reason I watched the show was Crosshair. And I was very disappointed, not only by the show, but also by people's reactions. Of course, everyone's entitled to their opinion, as I am. I'm certainly not going to apologise for it. I'm certainly not going to apologise for thinking differently to the masses, and I'm not going to apologise for making my point like everyone else; the only thing I want to apologise for is arguing about it with other users of the site.

Here's a non-exhaustive list of opinions that annoy me and how I see things.

1- Crosshair's betrayal: Is that so? That's probably the thing I find most pathetic and laughable at the same time. The big bad Crosshair who betrayed his good brothers for an evil Empire…

I don't even know where to start.

If there are traitors in this mess, it's the Batch and Hunter in particular. They're the ones who chose to run off and leave Crosshair behind, they're the ones who decided to ‘forget all about’ Crosshair, thank you Echo, another point that pisses me off, but we'll come back to it later.

Oh yes, ‘but Crosshair was shooting at them’! They're soldiers, it's not the first time they've been shot at, it's their life. I can understand the surprise of seeing their brother turn on them, but I can't understand why they decided to abandon him like a dog. Tech can pride himself on being supra intelligent, he couldn't even realise that Crosshair's actions weren't normal. Like, he's been a pain up until now, true, but he was not dangerous. The empire takes him aside and half an hour later, he's turned against us… No, nothing, it's completely normal, it's part of his severe and unyielding nature…

And if it stopped there…

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is done to find Crosshair and help him. In fact, they get to Ord Mantel and it's as if Crosshair never existed. They start their mediocre little lives as errand boys for the lizard and are content with that. They don't even talk about making a plan to save Crosshair, which is strange since they have 99 plans up their sleeves.

In fact, they loved Crosshair so much that just days after abandoning him to his fate without looking back, they gave his comlink to his replacement, and if that's not a sign that they had no intention of saving him, then what is? …

'Yeah, but they don't know where he is'… they didn't know where Tantiss was either, but that didn't stop them wasting 6 months looking for Omega. Whereas for Crosshair… NOTHING! Not even for a second!

'They didn't know about the chips', at least not at first, because once they found out and saw what it was like … well, NOTHING, again. Crosshair was a prisoner of his own mind, and no one cared.

Speaking of the chip, they forgave Wrecker for trying to kill them and their precious Omega, while Crosshair had to prove time and again that he was indeed on their side. 'Yeah, but Wrecker apologised!' … Seriously, you kick your brother out of the house because he didn't apologise for making a mistake? … I don't know what world you live in, but it's definitely not mine.

And speaking of that, Hunter and the Batch never apologized either for abandoning Crosshair and leaving him to fend for himself in enemy territory.

'They had to protect Omega" Oh, really? And how did they do that? By dragging her along on their pointless missions? By exposing her to human traffickers, slavers, murderers, bounty hunters… If they'd really wanted to protect Omega, they'd have left her with Cut and Sue. Not to mention the fact that they put themselves and the girl in danger to save complete strangers who meant absolutely nothing to them, while their own brother… guess what… oh yeah, NOTHING!

2- Tech death is Crosshair's fault. Oh? And how? He was imprisoned and tortured on Tantis while his 'nice' brothers were having a good time on Pabu.

Crosshair risked his life to send his brothers orders to hide and lay low, and what do they do? They go to a council of Empire bigwigs and get caught like rookies.

But of course it's Crosshair's fault.

On the other hand, it's strange that I haven't seen anyone pointing the finger at Guerrera. After all, he's the one who rigged the place with explosives, the one who refused to back down because the lives of a handful of clones were less important than his own personal vendetta.

It's true that Guerrera is a good hero, fighting against the evil empire no matter how many hundreds of innocents he kills in his war.

3- Echo is such a good brother and a mother hen. Are you sure we watched the same show? Because Echo doesn't seem like that to me. He's a bitter, tired man who only stays with the Batch because he has nowhere else to go and feels it's his duty, but as soon as he finds somewhere else and a duty he feels is more important, oof! He's gone without a second thought.

Echo, like Omega, is the odd man out in the Batch, but unlike Omega, he gives no indication that he's really trying to fit in. He's just there, and on several occasions he gives the impression of bitterly regretting it.

Of course, he comes back to lend a hand, no pun intended, when the Batch needs it, but I don't think it's as a sign of brotherhood or belonging, he does it because he feels it's his duty, nothing more. If he really felt part of the Batch, he probably wouldn't have told the others to forget about Crosshair without thinking it through. He who was a prisoner and used against his will to kill his own brothers didn't even have the decency to insist on saving one of his rescuers when Crosshair found himself in the same situation. He didn't give a damn. His interactions with Crosshair are close to absolute zero and as warm and welcoming as the Barton 4 climate!

It takes a lot more than that for me to consider him a 'good brother'…

4- Crosshair is a murderer. I have to admit that this one makes me laugh.

Crosshair is a soldier, a sniper, trained to kill on command. How many soldiers do you know who have never killed? You make me laugh with your reductive value judgements. The Batch was an elite commando unit designed for secret missions that no one else could carry out. Do you really think they never killed? Hell, the first thing we learn about them in the Clone Wars is that they killed a Yalbec queen for a 'minor uprising'… That alone proves they've got blood on their hands, all of them.

Crosshair does bad things, I'm well aware of that. Inexcusable, perhaps. But who do you think is the killer? The one who gives the order, or the weapon that carries it out? Because that's all Crosshair is to the Empire. A weapon.

He orders his men to shoot innocent people in Guererra's camp, that's right, and kills one of his men for refusing. At this point, he's still under the influence of the chip, a good little soldier, loyal to the death. And yes, he kills that separatist woman, but what do you think would have happened if he hadn't? He and Cody and every clone in their unit would have been executed for treason. Not to mention, if that woman hadn't been killed, there's a good chance the Empire would have wiped out the entire planet. Is sacrificing one life to save millions of others such a bad choice?

He kills Nolan in cold blood. So? Don't tell me you don't die for it too.

He kills his unit on Kamino. If he hadn't, what do you think would have happened? Crosshair didn't want to kill his brothers, he wanted them to join him, and that wouldn't have been possible if the Imperials had stayed alive. Granted, it wasn't the best method, but it was his way of showing that he didn't give a damn about those men and only wanted his brothers.

For all the good it did him.

5- The Kamino Fiasco. While we're on the subject…

Again, I have so much to say about this that one post wouldn't be enough.

Yet another moment that many have summarised as 'Crosshair's Betrayal'. Once again, it makes me laugh out loud. For an entire season, the Batch ignored Crosshair, except when he was right under their noses. Kamino is the height of their stupidity. Not only did they never do anything to help Crosshair out of the mess they left him in, but now they're rushing to save poor little Hunter from the great danger of his traitorous brother… What do you think went through Crosshair's mind at that moment? When he realised that he wasn't even worth saving, but the whole gang was rushing to Hunter's rescue? That complete strangers who meant absolutely nothing to the Batch were more worth saving than he was?

I, too, would have taken it badly, and I, too, would have let my anger show.

Especially as the Batch's behaviour was far from stellar. They spend literally two whole episodes blaming Crosshair for everything, insulting him, showing him how much they despise him, how happy they are without him with his replacement, how useless he is to them.

"If you had come back to us, we would have taken you back" … yes, and how? when he was being watched day and night by Rampart and his gang. When the chip was still there to distort his thinking. How? When the first thing you do when you see him is point your guns at him?

The Batch treated Crosshair worse than a dog. That moment when he and Omega were freed from the flooded room and I-don't-know-who rushed in to hug Omega as Hunter stopped Crosshair's slide with a kick is still stuck in my throat. Is that how good brothers are? … Well, with a family like that, there's no need for enemies!

And when he saves the little princess from drowning and is thanked by having three blasters aimed at his back, that's family?

The Batch treated Crosshair so well, they were so understanding, so welcoming, so forgiving, that Crosshair had no choice but to stay with the Empire. Not because he wanted to - his reaction to the Marauder's departure proves he's disappointed in his so-called family - but because it's the only place he has left. I remain convinced that if those fools had done otherwise, Crosshair would have gone with them. But alas…

I too would have chosen the Empire in those circumstances.

By the way, I don't know if you noticed, but the ONLY time Hunter and the Batch take Crosshair at his word is when he claims he doesn't have his chip. It's the ONLY time nobody asks any questions or Hunter believes what Crosshair says and takes it at face value. No one is even suggesting that the Empire can lie, not even the ultra-intelligent Tech. No, they just take his word for it, and that's the end of it. They don't even try to see if it's true...

6- Hunter. I didn't like Hunter in The Clone Wars, he was too much of a caricature, but in The Bad Batch I really hated him.

Don't be fooled, Hunter and the Batch are not nice little heroes because they ran away from the big bad Empire. Their decision was stupid and nothing could support it. Tarkin sent them to destroy a rebel camp and instead they came across refugees. SO? Does that prove the Empire is evil? No, it just proves that Tarkin had access to bad information, and I'm sure that happened a lot during the war. Especially if you're a secret squad and you're probably doing illegal things in the name of the Republic, like the rebellion on Yalbec!

Crosshair's reaction, even though influenced by the chip, is the most normal in my opinion. At the stage where Hunter and his gang are running away like cowards, there's still no incontrovertible proof that the Empire is evil, and no proof that the Jedi are innocent. From the clones' point of view, of course. To conclude that the Empire is evil after a single mission that could have just been bad intelligence is unjustified. Sure, we know what it is, but the clones and the galaxy do NOT. At least not yet. It would have seemed a lot less artificial, a lot less "scenarium", if the Batch had stayed around for a while, maybe all the way to Kamino, until they realised the truth and then thought, "OK, that's it, we're out of here". But for them to decide on their own that the Empire is evil after only three days… No, that's just stupid.

Hunter acting like a complete idiot at the beginning of the third season sums up what's been going on all along. You can make excuses for his behaviour, he has none for me. He betrayed his brother, never did anything to save him, as the Kamino episodes prove. As long as Hunter is there, no one moves, but as soon as Hunter is gone, a rescue team is launched, not for Crosshair, but for the Great Leader himself. If that isn't proof that it was Hunter who prevented any rescue attempts…

Not only has he behaved like an idiot throughout the series, but he's got the nerve to ask for explanations… Crosshairs owes him nothing, and certainly no explanations. He did nothing, nothing, he just went with the flow, because with the Republic gone and no one to give him orders, poor little Hunter was so lost he didn't even know how to be a soldier anymore.

Hunter is a hypocrite, he claims he didn't want to put his team in danger from Crosshair, but he doesn't mind putting them in danger from everything else. If I had a sharp tongue, I'd say that Hunter was glad to get rid of Crosshair because he was the only one who dared to open his mouth and tell Hunter what he thought. The rest are just well-trained dogs.

He leaves Crosshair to his fate, just as he leaves the Regs to theirs. Basically, he's a free man and doesn't give a damn about the rest.

It's also funny to note that once Omega is with them, the Batch becomes almost useless. Gone is the 100% success rate, they no longer know how to fight, how to strategise, how to be soldiers.

And his favouritism towards Omega is just sickening. She's the little darling, she comes before everyone and everything, to the point where on several occasions she's the one giving the orders and Hunter follows them without batting an eyelid. Hunter does for Omega what he refused to do for Crosshair and many others. After Tech, the main instigator of a reaction in Crosshair's favour, is dead, Hunter spends SIX LONG MONTHS looking everywhere for his beloved Omega, but for Crosshair nothing, not even a minute of his precious time. He didn't look for him when he fled the Empire, and he doesn't look for him after Eriadu. All he cares about is Omega, the rest of the universe can die for all he cares.

Maybe that's normal for you, but not for me.

I don't expect you to share my opinion, far from it, and you can call me crazy or stupid, it doesn't matter. I'm not saying it is THE truth, but it is MY truth. Since everyone is so open with their opinions, I've decided to be too. I'm biased, I know that and I don't care. You may not like it, you may hate me for the way I see things, it's your opinion.

If you feel like arguing, know that you won't change my mind, just as my post probably hasn't changed yours.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

I mean this in like,,,,,, such a good way but wtAf is crownest?? Lol agggghhh you're so creative!!!!!!!! You've put SO much thought into like,, everyone lol it's so cool!!! I really really really really don't wanna spamm but I can't get enough of your hcs!!! Um um ummmm yea I'd really like to hear about crownest and emof@gg0t lol uh censoring just in case ykkk um but I loved Avery!!!!!!!! He's so silly/pos

Idk the way you describe everyone makes them feel like actual characters yk and like,,,,,,,, idk I've never heard of these but I would be really interested in like how u think like all these characters and ships n stuff work Aggghh I just love ur interpretations!!

SUPER long anon, sosososo sorry

-🍃

Oh my god I've been trying to answer this for so long my beloved weed anon but idk what's happened, my inbox has exploded jngjbngjb (I am beyond thankful, love love love all the questions vjfnbjg)

Crownest is Severus and Igor! I talked a bit about those two being stupid exes and Igor running around following Severus in Goblet of Fire (he's both trying to confide in him because Severus is one of the few people Igor trusts but also cause he's trying to get his dick wet). Severus gets assigned as Igor's roommate and general aid when he spends his last year abroad at Hogwarts and Severus hates it because Igor is clingy and yet he's a complete dorm dweller and he's clever but at the same time he's so fucking stupid. Igor struggles because of the language barrier and he's refusing to use the translator he's been made to bring along from Durmstrang. They're sort of friends who wouldn't really be friends under many other circumstances but losers gotta stick together I guess

Idk where in the timeline this happens but they start fucking around at some point. I don't think they're ever boyfriends or anything labelled, they're just conveniently fucking whenever they both need to get off. They're just,, in no way good for each other but the sex is good and they're both messy and kinda lonely and they like that it's no strings attached because it genuinely is

Tw: mentions of alcoholism

Then there's emofaggot vjgnbjgnbjg I am actually screaming at the fact that you used that name for them cause it really was just my stupid placeholder name for them. I played around with a few ship names for them but I think I've settled on wiseprince (wise comes from barn owls which is the animal that represents the Avery family like how peacocks represent the Malfoy family)

I'm so glad you liked Edmund,, he really is just,, my silly piece of shit (I know /pos means positive but I just keep reading it as piece of shit and honestly he is a silly piece of shit so it fits vjnfbjgnb)

These two are way more complicated than crownest imo. They've always been close, they've found comfort in each other and in softness they didn't have with other people (I think they got closer each time Severus drifted further away from Lily (I also think it's so funny that Lily canonically references that she's got less of a problem with Edmund than the rest of the group he hangs around with cause like,, yeah he's your ex besties stupid little homophobic boyfriend of course you like him just a smidge more). They've both got parents who struggle with alcohol abuse in varying degrees and with varying outcomes, but at the end of the day they share that feeling of cold running down one's back after smelling alcohol on someone's breath.

Edmund tries to step into Lucius's shoes when he graduates, he gives Severus extra clothes or hand-me-downs, he tries to get him to use the nice shampoos and conditioners he picked out with his mother in Diagon Alley. They bathe together for years just so they can chat more and see no problem with it. They cuddle up on the couch together in front of the fire and that's just what they do. They used to share a dorm along with Mulciber until Severus gets put in charge of, in Edmund's eyes, babysitting Igor. They spent way too many nights in each other's beds, cuddling and reading together, studying, yapping about whatever. Edmund puts curlers in at night and does a way too intricate moisturising routine and Severus just stands behind him, watching him through the mirror and keeping him company.

Through all of this, Edmund is fiercely homophobic and also engaged to an even more fiercely homophobic lesbian who's clocked him since day one. He's in denial and then he's not and then he is again and it's all a mess. Edmund really chose the ugliest fucker out there and was like "yes that's the one I wanna lose my mind over". Honestly, I can't blame his poor fiancé for low-key bullying him

I'm so beyond flattered you love them so much!! I really do try to give them both flaws and more positive sides even if they're a "good"/"bad" person, you know? I'm not a fan of excusing behaviour, most of these characters are shitty people in one way or another but that doesn't mean they've always been like that or that they stay like that or that they're 110% like that all the time!! Most of these are just based off of my own silly little thoughts though I can't take all the credit cause at least some of these were bounced off of a friend vnfjnbjgb

[lilac-den]

I didn't expect you to continue the snippet... But yes, author, you did MC justice😭😭😭, And yes, I recognized my certain errors😭...

Now I'm aching to write a snippet for MC and the Countess, aching to write a snippet where Maverick caught news MC's sick when he's with the other ROs and just ask them to follow him when they tried to stop him from seeing MC (He's like: It's MC! Why are you stopping me!?... Before realising they haven't meet MC yet...)

But, first of all, how's the Countess like? Can you elaborate more along with Lieutenant Welt? Can we know how would the ROs trying to warn Maverick not meet up with the new lady he's recently interested before the society caught even more news and try to attack him or that the lady might be using him while he's trying to explain it's MC? (Yes, the last part is what I really aching to write now! But I want to know more about the Countess!!!)

(PS. Thank you for liking the snippet. 💕💕)

Well, let's start with the Countess and Lieutenant Welt XD you'll see more of the former but with Welt:

- He has a good number of younger siblings.

- He is the second child of a Count, his sister being the heiress much to his relief.

- He dreams of having a wonderful wife (he's into women) and a big family but he is still working on finding the right girl. He thinks he's too plain without knowing a fanclub of his has existed since his knighthood.

- Probably the only one who has enough understanding to read Maverick's moods (at least what might be upsetting him).

As for regarding Maverick and the group...They have a big amount of trust and they know Maverick wouldn't go insane over a person (though they would like to meet the person who made him such a lovesick fellow). Plus, knowing Maverick, he wouldn't hide MC from the group. The bigger issue is how Maverick is going to stop Rydigan and Ittania from trying to run for MC and, most likely, overload them with past life information like:

Rydigan: Rick, come on! You have to let us see them!

Ittania: You can't just hog them all to yourself! We got to make them remember us!

Maverick: MC doesn't even remember us! Calm down before-Will you two please-Enid, help me out here!

Enid: *sips tea* No.

By the time Sylphina and MC comes to Maverick's home for the tea time meet up, Rydigan would be overjoyed and be extra friendly while Ittania just ends up trying to hug her, which Maverick would be nervously tense in the hopes MC doesn't freak out from the chaotic affection. Enid would be the most well-behaved one, though her staring might unnerve MC.

Countess Sylphina would be a bit protective of MC, but she has been friends with the four as well so she trusts them enough. She's a charming and friendly person, and she is beloved by the commoners. She got a county from the king because she saved it from an illness outbreak a few years back. She is influential for a Countess due to being one of the main source of produce for the kingdom.

[ofallthingsnasty]

I know I haven't been following you for that long, but I have gotten invested in your fanfics and ocs so FAST. Not even kidding when I say that I spend tons of time just daydreaming about your fics lol They just scratch that itch I have for dark stories, it's amazing😭😭😭 And damn all these character lore drops are just watering my crops😫 Especially the bits about Evan and Micah.

I knew I was right to be scared of Evan since the beginning but yikes on bikes, I didn't expect him to straight up resort to maiming you if you act out ⊙▂⊙ I imagine that if the reader did ever manage to escape while Evan was out, it wouldn't be at all out of character for him to go "well reader, looks like you're losing the 'having both of your legs privilege'🙂" And he would feel super bad about it, but he would still do it. Probably while crying and saying something along the lines of this is going to hurt me more then it's going to hurt you, while the reader is begging and crying for him to not do it. Ughhh I got chills just typing this out💀Yeah Evan scares me quite a bit, anyways amazing character cant wait to see more of him lol🥰

And our favorite resident jerk Micah Bell, I do hate his guts but I have always found his character really morbidly fascinating and fun to witness in game. I sit there and go 'wow this guy is such an asshole.....why isn't he in more scenes and missions?(look if you hate him then that means that Peter Blomquist did his job perfectly👌) Micah is definitely one of my favorite villains ever and my goodness you have done this awful and nasty man justice in 'through the briar' 😖 And that bit of lore you posted just adds to it. Micah already doesn't like the reader in the slightest, in the beginning he saw her as an annoyance, an easy target to bully, and a opportunity to one up Arthur. But from what you posted, if the reader ends up pregnant he seems to genuinely resent you for the situation "you" put him in. To Micah you just had to have the utter AUDACITY to get pregnant, when he just wanted to have a little fun. And now he has to do all this work to look after the reader and their children (by work it means he probably shows up once a month, twice if he's feeling extra generous. And hands you a single can of beans that prob expired three years ago, 15 dollars and a quarter, don't forget the quarter💀all that to feed maybe 2-4 kids? Gee thanks for the help🙃)

I imagine whenever he does come home its like walking on eggshells for the reader and the kids, cause Micah is looking for any reason to get verbally and physically abusive towards them, especially the reader. (btw do you think Micah has even a hint of affection for his children? I know he doesn't love you in the slightest💀 but maybe the kids got a fraction of his cold, dead heart😭😭) In the little escape attempt from Micah scenario you have planned, I can honestly see him calling the reader an 'ungrateful bitch' for running from him after all he's done for you🙃🙄 That he didn't have to do "right" by you after you got pregnant, but he did. And this is how you repay him? And after that little speech....yeah it won't be pretty for the reader🫥

Anyways enough of my rambling😅As you can see your fics are just feeding my brain hahaha (holy crap this is a long ass post I'm sorry lmao💀)

Oh my god, this is so sweet!! I am amazed that my writing could have such an influence on anyone 😭💕 You don't know how much internal back-and-forth I did before I finally was able to publish 'through the briar' - because I thought the concept was so silly and had big, big self-doubts but that fic really showed me that there is always someone who wants to read whatever idea it is one has 💕💕 So, thank you, really!!

I knew I was right to be scared of Evan since the beginning but yikes on bikes, I didn't expect him to straight up resort to maiming you if you act out ⊙▂⊙

Yes, yes you definitely should!! I only scratched the surface of his true nature in 'capture kill' but I was trying to leave some hints for the readers - I see him as a very 'classic' yandere, like the ones I used to read about when I was younger. Desperate, lovesick, willing to go to hell and back to have you - the only thing that holds him back is his little wolf pack because following their code is intrinsical to him. He's easy to underestimate, especially for a defiant darling.

I imagine that if the reader did ever manage to escape while Evan was out, it wouldn't be at all out of character for him to go "well reader, looks like you're losing the 'having both of your legs privilege'🙂" And he would feel super bad about it, but he would still do it. Probably while crying and saying something along the lines of this is going to hurt me more then it's going to hurt you, while the reader is begging and crying for him to not do it.

Yup, exactly! Like I said, it's all for the "greater good" - he already fucking hates what happens to you in 'capture kill' but again, he'll surely be the one to impregnate you and then you two can forget all about this, right? Then he will have earned you fair and square - and no one can take you away from him.

I sit there and go 'wow this guy is such an asshole…..why isn't he in more scenes and missions?

gdfdsgh same!! I would KILL for more lines like "No need to keep your face covered now. It's just you and me, sweetheart." during An American Pastoral Scene (link with timestamp for your viewing pleasure ehe) - I soaked all these missions up like a fucking sponge, both absolutely disgusted and captivated.

I imagine whenever he does come home its like walking on eggshells for the reader and the kids, cause Micah is looking for any reason to get verbally and physically abusive towards them, especially the reader. (btw do you think Micah has even a hint of affection for his children? I know he doesn't love you in the slightest💀 but maybe the kids got a fraction of his cold, dead heart😭😭)

Absolutely. You look at him a little funny and he'll be going off in an instant, laying into you as though you're his personal punching bag. For his kids? I think it's complicated. Again, he did write to Amos - whether it's to stake a claim on his kin or because of some brotherly love, we can't know - but I do think that even that man can't help but melt a little (like on a molecular level) when a little horde of Bell children vies for his attention. That lasts for three exact seconds, then he's back to cussing them out. What I'm trying to say is that he has his moments, as many abusive parents tend to have.

And I agree SO MUCH with everything you've said about Micah and the reader-character. Really, the only good thing about him is that he's gonna die in a couple of years. Although that would leave you in even rougher shape, financially. Maybe we can both hold hands and dream about John magically coming into money and helping her out or something 😭 She is so fucked. I feel so fucking bad for my own creation, especially because she's a really shy, nice little lady. She really doesn't deserve it.

(Don't apologize omg!! I really enjoyed reading your thoughts!! It's the highest form of praise that my writing makes you think™, it means I did something right 😭💕)

[technitango]

Happy New Year

To all my followers, to all my mutuals, to everyone, may your start to your year be as good as it can be. I am sending my love and well wishes. Thank you to everyone who has made this last year a better one for me! Please accept this devil judge fic as my gift~

(A bit explicit under the cut so be aware loves. This is a gahan fic with a healthy dose of yohan angst because of course.)

It's the end of a year and the beginning of a new one and Yohan's scars are aching. The scars from his father, barely visible now but some still peeking from beneath burned flesh, they ache in a way that causes Yohan to flinch, to cower, to clench his fingers into the covers until his knuckles go white. The scar that marrs the old lashings, the largest one, burns in the shape of a twisted cross along the expanse of his back, chokes him and suffocates him, leaves him feeling exposed and raw. There's another, across his palm, that he traces with his thumb reverently, and it aches but in a way that somehow dulls all the other pain, fills him with a taste in his mouth, oddly bitter and sweet at the same time. 

Mostly the pain is bearable. Worn, dull, these are familiar pathways trodden repeatedly. But sometimes it hits him all at once, unexpectedly, and Yohan has to grit his teeth, ride the waves of it and try to pull the pieces of himself back together afterward, the pieces that are left anyway. There are nights when he thinks he'll never be able to manage it, that the weight will crush him, the reminders of all his past wounds will rip him into so many shreds he won't have anything left. 

For some reason, when things are just on the cusp of new beginnings, or endings, it always seems worse. The end and start of a new year snaps something inside Yohan, and he feels spread thin, frayed at the edges. Yohan would like to say that he's gotten used to it. That he isn't a coward who runs away from his fears, but someone who faces them head on. But there's a part of him that will always whimper like a frightened child, a part deep inside that no matter how much he tries will never fully go away. Yohan would like to subdue that part of himself. His therapist says he should comfort it. Yohan is trying. Has tried. Will continue to.

But for now he will curl in on himself and grip the sheets tight with clammy fingers. The room is stifling and hot. The clock on the wall reads just shy of midnight. Yohan closes his eyes to it and wills the unwelcome ghosts to pass. 

There's a shift as the other side of the bed dips from an added weight, and Yohan flinches at the feel of cool fingers brushing sweat damp hair from his forehead. 

"Yohan-ah," Gaon murmurs softly. 

Yohan had purposely slipped from their shared bed to the extra bedroom tonight, knowing that he would most likely be tossing and turning fitfully, aware of what a night like this would bring, and not wanting to disturb Gaon's own sleep. He should have known Gaon would seek him out anyway, as he always does. Stubborn to no end. 

Yohan huffs out a strained laugh, "Kim Gaon, go back to bed." He hates the way his voice comes out tremulous and thin. 

"I am in bed." Gaon points out, petulant. 

Yohan sighs, rolling over and hiding the wince that elicits as best he can, he settles a frustrated but still fond gaze on the other man across from him. 

Gaon looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his brown hair is messy, his pajamas rumpled. He's been busy these days, work taking a toll on him, and he hasn't been getting much sleep. Yohan hates that he's become yet another reason Gaon won't be getting a good night's sleep. 

Gaon has started gently stroking Yohan's head, and Yohan resists the urge to lean into the touch. He doesn't deserve such a gentle touch, not tonight, not when every reminder of his failings are mocking him. 

Gaon looks hurt when Yohan pulls away. Yohan wants to fix it immediately, but his intellect is failing him tonight, his head feels stuffed full of cotton. So he doesn't say anything. 

When Yohan closes his eyes he sees flames. He had never deluded himself into thinking that revenge would absolve him of his sins, had tried his best to not even dare to hope that the nightmares would perhaps lessen, even a little. Yet they had, hadn't they? More than he had expected them to. And the weight on his shoulders had lifted, to an extent. But feelings are fickle things. Yohans scars run deeper than the superficial ones across his skin, and they will never go completely away. 

Gaon is in his space again. Yohan opens his eyes to watch as Gaon pulls Yohan's hand with the scar across the palm, Gaon's scar, and raises it to his lips, gently kisses it. He makes eye contact with Yohan as he does so, and Yohan swallows thickly. Gaon's eyes are burning with the kind of flames Yohan would gladly die in. 

Before he can stop himself Yohan wraps a firm hand behind Gaon's neck, yanks him none too gently close, and roughly connects Gaon's lips with his own. He knows this game. Gaon is trying to be distracting. Lucky for Gaon he has always managed to be terribly, awfully, wonderfully distracting. 

Gaon's lips are warm, and Yohan runs his tongue across the seam of them, nips at Gaon's bottom lip until Gaon is opening his mouth to him, and Yohan can taste him and devour him. He tightens his hold on the back of Gaon's neck, catches some strands of Gaon's hair and pulls. Gaon gasps against Yohan's mouth, but Yohan doesn't let him pull away. He kisses Gaon hard enough to bruise, bites at his lips until he tastes the metallic tang of blood. 

Yohan ignores the way his scars scream at him in protest, pushes down the words of his demons of guilt, you're using him again. Instead he lets pleasure take their place. He kisses along Gaon's jaw, Gaon's neck, bites hard at the juncture between neck and shoulder, licks soothingly and then bites again. 

Gaon jolts against him, entangles their legs together under the sheets, drawing Yohan closer. Yohan sits up with urgency, climbs on top of Gaon then, pushing the other man into the bed, straddling him. He grabs Gaon's arms tight, pulls them above his head in a vice-like grip. 

Gaon raises his eyebrows, looking amusedly up at Yohan. The younger man's face is flushed, chest rising and falling heavily. Yohan watches a small bead of blood pool along Gaon's bottom lip, ducks down to swipe it away with his tongue. Yohan pauses, his lips barely ghosting across Gaon's own. 

Gaon whispers into his mouth then, a provocation, "Use me, Yohan-ah." And something inside Yohan comes undone. 

There's a loud rushing in his ears, and he knows he should move slower, should be gentler. But Yohan also knows Gaon understands this, they've danced this dance plenty of times before. 

Yohan is keenly familiar with the way Gaon moans, deep and breathless, when Yohan bites at the inside of his thighs. The way he writhes, when Yohan digs his fingers into his sides hard enough that the marks will be there in the morning. 

Yohan still prepares him, of course, he doesn't want to break Gaon, necessarily, but he doesn't take his time, like he usually would. In fact there's barely any time at all before Yohan is pushing inside Gaon, and Gaon is tensing around the intrusion because it hurts, of course it does. Part of Yohan worries and wants to care, and the other part, the part that's unwinding and spinning out of control, well that part of him thrills at it, craves more of the furrow of pain to Gaon's brows. Wants to mark Gaon and delve into him so deeply, so completely, that he never stops feeling Yohan inside him. 

There are tears in the corners of Gaon's eyes, and they trail down his cheeks as he flutters his eyes open, looking at Yohan, seeing Yohan for who he is, and still wanting him, all of him. 

"Move." Gaon mouths the words at him. 

So Yohan does. He moves against Gaon deep, and rough, and Gaon only urges him to continue, wraps his arms around Yohan, digs his nails hard into Yohan's back. He rakes them down the scar there, and Yohan doesn't really feel that at all, but he still wants Gaon to do it again and again and again. 

A wild stray thought enters Yohan's mind. The thought that he'd like it if every scar across his body was made by Gaon, just like the one on his palm. Because Gaon owns him as thoroughly and completely as Yohan owns Gaon. It's a terrifying truth, yet thrilling all the same. 

Gaon's desperate moans have increased in frequency, and his thighs wrapped around Yohan's sides are trembling. Yohan watches in fascination at the way Gaon comes undone beneath him, even as he never falters in his ruthless pace. 

This is coming undone in a different way. When Yohan orgasms his vision goes white for a moment, and he grips Gaon's arms tight, struggling to intake air, shaking and consumed by pleasure. 

When his mind clears, Yohan becomes aware of the fact that Gaon is gently stroking Yohan's head again. Yohan has at some point leaned into Gaon and rested his head against the crook of his shoulder. 

Yohan's scars still ache. But to be fair, everything aches now, in a not entirely unpleasant way. If he bothered to look at the clock Yohan would see that it is well past midnight, the dawn of a new morning, and a new year. Yohan has never been much for traditions, and he isn't superstitious, but the rhythm of Gaon's breathing, and the tug of his fingers through Yohan's hair are perhaps enough to ease the nightmares, and to define that as at least a hopeful start to a year, well, for Yohan that is certainly more than he could ever dream of.

[lady-grace-pens]

The Characters of Foad: Supporting Cast Edition

“You raised me, Emmy. Not our mother. After all we’ve been through together, do you really think I don’t know you?

Calanthia ‘Cal’ is Emily’s younger sister by a year. Sweet, sensitive, optimistic, kind, generous, open-hearted, and easily overwhelmed. Cal is gifted at baking, but aims to be a florist. There’s nothing she cares about more than her loved ones. Especially her sister, though Emily is known to pack Cal’s schedule with student council responsibilities and encourage her to take on extra classes. It’s for her benefit, and Cal knows this, but oh how she longs for a break. Time to pursue her own college path instead of following the rigid road Emily carves out for her. Above everything, Cal wishes her big sis would take off her mom cap and let herself be taken care of for once.

•••

“In life, I have only been your loyal servant. It is fitting that I die a servants end.”

Pierre, Emily’s lifelong best friend, and Cal’s honorary big brother. Pierre has a reputation of fiercely protecting those that he’s close to - Emily in particular. He’s hypocritical, judgmental, and kind of lazy. His trust is something you have to earn. He doesn’t willingly get along with most people. Strangers, his family… basically anyone he dislikes, which is an extensive list. But to those he does love, he would happily die for. Pierre has a romantic heart, though he’s never seen in a relationship. That’s because Emily owns his heart. She gives him hope, makes him dream. She’s the only woman he can love. He knows his affections aren’t returned, so he tries to love her from afar.

He’s fueled by art of all kinds, though he has a particular affinity for Shakespeare. His only ambition in life is to become a street musician with his accordion - self taught, mind you. Second best is a gondolier. But thanks to Emily’s encouragement, Pierre aims to become a French translator. Far easier than you think, thanks to him being born into a French family.

•••

“He has spared your eyes of his bloodied blade, and the Red Sea upon which he walks. But I have seen it. I’ve traveled that same route. And I have loved in spite of it.”

Ilya, 21, is Cal’s boyfriend and Matt’s lifelong best friend. Albinism runs strong in his family’s genes. Ilya is skilled with his hands, enjoying anything from wood carving to mechanics. Whether it be cars, appliances, or other machinery, Ilya is an engineer through and through. While he’s the quiet and reserved sort, he’s always there for his loved ones. He’ll run a marathon around the globe for Cal. All too often, he’s known to jump into Matthieu’s fights to defend him. Ilya has an affinity for literature, but reads exclusively in Russian. He’s never seen without an annotated copy of an old book almost nobody’s heard of.

Taglist: @flowerprose @wordwizards

Obligatory the pictures are all from Pinterest, I only one the collage

[space-dog-from-space]

6/12

The Doctor, the Hag, and the AU, or, Bones and the Hallmark Christmas Movie Curse

Every year in December, the Enterprise's senior staff gather to watch 21st century Hallmark Christmas movies. Unfortunately for Bones, he hates Hallmark Christmas movies more than he hates the idea of being spaced. And this year, he is grumpier than usual. Luckily, the Christmas Hag appears and sends Bones on an isekai Hallmark adventure (against his will) to discover the true meaning of Christmas: Spirk.

Chapter 6 - Apollo's Dodgeball

Bones makes up some rumours. Spock gets suspicious. Everything in this universe has a stupid name.

Bones walked down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, grumbling about the large flakes of snow that were falling - seemingly on purpose - down the back of his jacket.  He had sat around doing nothing all morning and was unhappy about the waste of time, but he didn't want to risk losing track of Spock.  Finally, after hours of waiting, his quarry emerged from his motel room, and Bones tailed him at a distance through the snowy town.  

Not only was it cold and snowy, and not only did he waste precious time that he couldn't afford to lose, but he also had no idea what his plan was.  He was following Spock, but now what?  He hoped he would come up with something soon.

Half a block up the street, oblivious of his follower, Spock stepped into one of the shops.  Bones kept walking, noting that it was the coffee shop, which was aptly named 'The Coffee Shop.'  He walked past and only stopped when he reached the street corner, where he stood casually against the brick siding of the building, watching the door to The Coffee Shop from the corner of his eye.  

He wasn't sure whether Spock would be staying inside for any amount of time, but if he was, Bones didn't want to show up too soon.  He meant to wait twenty minutes before following Spock into the store, but after five minutes he decided that it was too cold to just stand around, and if Spock was just stopping in for a moment he would have been out by now.  

A row of jingle bells jostled when Bones opened the door to The Coffee Shop.  He started to wonder if every business in this town had a make-shift alert system, but instead he changed tactics and wondered if every business in this town was run by his friends, because the aproned barista behind the counter was none other than Uhura.  A quick glance around the room was all it took to locate Spock, who was sitting alone at a small table along the wall, engrossed in some archaic, folding computer.  Bones decided to order a coffee.  It would keep suspicion away from him, and also he was tired as all hell and could use some caffeine.

Uhura turned her attention from cleaning some kind of machine and raised a hand in greeting when he approached the counter.  "Hey there," she said with a friendly smile.  "What can I get for you?"  

"Just a black coffee, thank you," Bones said, deciding that it would probably not be appropriate to get a little extra something added to it when it was only noon.

"Sure thing," Uhura said.  As she rang him up she added, "Haven't seen you around town before.  Passing through?"

Bones nodded.  "Something like that," he answered with a shrug.

She smiled knowingly and gave him a nod.  "Stay or to go?"

"Stay, please."

She passed him a ceramic mug of dark coffee.  "Enjoy," she said.

"Thank you," Bones nodded to her, and chose a spot where he could keep an eye on Spock.  He snagged the daily paper from the modest pile on the magazine rack and sat down, opening it but only pretending to read.  He put it down once in a while to sip at his coffee - damn good coffee, it turned out - and used the opportunity to glance over at Spock and run his eyes over the rest of the room.  He noticed that Spock showed no signs of moving anytime soon.  He also noticed a pair of ancient looking computers at a counter in the corner under a sign that read 'internet.'  Interesting.

He returned to pretend-reading the newspaper, wracking his brain for a course of action.  He knew that time was of the essence, and nothing was more frustrating than not having any semblance of a plan.  With a quiet sigh, he shoved a hand into his pocket to anxiously check the time on the cell phone.  A piece of paper fluttered out of his pocket as he withdrew his hand, and he leaned down to pick it up, flipping it over and seeing that it was the scrap of paper with Jim's phone number written on it.  Suddenly, he had an idea.

"'Scuse me," he asked, approaching Uhura at the counter.  "Could I use one of your computers for a moment?"

"Of course," Uhura said.  "First ten minutes of internet is free."

"Great, thank you."  He gave her a nod before heading to the computers, choosing one and hoping he could figure out how to operate it.

He had a plan, and this time it didn't even involve attempts at vehicular manslaughter.  But he did have to come up with a convincing lie, and that required a little bit of research.  When he finally figured out how to bring up an internet browser, he searched for country clubs in the Smalltown area, hoping that he would be able to deduce which one Jim was supposed to be driving to.  As it turned out, it was easy, since there was only one country club even remotely close to the town.  It was called Big Country Country Club.

"Is nothing named properly in this godforsaken universe?"  Bones muttered under his breath.  He spent a few more minutes clicking links and skimming pages, but didn't find anything that would help enforce his lie, and decided that he just had to hope that Spock would jump on a chance to investigate a random rumour.  He took his chances and left the computers, crossing the shop and sitting in the seat across from Spock without asking if he minded.

Spock's eyes flicked up from his laptop in irritation, and he blinked slowly in recognition.  "Can I help you?"  He asked, not unkindly but clearly unimpressed with the intrusion.

"You'd rather be investigating something important than write a fluff piece about a small-town ice sculpture competition, right?"  He asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"Yes?"  Spock answered hesitantly.

"Have you heard the rumours about the country club just out of town?  The Big Country Country Club?"

"I have not," Spock said, slowly closing his laptop.  "But I'm listening."

"Good, because you're going to want to check this out," Bones said, lowering his voice.  "Apparently, the very wealthy owners of the club are in negotiations to bring a big box store to Smalltown.  You know, the kind that puts small businesses six feet under."

Spock raised an eyebrow.  "Smalltown is nothing without its small businesses.  A store like that would destroy the town as we know it."

"Exactly!"  Bones said, thumping a fist on the table for emphasis, but not too enthusiastically.  He didn't want to draw attention.

Spock's brow furrowed in thought.  "But if it were true, why haven't the townspeople been vocal about their concerns?"  He asked.  "I doubt that they would just stand by and watch their livelihoods be destroyed by some corporate conglomerate."

Bones nodded.  "Well that's another thing.  The negotiations have been under tight wraps, so most people haven't heard a thing about it.  And frankly, the rumours that have gotten out are so lacking for evidence that almost everyone who has heard about it thinks it's a hoax."

Spock hummed.  "So you want me to investigate baseless rumours that, for all I know, you may have made up yourself minutes ago?"  He asked flatly.

Bones struggled to keep his composure.  "I don't want you to do anything," he declared calmly, raising his palms.  "I'm just the messenger."

"Messenger of what, exactly?"

"That there might be something far more interesting going on around here than a stupid ice sculpture competition," Bones said impatiently, rolling his eyes.  "Take it or leave it, I just thought you might want to know."

Spock's jaw tightened as he thought about it for a moment, and Bones could tell by the look on his face that he had been convincing enough.  Spock was never one to pass up a challenge, especially from him.  But then Spock narrowed his eyes at Bones and asked, "Are you the one who tried to set up a meeting with me early this morning on Ingal's street?"

Shit.  "No?"  Bones said, sounding far less confident than he meant to.  

Spock glared at him for a while longer, and Bones thought that he was busted, but eventually Spock sighed.  "Does this town have a taxi service?  I suppose I have the time to do some investigating this afternoon."

Bingo.  "No taxis," Bones said, unsure if that was even correct.  "But I know a guy who's making a delivery there this afternoon," he took out the scrap of paper and slapped it down on the table, pushing it towards Spock with his fingertips.  "He'd be glad to give you a lift."

Spock examined the piece of paper, then regarded Bones with skepticism for a moment.  "Right.  Thank you for this," he said, tucking the paper into his coat.

"Not a problem," Bones said, taking out his cellphone and pretending to check the time.  "I gotta go," he lied, getting up.  "Good luck."

The door jingled again as Bones walked out into the cold air.  It was still snowing.  He walked down the street until he was out of view of the coffee shop window, then stopped to catch his breath and wait for his heartbeat to slow down, muttering grumpily to himself.  "I can't believe that pointy-eared bastard is on to me already."

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2021 #21: In which Donna gives Cameron a gift

[CN: food and eating mentions; alcohol mentions]

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It was early in the evening on a breezy summer Friday toward the end of June, and as Cameron pulled up to Donna’s house she wondered, not for the first time, if she was ready to be done with commuting and splitting her time evenly between the trailer and Donna’s house. She turned off the ignition, grabbed the bunch of wild flowers she’d picked from her own garden patch, got out of the car. Or at least, maybe it’s time for a break? she thought to herself as she walked up to Donna’s front door. I’ve been going back and forth for a year…maybe I could just stay here for the summer…or even just for this month? Or the next few weeks? 

Donna had left the door open for her, and Cameron let herself in, expecting to find Donna listening to music and maybe even dancing in the den or maybe the bedroom, happy and energized from her weekly manicure and lunch outing, buzzing with news from Tanya or Diane, as well as ideas for what they should do that evening and later that weekend. Instead, Donna was in the kitchen, in a black knee-length full slip and apron, hair half up in rollers, behind the stove, which was covered in simmering pots and pans. Cameron’s eye immediately went to the table, which was set with Donna’s good plates and candlesticks, and an empty vase waiting for Cameron’s wildflowers. 

“Honey!” Donna called out. “You’re home! Just give me a second and I’ll fetch your slippers and bring you a gin and tonic!”

The very idea of gin made Cameron go ugh. She went to the dining room, and turned around. “What is all this? Did we get married? Is this our anniversary that I forgot? Did I miss something?”

Donna chuckled at her, stirring one of the pots in front of her. “Well, it is almost the 4th of July, which is sort of an anniversary for us.”

Cameron nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

“I figured,” Donna said, checking one of the other pots, “that we could get a jump on celebrating, since we’ll be preoccupied with the 4th, on the 4th, and all.”

Cameron sighed and looked over at Donna, hit with a wave of affection for her. “Okay, Boss.” She went up to the kitchen island, and said, “You look very alluring in your slip.”

“Thank you!” Donna said brightly. “Are you wondering if I’m planning on dressing up, and if that means that you’ll have to dress for dinner as well?”

“You can read my mind. Just like a perfect wife should,” Cameron joked.

Donna shrugged. “I was gonna put a blouse and shorts back on after I was done cooking. The slip was just so that you’d have something fun to look at.”

“Mission accomplished,” Cameron grinned. “I’m a little grimy from the drive, though, so. Meet you back here after I get the flowers in some water and shower?”

Donna grinned back at her. “Sounds like a plan.” 

***

An hour later, the flowers were in the vase, the candles were lit, and dinner was served. Cameron and Donna enjoyed their eggplant parmesan, spinach, and angel hair pasta with two glasses of one of Donna’s favorite red wines, and a lot of happy chatter about how their weeks had been, what the girls were up to, and their weekend plans. 

When they were done, Donna got up and took their plates. As she walked them back to the kitchen, she said, “I made some red velvet cake for dessert! I know that you prefer the store bought, but, what can I say, I woke up in a mood today.”

Cameron, who was in the bad habit of overeating but only when Donna or Bos cooked for her, groaned, “That sounds great and all but I might literally barf if I try to eat more right now?”

Donna put away their leftovers, and then she returned to the table with two black velvet jewelry boxes, and set them down in front of Cameron. “Then maybe you can open these first?”

Wide-eyed, Cameron stared at the boxes with undisguised terror.

“Don’t get all excited,” Donna huffed. “Neither of these boxes contains an engagement ring, the only engagement ring in this house is the one that Gordon gave me and that I refuse to ever part with.“

Cameron looked at her uncertainly. “And one of them,” Donna continued, “isn’t even jewelry.” She picked up the smaller box and held it out toward Cameron.

Cameron accepted it slowly, like it might pop open like a trick snake nut can. She opened it, and saw that it had a set of keys inside. 

“I know, I know,” Donna said, sinking back into her chair. “You don’t have a key to your trailer for me. What if that’s okay though? What if the lesson the last 15 years have been trying to teach us is that reciprocity and being a good partner doesn’t have to mean everything is even steven all the time? I don’t need the key to your trailer. I know that I’m welcome there. And I’m also okay with usually calling before I come over.”

Cameron frowned at her. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Donna smiled at her. She pushed the other box toward Cameron.

Warily, Cameron picked it up, and opened the top. Inside, there were anodized silver pendants, on what looked like two anodized silver chains. One pendant was a small silver compass, and the other was a small anchor. Smiling sadly, Cameron said, “So I’ll always be able to find my way back to you?”

Gently, Donna said, “Or to wherever. You’ll never be completely lost, though. You’ll always have some help figuring out what direction to go in.”

“I don’t have anything to give you,” Cameron sighed.

With the same sad sort of smile, Donna said, “You might not have any jewelry for me, but that’s okay, because I already have all the jewelry I need. And also, my house is full of plants and fresh flowers and I have a garden full of fresh herbs and lavender out back, and I have homemade breads and hummus and preserves in the kitchen because of you. I get how that might not sound like a fair trade to some people,” she said, leaning forward and resting her elbow on the table. “ But I think it is. I think it’s more than fair.” She sighed, and then she said, “My house doesn’t feel empty the way it used to. That sounds terrible, I know. The girls used to live here. It didn’t feel empty because of them or anything that they did wrong, it felt that way because of me. But I don’t feel like that anymore. Now I wake up every day and I think, ‘Maybe things will actually be okay? Yeah, I think so.’”

Eyes starting to glisten, Cameron closed the jewelry box, and set it back down on the table. She looked back at Donna, and said, “Yeah. I know what you mean.” When Donna smiled at her, Cameron said, “I love you.”

“I know,” Donna said, wiping a tear of her own off her face. “I love you too.”

Unable to resist, Cameron asked, “Last and best?”

Donna’s smile grew broader, and brighter. “You know it.”

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he���s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[metal-requiem]

If you would please give us divine intervention au plot!!

i ABSOLUTELY will thank you SO MUCH for asking (not sarcasm). sorry in advance but i have been unable to think about literally anything else for three days. i cannot stop rotating these two in my head. long post so buckle up

As for Elesa and Emmet, they were kind of just dragging along and keeping each other afloat for a few years. Emmet was running himself ragged keeping both the singles and doubles lines running, because if he stopped moving he knew he wouldn’t be able to start up again. Elesa was taking on extra work and occasionally running the multi line with Emmet. If she’s not working, she’s thinking, and if she’s thinking, she’s spiraling - so she keeps working. They were mostly both just trying to keep busy while holding out hope that the cops would find Ingo. Both of them refuse to grieve for someone that isn’t dead. At some point around the eight-ish month mark Elesa just sort of. stopped going home and informally move into the twins' house. She starts to hate quiet (the kind that comes with being alone, at least). She stays on the couch. (i see the trio as more of a sibling dynamic btw so that’s what everything should be read as)

The day the officials closed Ingo’s case and declared him dead (which went much longer than usual - around 4 years - just because of how high profile the case was), Elesa came home to Emmet working on research on multiple possible leads at once and didn’t think twice before taking some off of his hands. Emmet is the one who realizes (two days into their bender) that they should call out of work. It’s the first time either of them have used extended vacation time. Also, it’s worth noting that Emmet has not gone nearly as batshit as like, common fanon (which I wholeheartedly support btw i DO think he should be allowed to make his way to heaven through violence to fight god) because Elesa is right there with him from the start. He’s living with another human who has ALSO been steadily reaching the end of her rope at the same time as him. So, like, they’re socialized. More or less.

So basically, Zekrom tunes in to these two humans running entirely on ideals, spite, and coffee and decides this is absolutely a storyline it wants to follow. It's like a shitty soap opera you start watching simply because it's on, but then twenty hours later of straight consumption later you've become irreversibly attached to these characters and fully immersed in their drama. It has a selfless reason for everything it does, including (especially) the more selfish-appearing acts, such as annoying Emmet or purposefully withholding information, since despite its more chaotic nature, it DOES wish to see these two succeed in finding their brother. Especially after it starts to actually like them.

I’m thinking Zekrom is just kinda vibing for a couple weeks, keeping the two on track while also subtly slowing them down. It tries to kick Elesa off the couch and she wins THAT fight by a landslide, to which Zekrom pretty much just goes “okay you’re my trainer now. now find me somewhere to sleep.” Then when the lake trio show up in Unova, Zekrom puts Emmet and Elesa on their trail. It can’t like, straight up tell them where Ingo is (because it doesn’t know) or send them back in time (because that isn’t within its power and also it doesn’t know), but it CAN be a homie. A bro. It’s got connections.

Shenanigans ensue. At some point, they stop thinking of themselves as “Emmet and Elesa” and they become “Emmet and Elesa and Zekrom”, just in time for Bad Things to happen :)

This isn’t actually like, a plot thing, but I like to imagine that Reshiram feels Zekrom disappear from the timeline and goes, “oh you have GOT to be fucking kidding me.”

Which reminds me; clarification, just because I know what the expectation is: Reshiram isn’t involved in this. I see Zekrom as the more social of the two, so it has no problem hopping on board another human’s train so soon, but Reshiram got woken up and then immediately had to work with some kid to keep some OTHER kid from using Zekrom to end the world. It’s on good terms with the champion, but it has no interest in interacting with any humans for the next century, except for like, Sunday afternoon tea with the champion. So, no, Emmet doesn’t get Reshiram. Elesa grabs the Zekrom aesthetic as soon as humanely possible (she needs a new outfit for travel anyway), and if need be, they say it’s her pokemon, but it’s more the third member of their little group rather than one of the humans’ pokemon. The pokeball is just for convenience’s sake, and the moment Zekrom wants to leave it, it will. So think of it more like “creatures of various levels of deification keep moving into Emmet’s house and NONE of them are asking him first” rather than “Elesa gets one of the legendary dragons and Emmet gets jack shit”

Fuck this got long lmao. Anyway, they’ll find Ingo, and it’ll have a happy ending. Eventually.

[l4ndon0rris]

Battle of the Exes; DR3

Part 1: Two Years On//Part 2: Two Years Ago//Part 3: Battle of the Exes

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x you

Summary: learning to navigate your feelings and friendship with Dan back on the scene... a tad more lighthearted!

Warnings: swearing/mentions of alcohol

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: thank you for 50 followers from only two pieces of writing so far, my gOSH. I'm excited to read your thoughts to how this could go hehee

The music through your headphones pumped an extra shot of motivation through your body, you always liked to sing along as best as you could as you ran the beauty being that you couldn’t hear whatever the exhausted noise actually sounded like coming out of your mouth. The view along the beach front made it a slightly more enjoyable experience, the air not too warm at this hour of the morning and only a few other jogging fanatics littered the streets you ran. Slowing, you leant against a wall, your chest rising and falling as you attempted to control your breathing closing your eyes deliberating whether to give up and walk the rest of your way home.

It had been two days since Tommy’s party and your first run-in with Daniel since your break-up – or dumping, rather – but you had managed to leave unscathed. He'd seemingly taken the hint and had politely left you alone the rest of the night, only suffering a few small glances intermittently and you felt tense no matter how much more gin Harriet had ploughed you with. You picked up on Tommy’s concerning glances, mostly whenever Dan had made a joke that had everybody laughing but you could only muster up a tight-lipped smile for. Jonesy, even though one of the closest to Dan, gave you a reassuring side squeeze at one point that you were grateful for giving you’d formed a bond with him and his girlfriend throughout the years of your relationship with Dan. In the end you hadn’t felt so isolated as you’d imagined but the relief when you and Harriet had returned home was palpable.

Your recovery and thoughts were disturbed by your headphone being pulled away from your ear, panicked your eyes darted open to find a harmless Daniel beside you with an exaggerated wave and overly large smile.

“You scared the life out of me,” you panted, “my hearts beating out of my chest, you idiot.” You caught his eyes subconsciously dart down to your chest before reconnecting back with your eyes.

Maybe it was because you were lacking oxygen and your legs were unwilling to carry you any further but your immediate reaction wasn’t to run away. “How far have you got left to go?” Daniel questioned, jogging on the spot in front of you. Your incessant panting and bright red skin from face to chest letting him know you were on your own jog.

You gestured behind him explaining that you had ran most of your circuit already, “I’m going to walk the rest, I’m done. I quit.” Still trying to catch your breath between words.

“No! Come on!” Daniel lightly hit you on the arm, a failed attempt at motivation.

“No, not come on. Walk.” You deadpanned, how this man had energy this early was always a mystery to you. “I want to enjoy the view,” you waved toward the beach ahead, a pathetic excuse but one you were going to stick to. Dan’s head followed your hand out to the sea, you took the opportunity to admire his face while he wasn’t looking. His skin was slick with sweat that was dripping from his curls, his dark eyes looked out deep in thought, his jog coming to a halt as his brows furrowed and you noticed how his beard was slightly shorter than what you preferred but that wasn’t something he had to take into consideration now.

“Remember when we raced all the way down here and into the sea,” Dan’s thoughtful look turned back to you and caught you off guard. Your chest tightened; how could you forget? He insisted on walking you home suggesting a diversion to go to the beach to admire the sunset that was creeping in. Instead, it turned into a race into the sea, clothes strewn across the sand the closer you got until Dan hurled you over his shoulder too easily, smacking his back and yelling at him to put you down through laughter until you were both underwater. When you came up you were already kissing, his hands roaming your body under the water while you held his face to yours, a taste of salt water between your lips. The glow from the sunset shone down over the pair of you and it was one of many moments you were so certain you were in love with him that you’d share so many more kisses in the ocean together even when you were old and wrinkly.

You swallowed; his eyes hung onto yours almost like you were both replaying the same moment over in your heads. You consciously diverted the conversation away from the pair of you, “I used to love the volleyball and keepy-up competitions we’d all have after school on the beach, remember that? I was never a champion,” your smile was genuine with the memory.

“That’s because I was champion many times,” Daniel declared proudly, “we should totally do that again, that would be awesome!”

“At least you’re champion of something,” you quipped with a smirk before you frowned at yourself for finding yourself too comfortable around him to joke about the topic. Now you’d inadvertently offended him anticipating his reaction. Before you had a chance to apologise he was already feigning hurt with a “wow” at your sassy comment. You both shared a laugh before you fell into a silence, biting your lip as the urge to run away from the conversation had finally caught up with you. “I’m going to carry on,” you announced.

“Do you want me to jog in front of you so you can still enjoy the view?” Daniel’s smile formed the creases around his eyes, you rolled your eyes and gave a quiet goodbye not satisfying his comment with a reply. Before you had a chance to turn away from him he reached out to regain your attention, “Is your number the same?” You nodded, too focused on his fingers gently wrapped around your arm to speak. “Just checking, I wasn’t sure after all the times you ignored my call that’s all,” you were speechless but his smile remained friendly so you merely accepted the deserved comment after your remark about his zero championships.

“Maybe I’ll pick up the next one,” you gave a shrug, loosening from his touch and turning to finish your route. Every nerve ending in your body was on edge and a familiar feeling swirled through your body. You were playing a dangerous game, but you silently settled in the idea of having him in your life in some capacity rather than none.

*                             *                             *

Ricciardo created the group Beach Championship

DR old school beach championship Saturday arvo? Who’s in?

Jonny let’s go!

Harriet ooooomggg yes!!! I’m in

Tommy sounds dick

Tommy **sick. I’ll bring Kate

You sounds like a good idea 😊

Jonesy out with Jules but we’ll swing by when we’re done x

DR prepare for an ass beating! And maybe some dick @Tommy

*                             *                             *

The early afternoon rising heat gave you a valid excuse to bring out a small bikini for your trip to the beach, Daniel’s presence playing no part in the decision at all was your current defence as Harriet sang a familiar tune putting her own spin on it:

itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, daniels going to love your bikini

A sheer top and denim shorts to cover up in the meantime but you secretly anticipated the moment you could display your body in front of him, thoughts slipping into the territory of his own bare chest parading around the beach.

“Do you really think the whole friend thing is going to work?” Harriet quizzed on the walk toward the ocean in the distance, you’d conveyed your thoughts of navigating a friendship with Dan instead of losing him completely like you’d felt you had the past few years but Harriet had voiced her reservations as a friend who’d witnessed your sorrow.

“I’d rather try. It’s just easier when he shows up a few weeks of the year, right?” You were trying to convince yourself more than Harriet and you were sure she knew that herself but you were also sure she’d support you no matter what. “Plus, nothing bad can come of being friends surely…” Harriet shrugged in response, a million negative possibilities undoubtedly running through her mind but choosing not to express them.  

As you neared the sandy beach you could make out Tommy’s large frame in the distance setting up a net with his girlfriend Kate trying her very best to assist even with her disadvantage in height, Harriet jogged ahead to give a helping hand much to Tommy’s relief.

“Jon’s just ran to fetch some beers in the cooler, desperate for one after putting that thing up,” Tommy spoke with Kate hung around his torso taking shade under his rounded muscular shoulders.

“I did offer to do the drinks run but apparently I wouldn’t be able to carry it all back, so I got lumped with an even worse task!” Kate mocked the boys’ delegation tactics.

Rolling out your beach towel in the sand with Kate and Harriet following suit, Tommy kicked a ball around the three of you to entertain himself until other company arrived. You unbuttoned your shorts deciding to peel the down the front slightly over your bottoms and leaving the sheer top on building up the courage to eventually strip down, nerves suddenly high thinking of Dan’s presence. Laying down you shut your eyes under your sunglasses and listened to the waves and chatter between company for the time being.

“Ay! Ay! Ay!” A familiar chant made you sit up on your elbows and squint in the direction it came from undoubtedly it was Dan making his way toward you with Jonny, the pair of them with bags assumedly filled with drink for the afternoon. He wasn’t bare chested just yet but the tattoo creeping out from under his shorts was enough to get your heart racing for now. “The two wise men come bearing gifts of cider and beer,” Dan announced proudly as the pair placed the cooler bags under the shade of a nearby parasol.

“You do know there’s three wise men?” Harriet quipped causing you to smirk.

“Yeah, but who would ever call Tommy a wise man?” Dan grinned; Tommy quickly shot the ball in Dan’s direction but with his fast reactions he caught it without a problem. With the majority making their way over to the cooler to fetch a drink you decided to stay put for now and watched as Dan walked in your direction. He squatted down in front of you, “there’s water in there for you too,” he mentioned with a gentle tight-lipped smile. Sensing a nervousness from him you thanked him, trying to not overthink the gesture yourself. You never enjoyed drinking alcohol too much on a hot day, the idea that he’d still taken you into consideration and thought about you was almost causing you to spiral. He stood, running over to Tommy throwing the ball to the ground starting an impromptu game of football between the pair.

“Let the games begin!” Jonny bellowed with his hands in the air theatrically.

After much deliberation of set-up, Jonny taking a scoresheet layout far too seriously and Kate listing off her rules as a means to try and give herself any advantage, the beach championship got underway. The boys had their own football battle between them with Kate vaguely keeping score although you were certain Tommy hadn’t scored as much as she claimed, “Tommy taught me all about football, I know what I’m doing,” she’d protested your corrections and calls for a more unbiased referee. For the game of volleyball it would be Harriet versus Kate with you playing the winner followed by Jonny versus Dan, and the winner playing Tommy with the two winners then battling it out to be crowned victorious. It was fair to say petite Kate stood no chance against Harriet’s competitive nature and she did end up eating sand as Harriet had not-so-elegantly roared at her over the net taking the winning point. You had to remind her that the prize was merely pride and nothing more but she only claimed you were a weakling and would too end up eating sand.

Granted that you very quickly succumbed to the realisation that maybe she was right, you weren’t as fit as you were ten years ago and age was no longer on your side. The fun day on the beach was beginning to feel more like torture. Battling Harriet for a point you felt a drop of sweat run down your spine under the mesh top. As the ball hit the ground with Harriet failing to keep it up you took the pause in game to remove the layer.

“Set them free, girl!” Jonny - gentlemanly as ever – hollered in your direction watching you throw the top to the floor; Kate gave Tommy a slight whack to his abs in disapproval at his wolf whistling. The man whose reaction you were most concerned about you didn’t look for.

“I won’t be distracted by your tits! Seen ‘em plenty, not ruining my game, bitch!” Harriet fired some unexpected fighting talk your way; Daniel laughed out loud at the comment.

He wished he felt the same way given he had seen them countless times, but this time was different. This time he wasn’t admiring what was his smug with pride but what once was and god, he wished you were his. He felt his breath hitch slightly, attempting to swallow the thoughts of lust that roamed his head as he watched the way they perfectly bounced with your every move and reminding himself he only had himself to blame. He joined the hooting from the side-lines as he watched you beat Harriet with the next point, the strings of the bikini barely holding you together as you jumped in celebration. Now it was his turn to beat Jonny who most people described as uncoordinated and clumsy, whilst he considered himself to be a professional athlete, he was fairly confident he had this one in the bag. He was the one avoiding you on the side-lines but he caught a glimpse and couldn’t look away; your hands spreading a lotion across your chest, the skin between your breasts looking slick and smooth as your hands dipped under the material slightly to cover the area completely. The only thing breaking his eye contact was the ball whizzing past his face and hitting the sand at his feet.

“Got somewhere else to be, mate? First point to me,” Jonny jeered, a smug look on his knowing exactly what Dan was pre-occupied with and taking a clear advantage.

“Alright, I’ll let you have that one,” Dan cocked his eyebrow, up for the challenge and determined not to be beaten out of sheer embarrassment. Unsurprisingly, Dan won the challenge with Jonny’s single and free opening point of the game being his final. The trio of girls jumped in celebration but Dan avoided to look in the direction knowing he’d get distracted by the display once more, instead he cracked his neck and shook out his arms and legs keeping focus as Tommy approached the net. The match with Tommy ended up a much closer win than he’d have liked but it was a win, nevertheless. Dan knew he’d worked ten times as hard for the win than he probably should have and mostly it was to impress you like some idiot schoolboy with a crush.

Jonny updated the scoreboard with a scribble, “You know what this means!” Jonny yelled waiting for the pause before he cried out dramatically, “Battle of the exes!” Daniel instinctively wanting to laugh at his friends joke but halted, instead looking at you for your reaction. Your mouth was slightly agape, your hand running through the front of your hair and looking toward Harriet for confidence who was giving you a double thumbs up. Your chest rose and fell as you inhaled a deep breath and looked toward him. Dan asked if you were okay just by looking at you, subconsciously slipping into the silent conversations you could both have with your eyes. Whether he was glancing at you across the paddock even though you were both in two separate conversations or navigating bustling venues with so many voices surrounding you it was easier to remain quiet and go with the flow. He noticed it, the miniscule nod of your head that he was sure nobody else would’ve seen, you’d given him the same ‘I’m okay’ nod all those other times just as you did now. He half-smiled at you content that you were happy to carry on despite Jonny’s inappropriate outburst and glad that you could seemingly still read each other’s minds.

“Cheers for that one, cunt,” Dan noticed you laugh in approval of his remark in Jonny’s direction hoping he’d eased you before he looked at you with his large grin, “bring it on, peanut,” and he also noticed how your face dropped at the sound of your old pet name, suddenly worried he’d overstepped the line completely as he spoke without thinking.

*                             *                             *

“Sorry for kicking your ass before,” Dan made his way toward you in the sea, the pair of you up to your waist in the water, his toned torso stood in front of you was admirable as you ashamedly lingered on it a bit too long before looking back at his face with his goofy, smug, shit-eating grin telling you he’d caught you in the act.

“It’s okay,” you tried quickly to brush off your embarrassment and blushing cheeks under his knowing gaze. “Thought I’d let you have that one,” trying to sound nonchalant. The rest of the group were enjoying drinking games on the sand under the setting sun, Jonesy and his girlfriend Jules had arrived already tipsy from an afternoon meal and immediately continued their drinking into the night. “You not joining in the drinking games?” You asked merely to fill the silence.

Dan dunked his body under the water so he was just a floating neck and head as he answered, “no, I… I’m actually flying back out to Europe on Tuesday so not for me, no,” his eyes watching the water swish around his head rather than you. A sadness washed over you; this would probably be the last you’d see of him and you kicked yourself that you didn’t have longer, that you hadn’t made more of an effort, that the bottled water you thought he’d bought especially for you was actually for him and nothing more. Oh was all you managed out nodding your head in acknowledgement, “I’m actually going to head back home now, rest up, I just wanted to say bye in case I don’t see you,” he rose out of the water now and you were certain you saw the same sadness in his eyes.

“Can we walk?” The question escaped your lips before you had time to process the thought, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. You knew you had to have the closure that you were desperate for years prior and it felt like your final opportunity. “My apartment is on the way… we can talk…” you gave a hopeful smile but still prepared for a rejection just like you had done to him almost a week ago. Daniels face relaxed and agreed, following you out of the water and toward the sandy beach.

“Not a bad view from here,” Daniel teased from behind, reminiscent of his own joke a few days earlier, you turned and shot him a glare with a playful smile on your face. Dan halted in place as to not bump into you his eyes scanning your face. You wanted to kiss him, everyone else was too preoccupied in themselves to notice, a quick peek over your shoulder confirmed that, but the more you looked at him you knew you couldn’t give in. You had to have some self-respect, he left you, he left you because he didn’t love you. This was just Dan being his charismatic self, flirting as a way of joking. “Everything okay?” Dan nudged.

Snapping out of your thoughts you nodded and turned back to the beach, the pair of you drying off and layering up before saying goodbyes to a mixture of concerned and hopeful looks. You glanced at each other with a knowing laugh at the incessant chatter of whispering and gossip from the group as you made your way off the beach. Wandering through some streets in silence for a short while but you knew Dan wouldn’t last much longer in the quiet.

“My mum told me you went back to university,” you hummed and shared the psychology degree you were trying to attain for a second time. “Always knew you’d smash something like that if you put your mind to it,” it sounded better than I told you so which would’ve made you go feral if he ever uttered those words to justify breaking up with you. “You’ll look good in your little cap and gown at the end of it all,” he nudged your shoulder slightly with his but it was bittersweet. Achieving something you had strived for at the loss of the person you loved didn’t seem like a fair pay-off. The atmosphere between the two of you became thick like a black raincloud had suddenly swarmed over you. “I am sorry,” you felt the intensity and meaning of his words and immediately your eyes welled with tears, lip between your teeth with anxiety.

The courage you had in the ocean had vanished and you didn’t have the capacity to make it through a speech or apology deciding to interrupt him, “do you think we can be friends?”  Slowing the pace slightly knowing you were only two more streets away from your building, Dan was uncharacteristically silent for a moment before you heard him take a large sigh.

“Honestly… I don’t know. I don’t know how to be your friend, we were always just you and me, you know?” He trailed off, his feet scuffing the pavement as he walked. You did know and a part of you was relieved that he was voicing your own apprehensions that you had successfully buried but there was another part of you that sank knowing that maybe this was it. No friendship, no relationship; when he leaves for Europe the chapter is finally complete. The pit in your stomach didn’t sit right with you; this wasn’t the closure you were searching for.

You reached outside of your apartment building, looking between your sandals and Dan’s vans speckled in sand. His stare was burning into your head causing you to look up and meet his eyes. His damp shorts stuck to his tattoo, the plain white tee hugging his chest in all the right places. You knew the overwhelming thought you couldn’t shake was most likely dangerous and testing but, “friends can come up for a drink, right?” You invited him anyway. His eyes searched yours for something you weren’t sure of before he answered.

“Friends can.” He smiled warmly, tugging open the door allowing you to step into the building first before he followed in behind you... enjoying the view.

Taglist tysm! @readerselegance @d0ntjudgemy50shades @dr3lover @onelovelife

[tomtenadia]

Cuddles for Rowaelin? ❤️

Thanks for the prompt

900 words of fluff

In your arms

Rowan was running late.

Work had been a nightmare and his boss had scheduled an extra meeting that had lasted longer than expected. He was now in the car and was driving trying to ran the few errands that his wife had dumped on him. Or more likely that had been assigned to him. His wife was seven months pregnant with twins and her doctor had put her on bed rest.

Aelin had hated it, but in the house he had created a system so that she had everything very close and no need to stand up.

Which meant that errands were his duty. Something he’d do gladly. The pregnancy had been a blessing and a surprise. Aelin had a lot of problems to conceive. They had been married for five years  and it took them few rounds of IVF and a few miscarriages before it finally happened. They were both in tears when the OB/GYN told them they were expecting twins. They went from being almost resigned to the fact that they might never be able to have kids, to this. Aelin’s pregnancy had been rocky though and she suffered from HG and a few times they had to have trips to the hospital because of her extreme dehydration. With time it had improved but other problems threatened to appear so Aelin was firstly told to work from home. Luckily his wife was a book editor and could easily work from home. Then a month ago had arrived the news of bed rest. Aelin had been mad but Rowan had bought her a lovely laptop table for her lap and a trolley to keep bed side with all she needed. 

He had planned to stop at her bakery and get her all of her favourite treats. That was the first stop, he could not risk not bringing home anything.

It was over an hour later when he finally managed to park in front of the lovely house they had bought in the outskirts of Orynth. It was so much later than planned but he had enough chocolate that she might forgive him.

With bags in his hands he opened the door and once inside removed his shoes “Aelin, I am finally home…”

In the kitchen he dumped all of his bags and walked quickly to the bedroom “Aelin?”

She was sitting with her back propped against the bed headboard and was concentrated on the screen of her laptop. Her specs reflecting the document she was reading.

“Ae?” He moved closer and brushed his hand in her hair.

“Hi you,”

She looked tired and Rowan worried.

“Sorry I am late, shitty day at work.” He stooped and kissed her then sat on the edge of the bed “are you okay?”

“Fucking nausea. I have eaten nothing but crackers all day.”

His gaze moved to the cart and saw that the crackers were gone and a few slices of apple lay abandoned.

“Shame,” he kissed her on her forehead “I had chocolate treats for you.”

“Can I have them tomorrow?”

She must be really unwell. It was very rare for Aelin to pass on chocolate.

“Let me get changed.”

He disappeared and Aelin caressed her bump. Their two girls have been very active and sleep had become a luxury too.

“Yes, dad is back,” she cooed.

Rowan appeared a moment later in short and a t-shirt and climbed on bed. Aelin moved her laptop away and extended her arms to him.

Rowan ignored her and his hands went on her swollen belly “Hello, my loves. Have you been nice to mum?”

He felt a powerful kick and Aelin groaned. Then he had an idea.

“What about we cuddle in the tub? Relax with me?”

She smiled and kissed him again “Please. I need to cuddle my dear husband.”

Moving to the bathroom took some time but slowly Aelin made it there and Rowan helped her undress and once the water was ready she climbed inside the tub. He followed and took place behind her, his arms around her and on her belly.

“Lean back completely.”

Aelin did and rested her head on his shoulder.

Rowan grabbed her favourite salts and dumped some in the water and she hummed in pleasure.

His hands trailed along her arms and then back on her bump “are the girls calmer?”

She melted in his embrace “Yes.”

Slowly he started to wash her hair and his wife moaned loudly “I love this type of cuddling.”

Rowan chuckled and started washing her body too while kissing her head and neck at the same time.

They enjoyed their bath until Rowan complained that the water was getting colder so slowly they moved back to the bed after he enveloped his wife in her soft bathrobe.

“Lie down, my love.”

Aelin did just that and lay down on her favourite side and Rowan placed himself behind her being the big spoon. His hands moving once more to her bump.

“This feels amazing, Ro.”

“Do you feel like eating?”

She shook her hand “No, I just want to stay in your arms.”

“Girls, your mum is addicted to cuddles.”

Aelin hummed happily.

“I love you all girls.”

“Such a sappy old man.”

Rowan kissed her head.

He was her sappy old man.

She melted again in his arms and let the scent of pine and snow to help her drift her to sleep.